"I know." I say softly.
"You made my life hell because I hurt your feelings?"
"Yes."
"Jesus, Sebastian." She stands, paces away from the bench. "Do you have any idea how that sounds? How petty and cruel and?—"
"I know. I know exactly how it sounds and I can't take any of it back. Can't undo two years of being an asshole. But I can tell you the truth." I stand too, facing her across the distance. "I didn't bid on you to humiliate you. I bid on you because I wanted another chance. A real chance to show you I'm more than what you think."
"Why should I believe that?"
"Because I'm standing here telling you something I've never told anyone. Because I wrote poetry about you that no one's ever seen. Because every time I tried to hate you, I couldn't." My voice drops. "Because you scare the hell out of me, Isla Monroe."
"I scare you?" She almost laughs. "I'm a scholarship student with two jobs and second-hand clothes. You're Sebastian Thornhill. What could possibly scare you about me?"
"Everything. You see through all the bullshit. You don't care about my name or my money. You work harder than anyone I've ever met and never complain. You're real in a way no one else at this school is real." I take a step toward her. "And you made me want to be real too. That's terrifying."
She stares at me, and I can see her processing. Weighing my words against two years of evidence to the contrary.
"I don't know if I can trust this," she says quietly. "Trust you."
"I know."
"Two years, Sebastian. Two years of comments and sabotage and making me feel like I don't belong. You can't just apologize and expect that to disappear."
"I'm not expecting anything. I'm just asking for a chance to do better. To be better." I close the distance between us until we're standing a foot apart. "Three more dates. That's what the contract says. Let me use them to prove I'm not who I was. That I can be who you deserve."
"And if you can't?"
"Then you walk away, and I'll have earned that too."
The air between us feels charged. Dangerous. Like we're standing on the edge of something neither of us fully understands.
"This is insane," she whispers.
"Probably."
"You're asking me to give you a chance after everything you've done."
"Yes."
"Why would I do that?" The question escapes in a whisper.
"Because I think you felt it too. On the ice. In the kitchen. Right now." I risk reaching for her hand. She doesn't pull away. "Because maybe we're both tired of hating each other when we could be something else."
"What else could we be?"
"I don't know. But I want to find out."
Her hand is warm in mine.
"Three more dates," she says finally. "But I'm not promising anything. You don't get forgiveness just because you're finally being honest."
"I know."
"And if you hurt me again, if this is some elaborate game, I will destroy you. I don't know how, but I'll find a way."
Despite everything, I smile. "I believe you."
