Chapter 11
Isabel
We slept poorly—or maybe it's better to say we didn’t sleep at all. We talked through the night, tangled in sheets and whispered fears, trying to shape the right words for what this thing between us has become.
What to tell them.
What to show.
How to convince everyone we’re in love, even when the truth is messier than a headline.
But those two days?
They were my heaven.
And now that we’re back in London, I feel like I’m gasping for air, like someone’s dropped me into a world made of glass where one wrong word will make everything shatter.
My heart beats faster every time Nathan looks at me like I’m more than just part of a plan. Like I’m his. And I’m terrified that this pact—this beautiful, aching lie—might backfire and take pieces of me I’ll never get back.
We arrive at the brunch five minutes early.
Grace insisted on hosting at the Kensington club they’re so fond of, claiming it’s ‘classier’ than any place I suggested, and honestly?
I don’t have the energy to fight it. I walk in hand-in-hand with Nate, every step rehearsed, every glance designed to scream we’re madly in love.
We find them at a table tucked into a corner with fresh tulips in a vase and polished silverware that could probably double as weapons if the conversation turns hostile.
Nate’s father greets us with a polite nod.
My own father is already halfway through a mimosa.
Grace, however, doesn’t bother hiding the sharp once-over she gives me.
“Isabel,” she says with a disappointed look. “Nathan.” She looks at our joined hands and I haven’t missed that little smile.
“Good morning, everyone.” I channel every ounce of charm I can muster. “We wanted to share some important news.”
“Oh?” Grace arches a brow, sipping her coffee.
Nate squeezes my hand beneath the table. “We wanted to clarify a few things,” he says, calm but firm. “We’re aware you’re still mad at the way we left and that this happened fast. But the days we spent away gave us clarity.”
I nod, heart pounding. “There’s something between us,” I say, locking eyes with Grace, “and even if it started out... unexpectedly, we realized we want to honor both our families. That means respecting tradition.”
My father scoffs. “Tradition?” His voice oozes disbelief. “Since when do you care about tradition?”
I tilt my head and flash him a soft, practiced smile. “Since I realized how much you all do. It felt wrong to go against that. And besides, in both our cultures, rushing a marriage isn’t uncommon when two families want to unite. It’s not exactly unheard of.”
Grace crosses her arms. “So you're saying this sudden decision to marry is... a romantic gesture steeped in heritage?”
Nate leans in, bringing my hand to his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. “Exactly. And we’re not rushing it for the press or the drama. It just felt right.”
There’s a pause. A heavy one.
Grace’s eyes narrow, flicking between us. “Forgive me if I don’t fully buy the act.”
I feel Nate’s hand tense under the table, but I speak first.
“Then don’t think of it as an act,” I say, my voice steady even as my pulse races.
“It was a shock for both of us and we needed time to realize what was the right decision to take. Think of it as a step toward something real. Maybe we’re not perfect.
Maybe it’s not how you pictured. But we’re building something. Together.”
Her expression falters, just for a moment. The smallest crack.
Come on, come on, come on!
My father leans back in his seat, exhaling sharply. “You finally talked some common sense into her, haven’t you?”
“Have I?” Nate flashes me a smile. “It was a common decision. I wanted to know what scared her and somehow I could relate.”
They don’t have to know that we’ve also agreed to a quiet expiration date, that we’re only holding the pose for a while.
They don’t have to know that every second I spend with Nate makes that expiration date feel like a cliff I’m about to fall from.
Because right now, in this moment, we’re playing our roles with perfection.
We have lunch with Dad and my future in-laws.
They are delighted about the news that we’ve accepted getting married.
Of course, they are.
For once, our families are aligned, buzzing like bees in a garden of legacy, titles, and political power. If it were any more strategic, I’d expect someone to slide a contract across the table and ask us to sign in blood.
Still, I smile and nod at all the right times. I pretend not to notice how Grace eyes me like she’s still not sure what we’re up to. Nate's father raises a toast, declaring that tradition will carry on, while my own dad, it seems, doesn’t care anymore.
Finding out that preparations for the wedding had already begun is not a surprise.
This was always the plan.
When Nate called Grace to tell her he bought me a blue diamond engagement ring—one he picked himself, one that caught the light like a star—well... I heard her through the phone. I wasn’t even on the call and I swear the woman’s shriek nearly cracked the wine glasses.
“You did what?! Nathan, you’ve shattered centuries of tradition!”
Nate just turned down the volume.
I think that’s when I started falling. Not from the plan, not from the fantasy. But from the way he stood up—to her, to expectations, to everything—just to give me something that was us.
Grace's outrage didn’t stop her from feeding the press with juicy, well-angled breadcrumbs though. The buzz she stirred up for our wedding? Unbelievable.
It’s everywhere.
From the smallest tabloids to international headlines, every media outlet has us splashed across their pages, each headline more dramatic than the last:
‘The Duke of Weister and Miss Barlow… will we hear the bells ringing soon?’
‘The blue diamond worn by Miss Barlow as an engagement ring heralds a great event.’
‘The golden bachelor, the Duke of Weister, has finally found a soulmate. When will the wedding be?’
‘After years of service to his country, the army captain, the Duke of Weister, has decided to take the plunge.’
‘Prime Minister Barlow gives us the happy news that his daughter, Miss Isabel Barlow, said yes to the Duke of Weister’s proposal.’
My face is everywhere. Our faces.
Frozen smiles, perfectly captured moments that now live forever online.
The machine is in motion, and we're strapped in, no brakes.
It’s six p.m. now. In an hour, Nate will pick me up to accompany me to one of Dad’s political events. Another parade, another camera-ready moment, another dance in this beautiful mess we’ve choreographed.
I peer at my phone. I’ve been thinking about it all day. His proposal—not the public one, the private one. The real one of moving together.
And suddenly, my fingers are moving before my mind can catch up.
Me: I miss you. Okay, let’s move in together.
The response is instant.
Nate: Apartment or villa? City or countryside?
I smile, heart thudding in my chest like I’m sixteen and stupid and in love. Which... maybe I am.
Me: Home is where you are.
His reply is slower this time, but when it comes, it melts something deep inside me.
Nate: The best answer you could give me, baby.
I press the phone to my chest for a moment, closing my eyes, breathing him in like he’s already here.
And just like that, this whole thing feels real again.
Maybe it’s all pretend. Maybe there’s still an expiration date.
But right now, in this in-between moment filled with headlines and heartbeats, I think I’m falling for my fake fiancé.
And I’m not sure I want it to end.
* * *
The black car rolls to a stop in front of the grand venue, its glass facade glittering like a palace of secrets.
Flashbulbs burst the second I step out, catching the shimmer of my midnight blue gown.
The satin clings to every curve, soft as a whisper, with a slit that sways dangerously high as I walk.
My hair is swept back in a loose updo, a few strands kissing my cheeks.
The blue diamond on my finger glints with every graceful movement, screaming taken to the world.
But tonight, I don’t feel taken.
I feel watched. Possessed.
By him.
The moment Nate sees me, something flickers in his eyes—something hungry.
For a split second, he looks like a man on the verge of forgetting every plan we made.
I smile and take his arm, playing the part of the perfect fiancée, the one who isn't falling too fast for a man she was only meant to pretend with.
Inside, the ballroom is a portrait of luxury. Power practically leaks from the walls. Politicians, diplomats, aristocrats—all masked in civility and expensive cologne.
I slip into the role with ease, exchanging polite smiles, shaking hands, remembering titles. Nate stays close, his hand resting lightly on my lower back.
I turn to greet a donor my father signaled to, only to feel the air shift. When I glance over, Nate is several steps away, speaking to one of his army buddies. I take the opportunity to breathe.
Big mistake.
“Miss Barlow,” a smooth voice says from behind me. “It’s a pleasure.”
I turn and come face to face with a man I definitely don’t know. Tall, polished, with a navy blue tux and the kind of charm that glows too bright under ballroom lights. His smile is too practiced.
“Thank you,” I reply politely, still unsure who he is.
“I must say, I wasn’t expecting you to be this… breathtaking. The photos didn’t do you justice.”
I blink, unsure how to respond. “That’s very kind of you.”
He steps closer. Too close. “So, when’s the wedding? Or is the engagement just for the headlines?”
Before I can form a reply, a presence looms behind me like a thundercloud. A warm hand slides around my waist, and Nate’s voice cuts in, cool and controlled.
“She’s breathtaking, yes. And very much taken.”
The man blinks, startled. “I didn’t mean any disrespect—”
“I’m sure you didn’t,” Nate interrupts, voice smooth but laced with steel. “But if you’re done enjoying the view, I’d like a word with my fiancée. Privately.”
Without waiting for a response, he guides me away, hand tight on my waist, jaw ticking.
“Nathan,” I hiss under my breath once we’re in the shadows of the corridor, “what the hell was that?”
“He was undressing you with his eyes.”
“I didn’t even know who he was!”
“You didn’t need to. I did. And he wanted you.”
I arch a brow, trying not to grin. “What are you saying?”
He looks down at me, eyes burning with something raw. “I’m saying I didn’t like it. Not one bit.”
My heart stumbles in my chest.
“Nate…”
“You don’t see it,” he murmurs. “You walk into a room and every man wants to forget their last name. Including me.”
I swallow, caught off guard by how sincere he sounds. “You don’t get to be jealous. This whole thing was your idea, remember?”
“I know.” His voice drops, lower now, huskier. “But knowing something’s pretend doesn’t stop you from feeling it.”
He leans down, brushing his lips over my temple, and I close my eyes, overwhelmed.
“This was supposed to be a performance,” I whisper.
“Then we deserve a fucking Oscar,” he breathes.
And just like that, the chaos of the event, the headlines, the politics—they all melt away. All I can feel is him. The heat in his touch. The storm in his eyes.
And the frightening realization that maybe this whole thing… may no longer be a lie.
After what feels like hours of perfectly choreographed political smiles and practiced lines, we finally escape the ballroom.
The weight of public scrutiny still clings to my shoulders like a designer shawl.
My heels click softly against the pavement as we slide into the waiting limo—Dad joining us in the back, always in full Prime Minister mode, even when he's off duty.
Nathan raises his arm instinctively and I don’t even think about it—I just curl into him, resting my cheek against his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath me and strong. This… this is my secret haven. His arms. The place where the chaos fades, the doubts hush, and I can just breathe.
His fingertips trace idle circles on my shoulder. Every touch sends tiny flutters through me, and I selfishly wish the world would go quiet so I could stay like this forever.
Then he clears his throat, his voice cutting through the silence and catching Dad’s attention.
“Mr. Barlow,” he begins, his tone respectful, but not stiff. “I’d like your permission to take Isabel away tomorrow.”
Dad blinks, clearly not expecting the request. “Take her where?” His brows rise as his gaze flicks between the two of us. “May I know what you two are up to?”
“We have a few appointments with a real estate agent,” Nathan replies, tightening his hold on me slightly.
“I’d like us to move in together. It'll help us focus on the wedding details without running between two houses.” He takes a deep breath, “My mission’s been anticipated and we’ll start training shortly.
I may have to leave sooner than we thought, which is why I want to make the most of the time I have left with Izzy. ”
Dad softens, though his gaze still reads between every line. “I see. In that case… of course.” His eyes linger on me with a hint of worry. “Just don’t vanish off the map.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say with a weak smile.
The rest of the drive is quiet. I stay nestled against Nate, replaying his words in my head like a scratched record.
Anticipated.
Leave sooner.
Time left.
It’s not fair.
When we finally arrive at the manor, Dad says his goodnights and heads upstairs, leaving us in the velvet silence of the grand hallway. I walk ahead, trying to find my breath again, but my heart’s racing in all the wrong ways.
In the living room, I turn to face him, arms crossed over my chest like a shield.
“Why the change of plans?”
Nate steps closer, his gaze soft but unreadable. “Orders from above, baby,” he murmurs. “I found out this morning.”
I nod slowly, already feeling the ache beginning in my chest. “Where will you go?”
He exhales and reaches for me, his palm cradling my cheek. “We don’t know yet. Just… that I’ll be gone.”
His touch is gentle, but my emotions aren’t. They twist and knot and burn beneath my skin.
“I’ll miss you,” I whisper, my voice cracking as tears threaten to spill. I bury my face in his chest again, needing his warmth like oxygen. “I knew this would happen. I knew. I just didn’t think it would be so soon. I’m not ready to let you go…”
He wraps his arms around me tightly, his chin resting on the top of my head as he strokes my back with that steady rhythm that always calms my storms.
“I’ll miss you too, Isabel. More than you can ever imagine.”
I don’t answer. I just hold him. Because maybe this isn't love—not yet. But it’s something dangerously close.
And if we’re not careful…
It’ll be everything.