"I know that," I said softly. "I just thought… I don't know what I thought."
"You thought it would be a fairy tale." His tone was flat, dismissive. "Grow up, Eleanor. This is a perfect match. He's powerful, respected, wealthy. You should be grateful that someone like that is even considering you."
Considering.Notchose. Notloves.
Considering.
I looked down at my hands, at the bracelet that suddenly felt too loose, too light. "I am grateful."
"Then stop looking for problems where there aren't any." He moved toward the door. "Fix your lipstick. You've chewed half of it off."
I turned back to the mirror as he picked up his phone, my throat tight. I swiped at my lips with a tissue, reapplied the lipstick with hands that weren't quite steady, and told myself this was normal. Pre-event jitters. Nothing more.
Mum would have asked if I was happy, not if I was grateful.
The truth sat heavier in my chest than I wanted to acknowledge. Nathan hadn't texted me in three days. The last message I'd sent—something innocuous about looking forward to tonight—had gone unanswered. I'd checked my phone seventeen times since this morning, each time hoping to see his name, each time finding nothing.
It's fine. Tonight will be fine.
The knock came ten minutes later.
Dad opened the door with a smile I'd seen him use at networking events—broad, deferential, just shy of fawning. "Nathan! Right on time."
Nathan Cole stepped into the suite like he owned it, all clean lines and expensive tailoring and the kind of quiet confidence that made people step aside without him asking. He was handsome in a sharp, controlled way—dark hair, pale eyes, a face built for magazine covers and boardroom negotiations. I had never seen his shifted form, but I assume his wolf would feel similar — sleek and powerful and perfectly in control.
He nodded at my father with the bare minimum of warmth required by politeness. "Dave. Good to see you."
"You too, you too." Dad was practically vibrating with nervous energy. "Eleanor's been looking forward to this all week."
Nathan's gaze finally found me, sweeping from my carefully straightened hair down to the heels I'd practiced walking in for an hour yesterday. His expression didn't change. Not quite approval, not quite disappointment. Just... assessment.
And behind him, as always, was Megan Hartley.
My stomach dropped.
She looked perfect, of course. Tall, sleek and poised in a dress that cost more than my entire wardrobe, her blonde hair swept up in a way that made her look both elegant and effortlessly beautiful. She barely glanced at me.
Nathan crossed the room and kissed my cheek—brief, perfunctory, the kind of gesture you gave an acquaintance at a dinner party. His cologne was sharp and expensive, the same one he always wore. I'd thought I liked it once.
"You look lovely," he said, turning toward my father.
Lovely.The word felt hollow.
"We weren't expecting you until the ball," I said, trying to keep my voice light. "I thought—"
"I wanted to speak with you both first." He glanced at Megan, who had positioned herself near the window, her expression unreadable. "Before things get… complicated."
Dad was offering drinks, playing the gracious host. Nathan accepted with a nod, settling into one of the armchairs like he'd been invited to hold court.
I stayed standing, my hands twisting together.Before things get complicated.What did that mean?
"Actually," Dad said, moving toward the adjoining door, "I'll leave you two to talk. I'm sure—"
"Stay." Nathan's tone was polite but firm. "You should hear this."
My heart jumped.This.He was going to tell us something. Something important.
This is it. He's going to tell us he's announcing our mating tonight.
