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The one thing I’d always wanted. “I want a guarantee for my team—employment contracts for all of them, full protection. I want to forego the remainder of the six month term for them. Employment contracts tonight for the lot of them. I will still stay on of course. To finish what I started."
Atticus was silent for a long moment, the only sounds the gentle breaking of waves and the distant calls of night birds. Finally, he nodded. "It's done," he promised. "They’ll be taken care of."
I turned to face him again, the moonlight and the reflective glow from the pool casting his face in a soft light. “In writing. Tonight. Before we get married.”
His features were etched with determination, the shadows playing across his face as he moved closer. "Of course. But this is dangerous." he asked, his tone a mixture of curiosity and concern.
"It’s the best chance we have," I replied, my voice a whisper. "If your father believes nothing has changed, he might make a mistake, reveal himself."
Atticus nodded slowly, processing the strategy. "And what about us?" he asked, his voice low. "What happens to us in all of this?"
I hesitated, the answer tangled up in fears and past hurts. "For now, we focus on the plan. We can't afford distractions."
"A marriage of convenience," he mused softly, his gaze intense. "Is that all this is to you?"
The question hung in the air, charged and challenging. I met his gaze, my own resolve firming. "Yes," I lied. "That's all this is."
He studied me for a moment longer, then quietly acquiesced. "If that's what you need, then that's how we'll play this."
We stood there, two figures shadowed by the moonlight, bound by necessity but divided by past betrayals. The ocean whispered secrets in its ceaseless murmur, and the frangipani scent hung heavy as a reminder of the lush, vibrant life all around us—a stark contrast to the sterile arrangement we had conspired.
Yet, as the night deepened and we discussed details, the barriers between us seemed less insurmountable. With each word, each plan laid bare, I found the distance between us shortening, not just in steps but in the space that had grown in our hearts.
Perhaps, in the quiet assurance of his promises and the earnestness of his plans, lay the seeds of trust. Maybe, just maybe, this could work. Not just the scheme, but the fragile bud of 'us' that refused to wither completely.
As the first hints of dawn tinged the horizon with pink, we were no longer just two allies plotting in the night, but two souls, cautiously orbiting back towards each other, driven by necessity but tethered, irrevocably, by something deeper, something neither of us was ready to name just yet.
Chapter 24
GWEN
This morning, beneath the stern gaze of a notary and the opulent chandeliers of the palace's private library, Atticus and I had signed our marriage contract. The scratch of the pen, the crisp snap of the document as it was folded, the formal handshakes—it all marked the transaction as clear and straightforward, devoid of the messiness of emotions.
But despite knowing it wasn't real, it was impossible not to get caught up in the undercurrent of something that felt dangerously close to excitement.
Now, as I stood in the ornate dressing room of the palace, the memory of the morning's business-like proceedings mingled oddly with the reflection staring back at me from the mirror. I was draped in a gown that whispered promises of a fairytale, its beauty a stark contrast to the contract's cold clauses.
The dress was a masterpiece by Monique Lhuillier, an embroidered lace V-neck metallic tulle gown that shimmered with a life of its own. The fabric cascaded down in a symphony of soft, ethereal tulle, the skirt billowing gently around my feet like a cloud touched by the first light of dawn. Delicate lace adorned the bodice, its placement strategic, to cover my breasts, enhancing the curves and contours of my form with an artistry that spoke of timeless elegance. The lace, sprinkled with faint metallic threads, caught the light, casting a subtle iridescence that made the gown seem as if it were woven from the fibers of moonlight.
My hair was pinned up loosely, half up and half down, strands escaping here and there to frame my face with a softness that felt both deliberate and carefree.
And on top of my head sat a simple diamond tiara, borrowed from the queen, its stones catching the light and reflecting it back in a dazzling display of brilliance, lending an air of regality that felt both foreign and intoxicating.
As I turned slightly, catching the light and watching the dress sparkle with life, Queen Penny’s diminutive blonde assistant came in bearing a lush bouquet. Her steps were tentative on the plush carpet, and in her hands, she held a bouquet, the colors strikingly bold against the pale tones of the room. She handed it to me with a nod, her eyes bright with the excitement that everyone seemed to share on this day.
The bouquet was a riot of colors—vivid oranges, deep purples, fiery reds, and bright yellows, each flower vibrant and bursting with life. They were hand-picked, the note attached to the bouquet told me, each bloom carefully chosen by Atticus himself. The note's words were simple yet profound:
— I picked these myself this morning. These flowers symbolize what you’ve done to me: brought me to life and made me live boldly in color. I vow to be the husband you deserve. —
Tears pricked my eyes and I had to fight them back.
Don’t you dare cry and ruin the make up job. Remember, this isn’t real.
I traced a finger over the petals, their texture as rich and alive as the emotions swirling within me. Despite the reminders I kept repeating to myself—that this marriage was all business, a strategic alliance, nothing more—I couldn't suppress the flutter in my heart, the warmth that spread through me with each word I read. I had brought color to his life, but he, unknowingly, had painted my very soul with shades I thought had faded long ago.
Another tear welled and I blinked it away. This was just a marriage of convenience, I reminded myself.
Get it together.
