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CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Seb

The early morning sunlight filters through the mansion’s tall windows, casting a golden glow over the dining room as I sip my coffee. Across the table, Elle sits, poised and graceful as ever, discussing the final wedding details with Jessica, our overzealous wedding planner. I can’t believe it’s only four days away now.

I’m ready. And that’s something I never thought I’d say.

Jessica is in her element, rattling off details about flowers, cake designs, and colour schemes with the precision of a drill sergeant. Elle listens carefully, her head tilted slightly, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her teacup.

What amazes me isn’t Jessica’s relentless enthusiasm – it’s Elle.

She handles Jessica with an effortless blend of grace and quiet strength. Even when Jessica suggests something absurdly ostentatious, like gold-leafed centerpieces, Elle gently steers the conversation toward something more understated. She doesn’t back down, but she also doesn’t let the conversation turn into a battle.

She’s incredible.

I can’t stop watching her, mesmerized by the way she navigates these moments with such poise. It’s not easy being under my father’s roof, surrounded by his expectations and now Jessica’s meticulous plans. But Elle doesn’t wilt. She adapts, defends her ground when it matters, and somehow still manages to look calm and in control.

I don’t know when it happened – this shift in me. But watching her now, her long lashes lowered as she scans the wedding itinerary Jessica handed her, I realise I’ve fallen for her. Hard.

It’s not just about how she looks, though god knows I could lose myself in those stunning blue eyes of hers for hours. It’s everything. The way she carries herself, the way she handled herself at the engagement party, gracious to the press while staying sharp enough to keep my ex from making a scene. The way she let her guard down when she was tipsy with Candy, her laughter free and unrestrained as I carried her back to the mansion from the limo.

And then there was that night.

I can still see her, sitting on the edge of the bed, letting me take care of her. She’d trusted me in a way I hadn’t expected, and it wrecked me. She looked so vulnerable without her makeup, her defenses gone.

I didn’t deserve that trust. Not yet. But I want to.

“Sebastian?”

My father’s voice cuts through my thoughts like a blade. I glance toward the doorway, where he’s standing with his usual air of authority, arms crossed and expression cool.

“I’m heading to the city for meetings,” he announces, his gaze shifting briefly to Elle before returning to me. “Make sure Jessica gets whatever she needs to keep this wedding on schedule.”

I nod, biting back a retort. I hate how he speaks about Elle, as if she’s just another piece of the puzzle he’s orchestrating.

“Of course,” I say evenly, not wanting to make a scene in front of Elle.

He strides out of the room, his presence leaving a chill in the air. Jessica, blissfully unfazed, launches into another discussion about floral arrangements.

Elle handles it all with her usual composure, but I can see the faint tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers curl just a little too tightly around her teacup.

When Jessica finally leaves, Elle lets out a soft sigh, leaning back in her chair.

“You handled that well,” I say, setting my coffee down.

She glances at me, her lips curving into a wry smile. “Well enough to keep your father from insisting on diamond-encrusted napkin rings, at least.”

I chuckle, but her words make my chest ache. She shouldn’t have to deal with any of this. She deserves better than my father’s scrutiny, better than Jessica’s constant demands.

“Elle…” I start, but she cuts me off with a gentle shake of her head.

“Don’t,” she says quietly. “I’m fine. Really.”

And just like that, she’s back to being untouchable, her walls firmly in place. I want to tell her she doesn’t have to be fine, that she doesn’t have to handle everything on her own. But I know she won’t hear it – not yet.

Later, after she excuses herself to check on more wedding details, I find myself wandering through the house, restless and frustrated. I want to do something for her, something that shows her how much she means to me, even if I can’t find the right words to say it yet.

That’s when it hits me.

The wedding gift.

It has to be perfect – something that reflects her, something that’s just for her. And the wedding night…god, I want it to be everything she’s ever dreamed of. I want her to feel cherished, adored, worshipped.

I head to my study, pulling out my laptop and jotting down ideas. A gift that’s meaningful, intimate, and uniquely Elle. A night that’s unforgettable, filled with everything she’s ever wanted, but has been too afraid to ask for.

As I plan, my thoughts drift back to the way she looked the other night, curled up in the library with one of the dusty old classics from the shelves. She’d been frowning at it, muttering under her breath about missing her second-hand romance novels, and I couldn’t help but smile.

Maybe that’s where I’ll start. Something that reminds her of the little things she loves, the parts of herself she thinks she has to hide.

Because I see her.

And I want her to know it.

She deserves better than this circus. She deserves better than me .

I grab my keys and head for the door. It’s not enough to sit around and brood over my feelings for her. I need to act. I need to show her how much she means to me.

I slide into my favourite sports car – a classic, rather than the showy performance vehicles I also have – and head toward the city. My mind races with ideas, half-formed plans for the perfect wedding gift. Something meaningful. Something that’s just for her, not for my father, the press, or anyone else. Something that says, I see you, Elle.

I start at a little boutique tucked into the corner of Covent Garden. It’s quiet, unassuming, the kind of place Elle would love. As I step inside, the faint scent of flowers drifts toward me, and I’m reminded of her perfume – the subtle, floral scent she’s always worn.

The shopkeeper looks up, her brows arching slightly as she sees me. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for something with…jasmine? I think,” I say, glancing around the shelves of candles, oils, and sachets. “Perfume, maybe. Or something personal.”

She smiles, leading me to a display of hand-poured candles, delicate bottles of perfume oil, and beautifully packaged bath salts. I pick up a small bottle of jasmine and vanilla oil, imagining Elle’s soft sigh of contentment as she rubs it onto her skin.

I grab a candle, too, wrapped in soft white packaging with the word serenity etched in gold script. She could use some of that right now.

Next, I find myself at a charming old bookshop. Not one of the fancy chains with their perfectly pristine hardcovers, but a second-hand store with shelves that groan under the weight of their wares.

The air smells faintly of old paper and ink, and I grin as I step inside. This is exactly the kind of place Elle would disappear into for hours, hunting for her next adventure.

I comb through the romance section, looking for spines worn from too much love, titles with curling covers, and paperbacks held together with nothing more than a wing and a prayer. A familiar title catches my eye – The Rogue’s Heart . I vaguely remember her reading it when we were younger, curled up in a corner of the garden. She’d been so engrossed, she barely noticed when I stole one of her cookies.

I grab it, along with a handful of others that look just as well-loved, paying no mind to the odd look the cashier gives me.

I hit a confectionery shop next. The bright, sugary scent is almost overwhelming, but I don’t care. I make a beeline for candy turtles, gummy strawberries and chocolate covered salted pretzels, but as I’m checking out, a display of Kinder Eggs catches my eye.

She used to hoard those eggs as a kid, savoring the chocolate while carefully building the little toys inside. I buy a dozen, just in case she’s still the same. I know she mentioned them the other day, but maybe she was joking. I second guess myself, but decide to just go with it.

My next stop is a boutique known for its cashmere. I run my fingers over the soft, buttery fabric, imagining how it’ll feel against her skin. A cream cardigan catches my eye – simple, elegant, and warm, like the perfect hug. I know Elle loves cashmere, always has. She’s a sucker for anything soft, and even though it’s expensive, it’s who she is. Still, I add a pair of pink fluffy socks to my haul, remembering how she used to complain about the posh hardwood floors making her feet cold.

When I finally head back to the mansion, the tiny boot of my car is full. My chest feels lighter than it has in days. For once, I feel like I’ve done something right. There’s one more gift I need to get her, but I can’t risk buying that on the high street, so I order it from my phone to be delivered tomorrow.

In the quiet of my study, I set about arranging everything. I pack the books into a vintage leather satchel I found at the bookshop, the candle and oil nestled inside with care. The Kinder Eggs and other edible goodies go into a sleek gift box, and I fold the cardigan and socks neatly, tying them with a soft ribbon.

It’s not extravagant. It’s not grand. But it’s her.

I imagine her reaction, the way her eyes will light up, her lips curving into that rare, genuine smile that makes my chest ache. I want her to feel seen, to know that she’s more than just my fiancée for show.

She’s Elle.

And she’s everything.