17. CHAPTER 15 #3
“No conditions regarding my schedules?” he asked, his voice dropping into a lower, smoother tone. “No stipulations for my time? Nothing personal you want to add?”
I barely knew him, plus these question about listing terms is so sudden. I wasn’t prepared. I’d listed the things important to me… for now. That’s all that mattered.
“Yes… that’s it,” I said, meeting his eyes dead on. “I barely know you. I’m not sure what personal things to reference. As regarding your schedule, If I can’t control my own family, I’m under no illusion that I can control you.”
He watched me for a long, quiet moment. Then he stood.
“Noted.”
That was it. No attempt at augmenting, or agreeing either. Just that single useless syllable. Frustration flared within me.
“That’s it?” I said, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. “You asked for my terms so you could… what? Pretend you listened?”
His lips twitched in another almost a smile. I couldn’t tell what part of this was funny. Or if I was the one missing the joke.
Instead of answering my question, he slipped a hand into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a small, square box.
“For the record, I don’t pretend.”
My mouth went dry.
“I got you a wedding present,” he said casually.
He voice strained like he was running through a checklist he’d intentionally made before leaving home.
He flipped the box open with one thumb.
The bracelet inside was a narrow chain of diamonds, each stone small but so precisely cut the whole thing looked like captured light. It was understated and obscene at the same time.
“This is unnecessary,” I said, because my brain couldn’t find anything smarter.
“Of course it is,” he replied. “That’s what makes it a gift.”
He stepped closer, the space between us shrank and became uncomfortably intimate. Up close, his cologne unwound around me. It spawned a strange warmth that held my attention temporarily. Clear evidence that I had no plans of embracing it anyway.
“Hands,” he whispered low.
I hesitated before lifting my right wrist, almost reluctantly.
His fingers were unexpectedly gentle. He held me like he was used to handling valuable things without dropping them. The contact sent a jolt of awareness up my arm.
“You look beautiful.” His eyes darting to meet mine, then back to my wrist.
The words were plain and direct, but at the same time felt very unsafe in my ears.
Someone knocked on the door again.
“Time!” the planner called, frantic. “We need the bride downstairs now.”
We both ignored it.
He fastened the bracelet around my wrist with calm deliberation. His thumb paused at the side of my wrist, directly over the pulse that was doing humiliating things.
Don’t react. Keep still. Breathe.
Once he was done, he held my hand, admiring how the diamonds sat on my wrist. His gaze dropped to my hand in his, and I thought he was going to press my knuckles to his lips. The possibility arced between us like a live wire, stealing the air from my lungs.
His expression changed immediately.
I couldn’t spot a single admiration, or desire. Only a coldness that resembled disdain… I didn’t know him well enough to understand it, but it sat in his features.
His jaw ticked, his eyes turning distant as if he’d reminded himself what this was. Whatever that almost-moment had been, he buried it fast.
He lifted his eyes back to mine—looking like a man at war with himself.
WIthout another word, he reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a black bow tie.
“Another favour,” he said. “Do you know how to knot one of these?”
“Yes,” I replied, warily. “I do.”
I had knotted enough silk for my father and my brothers to do it with my eyes closed.
“Good,” he murmured. “Come here.”
Who does he think he is? The thought flared in my mind. I was a Fernández, not a servant to be summoned.
I opened my mouth to deliver a cold reminder of exactly where he was standing, but the protest died in my throat, choked out by the sudden, heavy pressure of his gaze.
This…!
I wasn’t afraid of him. But something in the way he looked at me… something that made it painfully clear that my rank meant absolutely nothing in his presence. It stopped the words from leaving my mouth.
He didn’t step back. I had to step into his space. The dress swayed as I moved, the train dragging behind me.
With every inch I closed, I felt like I was handing him a piece of my sovereignty, and I loathed it.
By the time I reached him, I wasn't just standing in front of my husband; I was standing in front of my owner.
My heart thudded frantically against the cage of my ribs, betraying me completely.
Standing this close, I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. The world narrowed from his sharp jaw to the line of his throat, the stark contrast of white shirt against his tan skin, to the steady rise and fall of his chest.
He placed the silk tie in my hands. His fingers brushed mine, and a brief, electric friction made my pulse skip a beat.
I didn't let my eyes linger on his. My eyes stayed focused on the task, as I worked automatically, looping the silk around his neck.
“Pay attention to the details, Léonie. Details are what hold everything together.” My father’s voice rose at the back of my head, from the first time he taught me to knot a tie.
It was one of the first lessons he gave me, right alongside the sanctity of loyalty and the weight of obligation. Now, the math of those lessons has brought me here. Standing in a large room with a stranger, three minutes away from a life sentence.
Pushing my thoughts aside, I kept my eyes focused on the fabric, refusing to be rattled by how aware I was of his proximity. Of the heat of his body, and his unwavering gaze on my face.
He didn’t look away for a second.
“What are you thinking?” he asked in a soft intimate tone.
My eyes remained focused on the tie.
“You look perfectly fine without the tie. You could clearly do without it.”
A dry sound vibrated in his chest. Not quite a laugh.
“I didn’t ask for your fashion advice, Léonie. I asked what you were thinking.” He reached up, his hand nearly touching mine as I tightened the knot. “Don't hide behind the tie. It’s a poor shield.”
I finished the knot and tugged it into place, my knuckles grazing the warm skin of his neck for a second longer than necessary.
“There,” I said. “You look… camera ready.”
He turned his head slightly, looking at our reflection in the mirror behind me.
I turned to face the mirror and caught his gaze tracking our image as we stood side by side for the first time.
He smirked.
“I suppose we’ll have to get used to this.”
I wasn’t sure what part he was referring to. Knotting his tie perfectly or standing by his side. Maybe both. But the way he said this—like it meant something more than an unfortunate aesthetic—sent a faint shiver down my spine.
A knock came through the door again. This time louder and more urgent.
He acted like he heard nothing.
“Now,” he murmured, turning back to me, “one last thing.”
To my surprise, he reached up and carefully drew the veil forward, his fingertips gliding along the fabric near my hairline. The tulle made a subtle airy sound as it moved.
The tip of my nose almost touched his chest, the warmth of his scent sucking up the air between us.
I tried to steady my breathing.
I'd expected him to be cruel or distant. I was prepared for coldness. I wasn't prepared for this suffocating, calculated intimacy that left me more exposed than a direct insult would have.
My gaze lifted to his, and he stopped halfway, holding the veil like he wanted to get one final look before pulling it down. His eyes held mine.
The moment suspended itself, and it suddenly felt like the entire world balanced on that point of contact: his fingers close to my temple, my breath caught somewhere between my lungs and my mouth.
His gaze dropped briefly to my lips. Then his eyes returned to mine, the moment held in a way that made the room feel very small. Finally, he let the veil fall fully into place—in a blur between us.
The temperature in his expression dropped back to arctic. Any sign of warmth he exuded previously disappeared like it never existed.
“Try to keep that fire in your eyes for the walk down the aisle,” he said, voice smooth again. “I’d hate for the guests to think I’ve already bored you to death.”
Behind the veil, my mouth pulled into the barest smile.
“Don’t worry, Orion,” I replied dryly. “I’ll save my best performance for the audience. I’d hate for you to feel you didn’t get your money’s worth.”
His smile sharpened.
“Oh,” he said, stepping back toward the door, his hand already reaching for the handle. “I think I’m getting exactly what I paid for.”
He opened the door and the noise rushed back in—footsteps, frantic voices, the swell of organ music starting to build in the distance.
He paused on the threshold and glanced over his shoulder, his eyes catching mine one last time through the veil.
“See you at the altar, Léonie.”
Then walked away, leaving me in a room that smelled like him and my distraught nerves.
My heart didn’t stop racing, no matter how much I willed it, and his bracelet seemed to burn at my wrist, feeding the confusing urge to both reject and accept his gift.
This was a man I had planned to remain indifferent to once we were married. Now I couldn’t stop wondering what to expect from him after the vows were over.