"Hi," I say with a smile hoping to lighten the mood.
"Hi."
I move to the side, letting her in, and she goes straight to the couch. We sit. Not touching. The space between us feels like miles.
"Thank you for coming," I start.
"I'm not here to make this easy for you."
"I don't want easy. I want honest." I turn to face her. "Isla, I fucked up. Monumentally. In the one moment that mattered most, I hesitated and I hate myself for that more than you could possibly hate me."
"I don't hate you." Her voice is quiet. "I wish I did. This would be easier if I hated you."
"What do you feel?"
"Hurt. Angry. Disappointed." She looks at me finally. "But also confused. Because I saw that speech. Read the poems. And I know you're trying. I just don't know if trying is enough."
"What would be enough?"
"I don't know!" Her composure cracks. "That's the problem. I don't know what I need from you to trust this again. To trust us again. Because that hesitation showed me that when it matters, when there's real pressure, part of you still chooses the legacy over me."
"That's not true?—"
"It is true. For thirty seconds, it was true. And I need to know that won't happen again. That the next time your father makes demands, or your world pushes back, or there's any conflict between me and the Thornhill name, you won't have to think about it."
"I won't. I swear I won't."
"You can't promise that. You can't know for certain until you're in that moment again."
She's right. I can't promise. Can't guarantee I won't fuck up again.
"You're right," I admit. "I can't promise perfection. I can't guarantee I'll never hesitate or doubt or make mistakes. But I can promise that I'll keep choosing you. That even when it's hard, even when my conditioning tries to pull me back, I'll fight it. I'll fight for us."
"How do I know that?"
"Because I've already started fighting. I've cut my father off. Told him we're done until he apologizes to you. I've resigned from Legacy Council?—"
"Sebastian, no?—"
"I did. Because being president meant representing values I don't believe in anymore. Meant upholding a system that made you feel like you don't belong. I'm done with that."
"You can't throw away your whole life for me."
"I'm not throwing anything away. I'm choosing what matters. And you matter more than any of it." I reach for her hand, and miracle of miracles, she doesn't pull away. "Isla, I've spent twenty-one years being who everyone else wanted me to be. Rich. Connected. The perfect Thornhill heir. And I was miserable. Then you came into my life and showed me who I could be instead. Someone real. Someone worthy of you. I'm not giving that up."
"What about your father? Your family?"
"My father will come around or he won't. Either way, it doesn't change my choice." I squeeze her hand. "You asked me once what happens after the contract. I told you I wanted to keep seeing you for real. That's still true. Contract or no contract, obligation or choice, I want you. I choose you. Without hesitation."
She's quiet for a long moment, tears streaming down her face.
"I'm scared," she whispers.
"Me too."
"What if this doesn't work? What if we try and it's not enough?"
"Then at least we tried. At least we gave ourselves a real chance." I pull her closer. "But I think it will work. Because we'reboth stubborn and difficult and we've already survived the worst of each other. Anything else is just details."
