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CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Elle

The Sterling-Knight ballroom transforms again, this time for the rehearsal dinner. Tables draped in pristine white linens fill the room, their surfaces adorned with glimmering silverware and extravagant floral arrangements. The hum of chatter and the clinking of glasses echo off the high ceilings as friends, family, and a multitude of strangers mingle under the glittering chandeliers.

Seb and I arrive together. As always, his hand on the small of my back is a constant, steadying presence. He looks every inch the heir in his perfectly tailored suit, his confidence radiating effortlessly as he guides me through the room. I, however, feel like an imposter in my sleek, black gown, my hand nervously clutching my favorite Chanel bag.

Candy and her guys are already seated near the head table when we enter, their presence a beacon of familiarity in an otherwise overwhelming sea of faces. Candy waves enthusiastically, her glittering gold dress catching the light, while North, Dash, Don, Wint, and Frost lounge around her, all exuding varying levels of charm and protectiveness.

“You look stunning!” Candy says as I approach, pulling me into a quick hug. She leans back, her eyes scanning my dress. “That dress is perfect on you. Isn’t it, Seb?”

Seb’s lips curve into a soft smile as his gaze sweeps over me. “She always looks perfect.”

I feel my cheeks warm, and I wink playfully. “Flatterer.”

“Always,” he murmurs, his voice low enough for only me to hear.

As we take our seats at the head table, the realisation hits me: more than half the room consists of people I don’t recognise. Seb leans over, his lips brushing against my ear. “Don’t worry,” he says, sensing my unease. “Most of them are here for appearances. My father invited them.”

“Of course he did,” I mutter, scanning the crowd.

At the next table, my parents and Aiden are seated, their expressions a mix of polite interest and tension. My mother, ever the perfectionist, wears a classic navy gown and her usual air of quiet judgment. My father is more relaxed, chatting with Asher Sullivan, who looks impossibly sharp in his tuxedo. Aiden, on the other hand, seems stiff, his eyes narrowing every time they land on Seb. He’s also steadfastly ignoring the laughter coming from Candy’s table, whereas she doesn’t seem to mind being in his presence one bit.

I’m so proud of that girl.

Alexander sits at the far end of the head table, his icy demeanor perfectly in place, as he speaks with a silver-haired couple who look like they’ve stepped out of a Victorian portrait. I catch his gaze briefly, and he gives me a tight, inscrutable nod, before returning to his conversation.

“I’m going to need another drink if I’m going to survive this,” I lean back to whisper to Candy, who snorts softly.

“Babe, same,” she says, raising her glass. “But hey, at least you’ve got me. And these guys.” She gestures towards her men, who are currently in a heated discussion about something I can’t hear.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” I admit, the tension in my chest easing just slightly.

“Lucky for you, you’ll never have to find out,” Candy says with a wink.

The dinner begins with a procession of courses so intricate, I can barely tell what I’m eating, and the conversations around the table range from mildly entertaining to mind-numbingly dull. Seb keeps the conversation flowing, his charm and effortless confidence putting even the most awkward guests at ease. I watch him navigate the room with a mixture of admiration and something deeper, something I don’t want to name.

When the final course is cleared, Alexander rises from his seat, commanding the room’s attention with a simple gesture. The conversations quiet down, and all eyes turn to him as he raises his glass.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he begins, his voice carrying effortlessly across the room, “thank you for joining us this evening to celebrate the upcoming union of my son, Sebastian, and his beautiful fiancée, Elle.”

Polite applause ripples through the room, and I feel Seb’s hand brush against mine under the table, his touch grounding me.

“This marriage is not only a union of two individuals. It represents trust, loyalty, and the commitment to a future we can all be proud of.”

I resist the urge to mutter under my breath at his calculated words, knowing full well this is as much about his own image as it is about us.

Alexander’s gaze sweeps over the room before landing on me. “Elle, we are honored to welcome you into our family. And I have no doubt you will rise to meet the challenges that come with bearing the Sterling-Knight name.”

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes – approval, perhaps? Or is it a warning? – Either way, I meet his gaze head-on, lifting my glass with a steady hand.

“Thank you, Mr. Sterling-Knight,” I say, my voice calm and clear. “It’s an honor to be here tonight, surrounded by so much love and support.”

Seb squeezes my hand under the table, his smile faint but genuine.

“To the happy couple!” Alexander finishes, raising his glass higher.

“To the happy couple!” the room echoes, and the sound of clinking glasses fills the air.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of congratulations, polite conversations, and endless photo opportunities. Seb and I pose for the press, our smiles practiced but convincing. He keeps his arm around my waist, his touch steady and protective, and I find myself leaning into him more than I intend.

It feels real.

When the last guest finally departs, and the ballroom empties, I feel an overwhelming wave of exhaustion wash over me.

“You held up well,” Seb says as we ascend the grand staircase together.

“Thanks,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “So did you.”

He chuckles softly, his hand brushing against mine. “I’m used to this circus. You’re the one who deserves the credit.”

I glance at him, my heart tightening at the sincerity in his expression. “Maybe we make a good team after all,” I say softly.

“Maybe we do,” he replies, his voice warm.

As we reach the door to our shared suite, Seb hesitates, his gaze searching mine. “You okay?”

I nod, though the weight of the evening still presses heavily on my shoulders. “I will be. Just...tired.”

He opens the door for me, and I step inside, already dreaming of sinking into the plush bed. But as I turn to thank him, I catch the look in his eyes – a mix of admiration, gratitude, and something deeper.

“Goodnight, Elle,” he says softly, his voice wrapping around me like a warm blanket. “In-keeping with the wedding tradition, I’ll sleep elsewhere tonight and see you at the altar.”

“Goodnight, Seb,” I reply, my heart fluttering as he closes the door behind him, leaving me alone on my last night as a Miss.