Chapter 50 Forget the Champagne, We’re Serving Drama Tonight
Forget the Champagne, We’re Serving Drama Tonight
Sebastian Hawthorne believed in one fundamental truth: if you orchestrate a political coup without technically committing treason, you deserve a damn party.
And so, two weeks after the Queen stepped back, he threw one.
The party was alive with music, laughter, and champagne flowing freely.
Nobles, politicians, and journalists mingled, all eager to celebrate the officially unspoken but universally acknowledged defeat of Queen Eleanor’s carefully laid plans.
The air buzzed with relief, with victory, with the electric hum of a new era.
This wasn’t just any party—it was a spectacle.
The room shimmered under the golden glow of chandeliers, the warm hum of conversation punctuated by bursts of laughter and the clink of champagne flutes.
Aristocrats and power players mingled with celebrities and socialites, each hoping to be at the heart of Sebastian’s orchestrated chaos.
But amidst the revelry, Alexander only saw her.
Emilia stood by the bar, deep in conversation with Harper, entirely unaware of how effortlessly she commanded his attention.
She was laughing, her hand wrapped around a champagne flute, her green dress catching the light like a jewel—a deep emerald that made her eyes glow brighter than the chandeliers above.
She looked up then, her gaze catching his across the room.
There was a moment—an undeniable shift in the air—before she set her drink down and walked toward him, the crowd parting as if it knew this was their stage.
“Enjoying your victory?” she asked, tilting her head as she stopped in front of him, a playful edge to her voice.
Alexander let out a quiet laugh, his heart thudding in a way no royal training could ever suppress. “Our victory.”
“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Her eyes sparkled with amusement, but there was something softer there too, something that had grown between them over months of arguments and stolen glances.
“I call it what it is,” he replied, his voice steady but warm, stepping closer so the space between them felt charged. “None of this would have happened without you.”
A smile played at her lips, but she didn’t look away. “I’m not sure the history books will record it quite that way.”
“Then we’ll have to rewrite them.” He paused, his breath catching as he studied her—the woman who had unraveled his world and stitched it back together in ways he’d never imagined. He offered his hand, palm up, a quiet invitation. “Dance with me?”
Emilia’s eyebrow arched slightly, her expression teasing. “I thought you only danced when absolutely necessary.”
His lips curved, but his eyes were serious, locked on hers. “This feels necessary. More than anything ever has.”
She studied him for a beat, searching his face as if she could decipher every layer he’d spent a lifetime building. Then, with a small, almost shy smile, she slipped her hand into his, her fingers warm against his skin.
He led her onto the dance floor just as the orchestra shifted, strings rising into the unmistakable, sultry strains of “Por Una Cabeza.” The song’s opening notes—haunting, passionate, a melody that spoke of longing and surrender—filled the room, drawing gasps and murmurs from the crowd.
It was a bold choice, a romantic declaration in itself, and Alexander felt the weight of it settle over them like a spell.
He drew her into his arms, one hand settling at her waist, the other cradling her hand as if it were the most precious thing he’d ever held.
“You realize,” Emilia murmured, looking up at him through her lashes, her voice nearly lost beneath the violins, “that we’re already causing quite the scandal. I keep catching people looking.”
Alexander’s hand tightened at her waist, pulling her just a fraction closer, the heat of her body against his grounding him as the melody soared. “Let them look. For once, I don’t care.” His voice was low, meant only for her ears.
Her expression softened, a flicker of surprise in her green eyes. “That’s new.”
“You’re a good influence, or a terrible one, depending on who you ask.”
She laughed—quiet, genuine. “I’m sure your mother would say the latter.”
“My mother will adapt,” he said with calm certainty, his fingers brushing the small of her back as they moved, the music guiding them into a slow, intimate turn. “She’s had to face the fact that I won’t be bullied into a loveless political marriage—not when I’ve found you.”
Emilia’s steps faltered slightly, her breath catching as the music dipped into a tender refrain. “Alexander—”
“I have something for you,” he said suddenly, cutting through whatever doubt she might voice. His hand left her waist reluctantly, reaching into his pocket as his heart pounded louder than the orchestra.
Emilia’s eyes widened as he produced a small velvet box, discreetly shielded between their bodies as they continued to sway to the song’s aching crescendo. The world around them blurred—chandeliers, champagne flutes, curious stares—all fading into the haunting melody.
“Before you say it’s too soon or too complicated or too anything else—” His voice dropped, raw and unguarded, his blue eyes searching hers with an intensity that matched the music’s peak. “Just know that I’ve thought about this more than anything in my life.”
He opened the box, revealing the ring that made her gasp—a breathtaking oval sapphire surrounded by diamonds, set in gold that gleamed with centuries of history. Queen Caroline’s ring.
“That’s—” she whispered, her historian’s mind sparking even as her heart raced, the tango’s final notes trembling in the air. “Alexander, how did you—”
“Of course you’d know it on sight,” he said with a soft laugh, his thumb brushing the edge of the box as he watched her, the music fading to a delicate close. “I should have expected nothing less from you.”
“Caroline and King George,” she murmured, her fingers hovering above the ring, trembling slightly. “They were—”
“One of the few truly happy royal marriages in our history,” he finished, his voice steady but thick with emotion as the silence after the song held them in its grip.
“I know. She defied every expectation to be with him, and he waited—two years, against all advice—just for her. They rewrote the rules so they could love each other, not just rule together.” He paused, his gaze softening.
“I found it in the vault last week. It hasn’t been worn since she died, and I knew the moment I saw it—it was yours. ”
“Alexander,” she breathed, her voice barely audible, her eyes shimmering with something he couldn’t name as the crowd’s murmurs rose around them. “This is… it’s too much.”
“No,” he countered gently, his free hand rising to cup her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. “It’s exactly right. A ring with a history of love—not duty, not politics—for a woman who’s taught me what love actually means.”
Her lips parted, a shaky breath escaping as she looked from the ring to him, searching his face for any trace of doubt. She found none.
He took a small step back—just enough to shift their stance, his hand still holding hers as he lowered the box slightly.
Not kneeling—the dance floor wasn’t the place for that—but tilting his body toward her, making his intent clear to her alone, as if the rest of the room didn’t exist. The orchestra lingered in a soft, expectant pause, as if it too awaited her answer.
“Emilia,” he said, his voice soft but resonant, like a promise carved into stone. “Marry me. Not because it’s strategic or expected, not because of crowns or kingdoms. Marry me because I love you—every stubborn, brilliant, impossible part of you—and I want every tomorrow to be ours. Together.”
She stared at him, at the ring, at the man who had once been her adversary and was now her everything.
The song had ended, but its echo lingered in the air, a melody of passion and surrender that wrapped around her heart.
A hundred rational reasons to hesitate flickered through her mind—too fast, too public, too complicated—but they dissolved under the weight of his gaze, the warmth of his hand, the certainty in his words.
“Yes,” she said, her voice steady despite the tears pricking her eyes, a smile breaking through like dawn. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you.”
Alexander’s face lit up—relief, joy, love all crashing together as he slid the sapphire ring onto her finger.
It fit perfectly, the cool metal warming against her skin as if it had been waiting for her all along.
Then he pulled her back into his arms, the orchestra striking up a new, gentle waltz as his forehead pressed against hers, their breaths mingling in a shared, quiet laugh.
“You realize,” she murmured, her left hand resting on his shoulder where the sapphire caught the light, her voice trembling with happiness, “that this will cause an even bigger scandal.”
“Good,” he whispered, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that was tender, deliberate, and utterly unapologetic—right there in the middle of Sebastian’s victory party, in front of politicians, aristocrats and journalists and politicians alike.
The crowd might have gasped, might have cheered, but neither of them noticed.
When they finally parted, his eyes were bright, his smile unguarded. “I’d burn every tradition to the ground for you,” he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear. “And I’d do it all over again.”
The world blurred around them—the music, the people, the party fading into something distant. Because for once, Alexander wasn’t thinking about what came next. He wasn’t calculating the future or worrying about expectations. He was exactly where he wanted to be—with her, in this moment, forever.
Harper watched the whole exchange from her perch at the bar, swirling her wine with practiced ease.