“Fine,” she said. “I’m here. Impress me.” She tilted her chin, affecting nonchalance, though her stomach twisted with a tangle of nerves and anticipation she refused to acknowledge. It wasn’t bravado—it was armor.
He poured the champagne. “You are already impressed. You simply loath to admit it.”
She took the glass but didn’t drink. “Don’t be so sure.”
Magnus leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “I spent the last two days trying to decide how best to change your mind. I considered more flowers, more letters, even a ballad sung by a wandering minstrel.”
“Please tell me you did not.”
“I refrained. Barely.”
She smiled faintly. “Then this is your grand plan?”
He gestured around them. “I thought of every moment we’ve shared. Every argument, every laugh, every time you called me insufferable. And I realized something.”
She waited, her breath shallow and her mind spinning with questions. Was this the moment he would take it all back? Or worse—declare something too good to be true?
“You don’t need me to prove anything. I saw it that day in the hedge maze—when you marched off, tulip petals in your hair and fire in your eyes. I saw it when you held your ground in the ballroom, when you danced like you weren’t performing for anyone but yourself. I have watched you choose your own path, even when it veered away from me. And I want to walk it with you.” You don’t need swooning declarations or daring rescues. You need someone who sees you. All of you. And still wants to stay.”
His voice caught slightly at the end, the weight of his words surprising even himself. For a man who had spent years dancing along the edge of emotion, this confession felt like a freefall—terrifying, raw, but impossibly right.
Alexandra looked away. “And do you?”
He reached across the table and took her hand.
“I do.”
Silence stretched between them. Crickets chirped. Somewhere in the distance, a violin played.
“I was never meant for this,” she said softly. “Marriage. Expectations. Love.”
“And yet,” he replied, “here you are.”
The words landed softly but squarely in her chest. Alexandra felt their weight settle into the spaces she’d tried to leave empty—until now. A breath she hadn’t realized she was holding slipped free, the truth of it too vast to deny.
She met his gaze. “Because of you.” And in that instant, she realized just how deeply the truth of it ran—how easily he had slipped past every wall she’d so carefully built. It stunned her, but she didn’t look away.
They stood in unison, the table momentarily forgotten.
“I can’t promise I’ll be a perfect wife,” she said. “I’ll argue. I’ll storm out. I’ll speak my mind and scandalize your aunt.”
He stepped closer. “Perfect is boring. I want you,” he said, stepping closer and gently brushing a curl from her cheek, his eyes never leaving hers.
Her breath caught. For a moment, she could only stare at him, heart thudding with the echo of his words. No one had ever said anything like that to her before—unvarnished, raw, and terrifyingly sincere. She felt both unmoored and tethered all at once.
She placed a hand on his chest. Her fingers trembled slightly, not from fear, but from the enormity of what she was about to let herself feel. Her heart beat wildly beneath her ribs, louder than the night sounds around them. “Is it truly me you want?”
He kissed her.
Not with frenzy, nor fire, nor haste.
But with reverence.
It was a promise.
All of her doubts, her fears, the walls she had so carefully constructed—crumbled beneath the gentleness of his touch. Her world tilted on its axis, the enormity of what she had let herself feel humming through her entire being. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating. It was everything.
When they parted, she whispered, “Yes.”
