Marriage Offered, Love Declined: Part 6
Part 6
The rehearsal dinner drags on, endless conversations blending into a blur of forced smiles, polite nods, and hollow congratulations. Sebastian is across the room, effortlessly commanding a conversation with one of his associates, his posture relaxed, his presence undeniable. I hate that I notice how good he looks.
I hate even more that I notice how often his gaze flickers to me.
I don’t know how long it’s been since we last spoke, but I do know exactly how many glasses of champagne I’ve had. Too many. And yet not enough to dull the restless energy thrumming inside me.
“Livvy, you look stunning, sweetheart,” my uncle John says, beaming at me. “Now, tell me, how’s my future nephew-in-law treating you? Good man, that Sebastian. Successful, knows what he wants.”
Knows what he wants.
I swallow back a bitter laugh and lift my glass in a silent toast, locking eyes with Sebastian across the room before taking a long, slow sip. His gaze sharpens, the muscle in his jaw twitching slightly.
Interesting.
But I don’t get to dwell on it.
Because the next thing I know, Sebastian is at my side, slipping an arm around my waist like he’s always belonged there. The warmth of his touch seeps through the thin fabric of my dress, branding me.
“Would you mind if I stole my fiancée for a moment?” Sebastian asks smoothly.
My uncle chuckles, waving us off. “Ah, young love. Go on, take her.”
I barely get a chance to protest before Sebastian whisks me away, guiding me down a hallway with his hand firm at my back. Every step feels heavier, more suffocating, until suddenly, he pushes open a door—
And I realize we’re in one of the luxurious powder rooms available to our guests.
I spin around as he closes the door behind us, flicking the lock with an audible click.
“What the hell—”
“We need to talk,” he says. His voice is low, controlled, but there’s something simmering beneath it.
I cross my arms, ignoring the way the room suddenly feels smaller with him in it. “Oh? About what?”
Sebastian leans back against the door, arms crossed, watching me with that infuriatingly unreadable expression. “Let’s start with why you’re drinking champagne like it’s water.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re not my father, Sebastian.”
He lifts a brow. “No, I’m not. But I am the man you’re marrying tomorrow.”
A sharp exhale escapes me. Tomorrow. God. I need another drink.
“It’s a celebration,” I say lightly, turning my back on him to check my reflection in the mirror. “People drink at celebrations.”
“People also drink when they’re trying to forget something.” His voice is closer now.
I glance up. Big mistake.
He’s right behind me. Close enough that I can feel his heat at my back, close enough that when I meet his gaze in the mirror, the intensity in his dark eyes unnerves me.
“What exactly are you trying to forget?” he murmurs.
I force a breath. “Nothing.”
A lie.
But I can’t admit the truth. That every second of this dinner has been a reminder of how much of a lie this marriage is.
That everyone we love—our friends, our families—believe in something that isn’t real.
That Sebastian and I aren’t real. Not in the ways that matter the most.
He watches me for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before he shifts, moving even closer. His fingers skim my bare arm—a light, deliberate touch that sends heat curling low in my stomach.
“You’re upset with me,” he says. Not a question. A statement.
I swallow hard, turning to face him. “You really want to know what’s in my head, Sebastian?”
His gaze drops briefly to my mouth before lifting again. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”
I shake my head. “This whole thing. It’s just—one big farce.” My voice wavers, despite my best efforts. “We’re lying to everyone. To my family. To yours. This wedding, our marriage—it’s all just a lie.”
He exhales, tilting his head slightly. “What makes you think that?”
I blink. Seriously?
“You told me,” I snap. “You told me you don’t believe in love. You told me not to love you. How is that not a lie?”
Sebastian holds my gaze, his expression impassive, his voice impossibly steady as he says, “Love fades, Olivia. It’s temporary. What happens when it runs out?”
I shake my head. “It doesn’t have to.”
“It always does.”
You really believe that?”
“I believe that two people who like each other, who respect each other, who enjoy each other’s company—” His eyes darken as they drop to my lips before flicking back up. “—are better suited for marriage than two people blindly chasing a chemical reaction.”
A slow exhale leaves me.
He’s wrong. He has to be. But it’s impossible to think when he looks at me like that, like he knows exactly how I taste before he’s even kissed me.
I glare at him, fists clenched, my pulse still racing. “Respect is important, yes, but this marriage is just a way for you to stay in control.”
Sebastian tilts his head, his expression unreadable. “You think I don’t like losing control?”
“I know you don’t.” The words leave my lips before I can second-guess them. “You’re terrified of it.”
A slow smirk plays on his lips, but there’s something darker in his gaze now. Something that makes the space between us feel charged, too small, too hot. “If I didn’t want to be out of control, Olivia…” His voice lowers, silk-wrapped steel. “I wouldn’t do this.”
Before I can ask what this is, he moves.
A slow smirk curves his lips, but his eyes are darker now, the air between us thickening. “If I didn’t want to be out of control, Olivia…” His voice dips lower, smooth as sin. “I wouldn’t do this.”
I don’t get the chance to ask what this is.
Because he moves.
Two strides, and suddenly I’m backed against the vanity, his body pressing into mine, his hands bracketing my waist. He doesn’t kiss me immediately. Instead, he just waits, his breath warm against my lips, giving me a chance to pull away.
I don’t.
He takes my silence as permission. His mouth claims mine, firm and unrelenting, and everything inside me ignites.
Heat rushes through my veins as his lips move against mine—coaxing, teasing, demanding. It’s not careful. It’s not soft. It’s hungry. And it wrecks me instantly.
I cling to his shirt, twisting the fabric between my fingers as his tongue slides against mine, slow and devastating. God, he knows exactly what he’s doing.
A sound leaves my throat—something between a whimper and a gasp—and I feel his answering growl like a spark catching flame.
He lifts me onto the vanity without breaking the kiss, pushing between my legs as my dress rides up. My thighs squeeze around his hips on instinct.
He groans, his grip tightening as his hands slide beneath the hem of my dress, hot palms grazing my skin, teasing, exploring.
“You like being out of control, Sebastian?” My voice is breathless, taunting, but the words betray me—I’m the one unravelling.
His mouth moves to my jaw, then my neck, his lips and teeth dragging over sensitive skin. I tip my head back, my body pressing into him, already aching for more.
“Not usually,” he murmurs against my throat, his fingers trailing dangerously high along my thighs. “But with you… I don’t seem to have a choice.”
My stomach tightens at the confession, but before I can say anything, he strokes between my legs—a single, devastating touch.
I inhale sharply, my fingers digging into his shoulders.
“Already soaked,” he murmurs, his voice rough, almost self-satisfied.
Heat floods my face, but I don’t stop him.
His fingers tease the edge of my panties, a slow, torturous motion, before slipping beneath. My breath catches as he finds me, his touch both gentle and confident, stroking just enough to leave me gasping.
“Sebastian—”
His lips find mine again, swallowing whatever I was about to say as he eases a finger inside me, slow and deliberate.
My whole body tightens.
Another stroke. Another tease. Another deliberate push toward the edge.
A soft, breathy moan escapes my lips before I can stop it, and I feel Sebastian tense. His grip tightens on my thigh—as if he’s holding himself back, as if he’s barely restraining something darker, deeper.
I don’t know who moves first—if I rock my hips into his touch or if he presses deeper, pushing me exactly where he wants me—but suddenly, I’m lost.
It builds so fast. Pleasure winds tight inside me, coiling, spiralling, until every muscle tenses with unbearable anticipation. My head tips back as he drives me higher, each deliberate stroke setting me alight, until there’s nowhere left to go but over.
The orgasm rips through me, sharp and all-consuming, pleasure crashing over me in waves so intense that the only thing stopping me from crying out his name is Sebastian’s mouth on mine.
His kiss is deep, possessive, swallowing every sound, every breathless whimper as I tremble against him. I feel him everywhere—his body solid and unyielding beneath my shaking limbs, his fingers still buried inside me, teasing, coaxing.
I whimper at the loss when he finally pulls away. I crave him. I want him inside me, filling me, consuming me.
His forehead presses to mine, his breathing just as uneven as mine. “I want you,” he murmurs, voice rough, raw with restraint. “Do you still need a month?”
My pulse pounds in my ears. Every nerve in my body screams no.
I don’t need a month. I need him now. But before I can say it—before I can do anything—the knock on the door shatters the moment.
Sebastian’s entire body goes rigid.
“Sebastian. I know you’re in there.”
I freeze. The voice is unmistakable.
Shaun.
Shit.
Sebastian exhales sharply, his patience evaporating in real-time. “I’m going to kill him.”
I grip his forearm, trying to steady my own shaking hands. “Don’t.” My voice is breathless, not entirely convincing. “This is hard enough for him. Please… don’t make a scene.”
Sebastian clenches his jaw, his muscles taut with barely restrained irritation. He waits while I slide off the vanity, my legs unsteady, my breathing uneven. I smooth down my dress with trembling hands, avoiding my reflection in the mirror.
Because if I look, I’ll see what I already know.
I can’t keep pretending I don’t want this.
Another knock—harder this time.
Sebastian yanks the door open, his expression one of pure bored menace.
Shaun stands there, glass in one hand, the other slung lazily around Carmen Young’s shoulders.
I blink. Carmen?
Shaun’s smirk is all sharp edges, his words slightly slurred. “Thought we’d stop by and—what was it, Carmen?—offer our congratulations?”
Carmen giggles, pressing her body closer to Shaun’s side. Her smirk matches his.
The air in the hallway shifts, thickening with something ugly and unspoken.
I feel Sebastian go completely still beside me.
Shaun’s gaze drags over me too slowly, too purposefully, like he’s daring me to react. “Carmen used to date Sebastian,” he adds casually. “Before you decided to—what was it? Swap brothers?”
Carmen hums her agreement, dragging a manicured nail along Shaun’s chest. “She obviously has a type.”
Sebastian doesn’t say a word, but I can feel the change in him.
The coil of restrained fury, barely contained.
I don’t know if it’s about Shaun, about Carmen, or about the sheer spectacle of this moment, but he’s furious.
The tension between them is thick enough to suffocate.
“Shaun, you’re drunk,” I say, my voice firmer than I expect. “Go home and sleep it off.”
Shaun grins, cruel and unbothered. “Oh, we’re staying. My big brother’s getting married, after all. I should be here, don’t you think?”
He clinks his glass against Sebastian’s chest, the gesture mocking.
Sebastian doesn’t react—not physically. But his fingers twitch at his sides, a nearly imperceptible movement that tells me he wants to break Shaun in half.
Shaun sways slightly, his smirk widening. “Hell, I should be the one getting married, but you stole my girl. So now I get to watch you fuck up her life—and yours too. This should be like watching a train wreck in slow motion.”
A sharp breath escapes me before I can stop it.
Sebastian hears it. Feels it. His head tilts slightly toward me, as if gauging my reaction, but I keep my gaze fixed ahead. I can’t look at him.
Shaun leans in, voice dropping to something quieter, something darker. Something meant just for us.
“Funny how you’ve got everyone here fooled.” His gaze flicks to me, sharp and assessing, his lips curling into something close to a smirk. “Not me, though. I know the truth.”
Sebastian finally speaks, his voice calm, measured, and razor-sharp.
“And what’s that?”
Shaun takes a slow, lazy sip of his drink, letting the moment stretch. Letting the words sink in before he delivers them.
“That it’ll never work,” he says simply. “This marriage. You two.”
He pauses, shaking his head, as if he almost feels sorry for us. Almost.
Then, with the precision of a blade:
“It. Will. Never. Work.”
The air between us turns electric.
Shaun lets out a low chuckle, then leans in slightly—just enough to twist the knife.
“You can’t make something out of nothing, brother.” His eyes flick to Sebastian, glinting with something almost triumphant. “Not when you’ll never love anyone after Sierra.”
Shaun throws an arm around Carmen again, disappearing into the crowd, leaving his words behind like the sting of a slap.
Sebastian doesn’t move.
Neither do I.
But I feel it—the shift in the air, the way his body stiffens beside me, how his grip tightens just enough to betray what he won’t say.
“Don’t listen to him,” Sebastian says, his voice far steadier than it should be. “It will work.”
A chill runs down my spine. Because of course it will. Sebastian will make it work—with the same precision and control he wields over everything else. He’ll ensure our marriage is seamless, polished, untouchable.
A perfect illusion.
But what if that’s all it ever is?
What if I spend the rest of my life standing in the shadow of a ghost?