Chapter 3 #3
She lets me lead her, curiosity flickering in her gaze. I step to the nightstand, retrieving a small, carefully wrapped box that I tucked away earlier. When I return to her side, I place it gently into her open palms.
“A Christmas present,” I say simply.
Her fingers curl around the box, her breath catching. She looks up at me, eyes glassy with emotion. “For me?”
My chest tightens. “Just for you, baby.”
She exhales, her lips parting like she wants to say more, but instead, she lowers her gaze to the box, running her fingers over the elegant wrapping.
She unwraps it slowly, with painstaking care.
When she finally lifts the lid of the box, she stills.
A vintage Patek Philippe watch gleams up at her, cradled by a plush red velvet cushion.
I watch as her fingers trace over the smooth, sunburst midnight-blue dial, the gold bezel catching the dim light.
“Nathaniel…” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “This is—”
“Yours,” I cut in, firm. “I had it restored for you.”
Her head snaps up, eyes wide. “Really?”
I nod, watching her reaction closely. “Yes. It took a while to find the right one, but when I saw this, I knew it had to be yours.”
I spent a long time searching, unwilling to settle for something impersonal or extravagant for extravagance’s sake. Olivia isn’t someone who cares for status symbols. I wanted something meaningful—something that carried weight, history.
When my jeweler called to tell me that he had found an original 1970s model of the Golden Ellipse at an auction in Europe, I took one glance at that blue dial and knew that the search was over.
But beyond that, I also appreciate how the watch’s design follows the golden ratio, a principle of harmony and balance—qualities Olivia has unknowingly brought into my life.
I then spent weeks personally overseeing the restoration of the timepiece, sparing no expense. I wanted it to be perfect, just for her, so I made sure to include one additional detail.
She picks it up and turns it over, her thumb grazing the back of the case and finding the engraving: Until the end of time —NC
Her breath hitches. When she looks up at me again, I hold her gaze, unflinching.
“I will love you forever, Olivia,” I tell her. “Every hour and every second that I have left in me is yours.”
Her lips tremble, her throat working as she swallows.
“May I?” I ask, reaching for the watch.
She nods. “Please.”
I take it from her hands, my fingers steady as I fasten the strap around her delicate wrist. It fits just right.
Olivia lets out a small, incredulous laugh. “Of course it’s the perfect size.”
Her laughter is warm, filling the space between us as I brush my thumb over the watch face, then over her skin. Mine.
Just as I’m about to pull her into my arms, Olivia’s eyes suddenly light up with something gleeful.
“Wait,” she says, standing abruptly. “I have something for you too.”
I go still.
I wasn’t expecting anything. People ask things of me all the time, always taking. But here she is, looking at me with barely contained excitement, as if giving me something is the greatest gift of all.
She steps away, moving toward the bookshelf with a knowing glint in her eyes. Over her shoulder, she throws me a playful smile. “But you have to find it.”
A challenge. Of course.
And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel excitement.
My eyes scan the shelves, flicking over familiar spines—the books of my childhood, the ones I’ve reread countless times.
Then, I see it. A book, wrapped beautifully, nestled between the others.
Carefully, I pull it down, unwrapping it with uncharacteristic care, as if I already know that what lies inside isn’t just paper and ink.
The moment I see the deep blue leather, the gold inlays catching the light, my breath catches.
Pride and Prejudice.
A limited-edition print—one I recognize immediately—inspired by the 1894 version, illustrated, with the exact cover and spine design that I committed to memory years ago. My fingers trace the intricate details, and something lodges deep in my chest. I swallow hard, my pulse unsteady.
I told her once—about my mother reading it to me when I was young, about how she made Alexander and I sit through every adaptation, about how it had been ours, something safe, something I kept even when I lost everything else.
She remembered.
I lift my head, but before I can say anything, Olivia speaks softly, “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I love and adore you.”
The air leaves my lungs.
The words are familiar; a line I have heard many times before. But never like this. Never for me. Emotion swells, thick and consuming, clawing its way up my throat before I can stop it.
She reaches for my hand, guiding me back to the book. “Open it,” she instructs.
There, on the first page, in her elegant, familiar handwriting, is a note:
Dearest Nathaniel,
That afternoon, when we watched Pride and Prejudice together, it felt like I was being reintroduced to a story I thought I already knew. I’ve read it before, watched the movie too, but somehow, sitting beside you, it was like experiencing it for the first time.
Much like you have with so many things in my life—you make me look at them differently, more closely, with new eyes.
I had never seen myself in Elizabeth Bennet before. But for the first time, I understood her in a way I never had… Her fears of vulnerability, of surrendering to something she didn’t know how to trust, of loving someone who saw through all the defenses she had carefully built.
I wonder if you’ve ever seen yourself in Darcy too… In the way your devotion is complex but unwavering, how your intensity is quiet but inescapable. Because I do. Just as Darcy wanted Elizabeth to see herself through his eyes, to know how deeply she was loved—you look at me the same way.
Just as it had been for Elizabeth, falling in love with you was inevitable, because, like Darcy, you have woven yourself into my heart, long before I even realized that I’d given it to you.
And like Elizabeth, I want to be brave. I don’t want to let fear keep me from what’s already mine.
So, if love is a choice, then I choose you. Again and again.
Merry Christmas, my love.
Always,
Your Olivia
My vision blurs. No one has ever done anything like this for me.
I set the book down, my hands still trembling. Then, before she can say anything, I pull her into my arms, planting a kiss to the top of her head.
“Thank you,” I murmur, my voice thick with emotion.
Olivia tilts her head up, brushing her fingers against my jaw. Her touch is so unbearably gentle that it makes my chest ache. “I love you,” she whispers.
The words hit me like a force of nature, like a tidal wave crashing over everything I’ve spent years trying to hold in place. I feel the words lodge in my throat again—marry me. I want to keep her, to bind her to me so tightly that she can never leave.
But I hold them back.
Because I’m terrified that if I push too hard, she will run. And if she does…what will be left of me?
So instead, I cup her face, press my forehead to hers, and whisper, “I love you too. More than I ever thought possible.” Then, I take my time kissing her, wanting to sear this moment into my bones.
Outside, the Christmas festivities continue—the distant hum of laughter, the warmth of a family I’ve spent years keeping at a distance. But here, in the quiet of my childhood bedroom, time slows. And for the first time in years, I don’t feel haunted by the past.
Because with Olivia in my arms, all that matters is the future.