The moment I see the deep blue leather, the gold inlays catching the light, my breath catches.
Pride and Prejudice.
A limited-edition print—one I recognize immediately—inspired by the 1894 version, illustrated, with the exact cover and spine design that I committed to memory years ago. My fingers trace the intricate details, and something lodges deep in my chest. I swallow hard, my pulse unsteady.
I told her once—about my mother reading it to me when I was young, about how she made Alexander and I sit through every adaptation, about how it had beenours, something safe, something I kept even when I lost everything else.
She remembered.
I lift my head, but before I can say anything, Olivia speaks softly, “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I love and adore you.”
The air leaves my lungs.
The words are familiar; a line I have heard many times before. But never like this. Neverfor me. Emotion swells, thick and consuming, clawing its way up my throat before I can stop it.
She reaches for my hand, guiding me back to the book. “Open it,” she instructs.
There, on the first page, in her elegant, familiar handwriting, is a note:
Dearest Nathaniel,
That afternoon, when we watched Pride and Prejudice together, it felt like I was being reintroduced to a story I thought I already knew. I’ve read it before, watched the movie too, but somehow, sitting beside you, it was like experiencing it for the first time.
Much like you have with so many things in my life—you make me look at them differently, more closely, with new eyes.
I had never seen myself in Elizabeth Bennet before. But for the first time, I understood her in a way I never had… Her fears of vulnerability, of surrendering to something she didn’t know howto trust, of loving someone who saw through all the defenses she had carefully built.
I wonder if you’ve ever seen yourself in Darcy too… In the way your devotion is complex but unwavering, how your intensity is quiet but inescapable. Because I do. Just as Darcy wanted Elizabeth to see herself through his eyes, to know how deeply she was loved—you look at me the same way.
Just as it had been for Elizabeth, falling in love with you was inevitable, because, like Darcy, you have woven yourself into my heart, long before I even realized that I’d given it to you.
And like Elizabeth, I want to be brave. I don’t want to let fear keep me from what’s already mine.
So, if love is a choice, then I choose you. Again and again.
Merry Christmas, my love.
Always,
Your Olivia
My vision blurs. No one has ever done anything like this for me.
I set the book down, my hands still trembling. Then, before she can say anything, I pull her into my arms, planting a kiss to the top of her head.
“Thank you,” I murmur, my voice thick with emotion.
Olivia tilts her head up, brushing her fingers against my jaw. Her touch is so unbearably gentle that it makes my chest ache. “I love you,” she whispers.
The words hit me like a force of nature, like a tidal wave crashing over everything I’ve spent years trying to hold in place. I feel the words lodge in my throat again—marry me. I want to keep her, to bind her to me so tightly that she can never leave.
But I hold them back.
Because I’m terrified that if I push too hard, she will run. And if she does…what will be left of me?
So instead, I cup her face, press my forehead to hers, and whisper, “I love you too. More than I ever thought possible.” Then, I take my time kissing her, wanting to sear this moment into my bones.
Outside, the Christmas festivities continue—the distant hum of laughter, the warmth of a family I’ve spent years keeping at a distance. But here, in the quiet of my childhood bedroom, time slows. And for the first time in years, I don’t feel haunted by the past.
