Chapter 10
**(Grace’s POV)**
Three days later...
I let out a long, heavy sigh as I dropped my nursing backpack onto the floor of my bedroom.
I felt strangely restless. My skin hummed with a weird, nervous energy, almost as if I had been waiting all day for a shoe to drop. Or for a certain terrifying, thirty-two-year-old military commander to show up at my front door.
I shook the thought from my head and walked downstairs.
"Dad?" I called out.
"I'm in the kitchen, Gracie!"
I smiled as I walked in. Dad was standing at the stove, stirring a large pot of chicken stew and humming softly to an old jazz song playing on the radio.
I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms. "I thought I told you not to stress yourself."
"I'm only making dinner," he countered easily, not looking back.
"You said 'only' the last time too, and you ended up cleaning the entire garage." I walked over, gently but firmly prying the wooden spoon from his grip. "Sit."
He raised both hands in dramatic surrender, backing away from the stove. "Yes, boss."
I rolled my eyes, taking over the stirring. "You're impossible."
"So I've been told."
As I finished seasoning the stew, the comfortable, domestic silence settled over the kitchen. But after a minute, I felt the heavy weight of my father's gaze on my back.
"Grace," he said softly.
"Hmm?"
"After dinner... I think it's time we had that conversation."
My smile instantly faded. My hand stilled on the wooden spoon.
I remembered. The conversation he had postponed before my exams. The 'favor' that was bothering him so much.
I swallowed the sudden lump of anxiety in my throat. "...Okay."
**(Third-Person POV)**
Across the city, the Central Military Headquarters was wrapping up its final shift.
General Alexander Reeves strode down the highly secure corridors, his dark green uniform immaculate, his face set in its usual, impenetrable mask of discipline. Colonel Ethan Brooks walked half a step behind him, reviewing a glowing tablet.
"The border reports have been filed, General," Ethan stated smoothly. "And the diplomatic envoys have officially left the airspace. The perimeter is entirely secure."
"Acknowledge the perimeter commanders," Alexander ordered bluntly. "Dismissed, Colonel."
"Actually, sir," Ethan paused, lowering the tablet. "Your father, is currently waiting for you in your private study at the estate. He arrived twenty minutes ago."
Alexander stopped walking. He looked at Ethan, his gray eyes narrowing slightly. "My father is at the estate?"
"Yes, General. He paced the length of the study exactly forty-two times before I left," Ethan noted dryly, a faint smirk touching his lips.
Alexander’s jaw tightened. "Understood."
Thirty minutes later, Alexander’s armored convoy pulled into the Reeves Estate.
He didn't bother changing out of his uniform. He walked directly down the East Wing hallway and pushed open the heavy doors to his study.
Richard Reeves was standing by the large glass window, looking out over the dark gardens. He turned around slowly as Alexander entered.
"Please. Sit," Richard said.
Alexander did not sit. He closed the door behind him and stood at parade rest, his hands clasped behind his back. "You requested to see me."
The silence between father and son lasted for a full, suffocating minute. They were too alike—two men molded by military discipline, entirely unaccustomed to navigating emotional minefields.
Finally, Richard spoke.
"I have made a decision."
Alexander waited, his face completely unreadable.
"You remember Daniel Zane," Richard began.
"Yes."
"You also remember his daughter. Grace."
A brief, imperceptible pause. Alexander thought of wide, terrified eyes, a clumsy water spill, and a soft, genuine laugh that had briefly stopped his heart.
"Yes," Alexander replied bluntly.
Richard clasped his hands together in front of him. He did not sugarcoat it. He knew his son despised wasted words.
"I want you to consider marrying Grace."
Silence.
Complete, absolute, deafening silence.
Alexander simply stared at his father. Not a single muscle in his broad chest moved.
Richard continued calmly. "It would be a contract marriage. A legal arrangement to ensure she is protected, and to fulfill—"
"No."
One word. Flat. Direct. Final.
Richard almost smiled. "I expected that answer."
"I am not interested in marriage," Alexander stated, his voice a low, heavy rumble.
"I know."
"And I am certainly not interested in asking a young civilian woman to marry me out of convenience."
"I know," Richard repeated softly.
Alexander adjusted his cuffs, his commanding aura filling the room. "Is that all?"
"Not quite." Richard’s expression became unusually serious, the faint smile vanishing completely. "I haven't told you why."
Alexander remained standing, though his intense gray eyes locked onto his father.
Richard took a slow, heavy breath. "Eleanor's heart is failing, Alexander. Rapidly."
Alexander froze.
The massive, heavily fortified study suddenly felt incredibly small.
"She asked for nothing," Richard continued quietly, his voice thick with sorrow. "Nothing except seeing you find happiness. She wants to see you settled before her heart gives out."
Alexander lowered his eyes to the floor. The muscle in his jaw ticked violently.
Richard Reeves rarely asked him for anything, and he certainly didn't use Eleanor’s health lightly. Which made this entire conversation significantly harder to completely dismiss.
"I cannot give you an answer," Alexander said, his voice dropping into a rough, strained register.
Richard nodded slowly. "I didn't ask for an answer today."
**(Grace’s POV)**
Dad and I finished washing the dinner dishes together in silence.
I wiped my wet hands with a kitchen towel, my heart beating entirely too fast as I sat down opposite my father at the small dining table.
"You've been acting strangely all week, Dad," I said softly.
"I know."
"So... what did you want to ask me?"
My father looked at me for a long, heavy moment. He looked so incredibly tired.
He smiled a devastatingly sad smile. "Grace... I want you to consider marrying someone."
I blinked. My brain completely stalled. "...What?"
"A contract marriage," he clarified quietly.
I laughed. A sharp, breathless sound of sheer disbelief. Then I stopped laughing, realizing he wasn't smiling.
"You... you're serious."
"I am."
"Dad..." I searched his pale face, absolute shock washing over me. "You can't be serious. An arranged marriage? In this century?"
"I am."
My heartbeat quickened into a frantic rhythm. "Who?"
Dad answered honestly, without hesitation. "General Alexander Reeves."
I stared at him.
For a full ten seconds, I just stared, waiting for the punchline.
"Dad, no." I stood up so quickly that my wooden chair scraped loudly against the linoleum floor. "No. Absolutely not."
"Grace..."
"No!" I began pacing aggressively around the small dining room. "Dad, we had dinner together exactly once! *Once!*"
"I know."
"I don't even know him! He's thirty-two years old! He's a military commander who looks like he eats glass for breakfast!"
"I know."
"I'm twenty-two! I'm still trying to graduate nursing school!"
"I know."
"I have plans, Dad!" I cried, throwing my hands in the air. "So why would you even ask me something so insane?!"
Dad closed his eyes briefly, his shoulders slumping.
"Because," he whispered, his voice cracking entirely.
I stopped pacing. The raw, unfiltered pain in his voice glued my feet to the floor.
"Because I don't want to leave you alone in this world," Dad choked out, tears pooling in his eyes.
The fierce, defensive anger in my chest evaporated instantly, replaced by a suffocating, icy terror.
"Dad..." I whispered.
"You've already lost your mother," he said, looking up at me, a tear tracking down his weathered cheek. "I don't want you to lose everyone. You deserve someone strong who will stand beside you when I'm gone."
Tears immediately flooded my eyes. I rushed forward, dropping to my knees right in front of his chair, and grabbed both of his cold hands.
"Please don't talk like that," I sobbed. "Please."
"I have to, Gracie."
"No."
He smiled painfully, squeezing my fingers. "I won't always be here."
"I don't want to hear that!" I cried, burying my face against his knees.
Dad gently stroked my hair, his touch so incredibly tender. "I'm not forcing you, sweetheart. I'm just asking you to think about it."
I shook my head violently against his leg. "I can't. I can't marry a terrifying stranger just because you're scared."
Neither of us spoke. The sound of my quiet sobs filled the kitchen.
Finally, Dad forced a small, wobbly smile. "Forget I asked."
I stood up and hugged him as tightly as I physically could without saying another word. He wrapped his arms around me, burying his face in my shoulder.
Neither of us realized we were both crying for entirely different reasons.
**(Third-Person POV)**
That same night, Alexander stood completely alone on the massive stone balcony outside his bedroom, looking over the glittering lights of the city below.
His face was an impenetrable mask of cold stone, but his mind was a violent storm of duty, logic, and a pair of wide, tear-filled blue eyes.
Across the city, Grace stood on the small, wooden balcony outside her bedroom, staring up at the exact same moon.
Two strangers.
Given the exact same impossible proposal.
And separated by only one answer: *"No."*
For now.
**(Grace’s POV)**
The following morning began exactly like every other morning.
Or at least... it tried to.
I woke up before my alarm, tied my hair into a messy ponytail, and walked downstairs, fully expecting to find my father in the kitchen, humming while brewing coffee.
Instead... the kitchen was empty.
"Dad?" I called out.
No answer.
I frowned, a small knot of worry forming in my stomach. Maybe he had slept in. That almost never happened.