Marriage Offered, Love Declined: Part 4
Part 4
That night, Sebastian insists on taking me to dinner. We’ve spent every evening together since my father left the hospital, and I know why—he wants us to be seen. A carefully crafted narrative, as he calls it. Appearances matter.
I don’t ask how his breakup with Carmen went. I don’t want to know, and I sure as hell don’t want to run into her.
When the waiter approaches, Sebastian orders for both of us—several courses, wine, the works. I barely glance at the menu before he hands it back.
“I’m not that hungry,” I murmur.
He doesn’t even pretend to hear me. “You’ll eat.” His tone is non-negotiable, and I’m learning quickly that arguing with Sebastian Winters is a waste of breath.
As the waiter walks away, Sebastian studies me, his gaze far too perceptive. “You’re not sleeping well.”
“I’m fine.”
“Olivia, you look like the walking dead.”
I shift uncomfortably under his scrutiny. “Just what every woman wants to hear.”
His lips twitch, but he doesn’t apologize.
He takes a sip of his drink. “How did things go with Renee today? Was she helpful?”
“Very. Though I don’t understand why you’d pull your assistant back from her holiday instead of hiring a wedding planner.”
He leans back in his chair, casual but entirely in control. “Because I thought you might need more than a wedding planner.”
I frown. “And what exactly do I need?”
“A friend.”
The answer catches me off guard. It’s the last thing I expected from him. “Oh.”
“So, did you two make headway?”
“Yes, but…”
“But?”
I take a sip of wine, gathering my thoughts carefully. “It made me realize I don’t know you at all. Every time she asked me a question about what we want, I had no idea how to answer. I kept asking her what you’d like or what you’d think of my choices.”
Sebastian leans back in his chair, watching me with that infuriatingly unreadable expression. “This is your wedding, Olivia. You’ll only have one. Make it whatever you want.”
I let out a sharp breath, something between a laugh and disbelief. “Is that so? Because you don’t seem like the kind of man who lets anyone make a decision that affects him without his approval.”
His smirk is slow, deliberate. “And yet, here we are. You’re the one planning a wedding.”
I arch a brow. “Am I? Because I could have sworn you orchestrated the entire thing.”
His eyes darken slightly, his amusement laced with something heavier. “I didn’t orchestrate it. I simply took the opportunity when it presented itself.”
I grip my wineglass tighter, my pulse kicking up.
Maybe it’s the candlelight, or maybe it’s just him, but for a split second, I catch a flicker of something in his sharp, chiselled features—amusement? Calculation? The way the light casts angular shadows across his strong jawline only emphasizes his confidence, his ability to control a room without saying much.
“So what does that make me, then?” I ask, voice sharper than I intend. “A well-timed business acquisition?”
Sebastian doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he studies me, his gaze sweeping over my face, lingering just long enough to unsettle me. His voice dips lower, quieter, like we’re teetering on the edge of something I don’t know how to name.
“Is that what you think, Olivia?”
I swallow. I want to say yes. I want to keep my distance. But there’s something in the way he looks at me—like he already knows the answer, like he’s waiting for me to catch up.
A slow smile curves his lips, dark and knowing, and something in his gaze shifts—heavier, more deliberate. “Once we’re married,” he murmurs, “we’ll get to know each other very quickly.”
I know exactly what he means. The air between us thickens, my body reacting before I can stop it. A slow flush creeps up my neck, warmth pooling low in my stomach. I tell myself it’s annoyance, irritation—anything but anticipation.
Then Sebastian reaches across the table and takes my hand.
His fingers are warm, steady, commanding. He strokes slow, lazy circles against my palm, his touch firm but unhurried, as if he’s testing me. Testing how I’ll react.
I should pull away. I don’t.
“Don’t look so scared,” he murmurs. “I’m not going to maul you the moment you say ‘I do.’”
I let out a shaky breath. “Of course,” I say, though my voice betrays me—breathier than I’d like, embarrassingly soft. “It’s all just… sudden.”
His thumb never stops moving. A casual caress. An unspoken promise. The sensation is maddening. Too much. Not enough.
“How about this,” he says, his voice smooth as sin. “I’ll give you one month from our wedding day to get used to the idea of us… together.” His tone dips lower, the words sliding between us like silk. Intimate. Inevitable. “Either you’ll come to me, or on our one-month anniversary, I’ll come to you.”
His fingers tighten around mine, just slightly. A subtle reminder that he’ll wait—but only for so long.
“And Olivia—” his voice turns molten, the warning in it unmistakable. “If I come to you, I expect you to be willing.”
A sharp pulse of heat jolts through me.
I hate that my breath catches. Hate the way something tightens deep inside me, low and insistent.
I swallow hard. “That’s fair.”
Sebastian lifts my hand to his lips, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the centre of my palm. His mouth is warm, the slightest drag of heat against my skin sending a traitorous shiver down my spine.
His eyes never leave mine. Dark. Knowing. Infuriatingly patient.
“I’ve never slept with an unwilling woman, and I don’t intend to start with you.” He releases my hand—but not before I snatch it back to my lap, as if that will erase the feel of him.
Sebastian smirks, knowing exactly what he’s doing to me.
“But patience isn’t my virtue, Olivia,” he murmurs, his voice a quiet promise. “Don’t expect me to wait a month to touch you.”
I should be appalled. Offended. Something. Instead, I sit there, pulse hammering, heat licking at my skin in a way I can’t ignore as I imagine what it will be like between us when he does come to me.
The waiter arrives to refill our wine, and I seize the moment to break whatever spell Sebastian is casting. I reclaim my hand, pick up my glass, and try to pretend like I’m not on the verge of combusting.
The rest of the meal passes quickly. As always, Sebastian is charming, composed, and maddeningly effortless. Conversation with him is easy—when it’s about me. He listens, asks questions, seems genuinely interested. But when I push for anything personal? Nothing. He deflects smoothly, offering polished, surface-level responses. His business. His travels. But never himself.
I want to ask about Sierra—the woman who, according to Shaun, shattered him so badly he shut himself off from love forever. But the way Sebastian steers every conversation makes it clear—he shares only what he wants to, and I won’t get anything unless he chooses to give it to me.
Eventually, the restaurant closes, and Sebastian’s driver takes us back to my apartment. When the car pulls up, he exits first, rounding to my side and opening the door for me. His fingers slide around mine, firm but unhurried, as he helps me out.
He doesn’t let go.
I don’t pull away.
I can feel the weight of his gaze, the heat between us thick in the cool night air.
“Thank you for tonight,” I say, my voice softer than I mean it to be. “Both the meal and the company were… enjoyable.”
His eyes flick to my lips.
I wonder if he’ll finally kiss me.
The longer he doesn’t, the more aware I am that I want him to—just to get it over with. The tension between us is unbearable, consuming, and I don’t know how much longer I can stand it.
His dark hair falls slightly over his forehead, a rare, almost careless detail that makes him look less like the cold, untouchable businessman and more like someone dangerously real.
What does he taste like?
He leans in, and I brace myself to find out. But instead of claiming my lips, he presses a slow, lingering kiss to my cheek—just like he has every other night.
“Goodnight, Olivia.” His voice is a quiet drawl, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone. “Try to sleep. I can’t have my bride-to-be walking around like a zombie.”
Before I can respond, he steps back, waiting until I’m inside before turning toward the car.
As I close the door behind me, I press my fingers against my cheek. The warmth of his lips still lingers, seared into my skin like a brand. A meaningless gesture to him, but something far too dangerous to me.
He has everything he wants. A deal signed, a contract sealed. My body, eventually. A wife in name, someone to wear his ring and play her part. It’s business. Practical. To him, I’m an asset, a convenience. Nothing more.
But for me? It’s my life.
I take a slow breath, steadying myself against the door. He can afford to be careless with this arrangement. I can’t. If this marriage twists into something else, if I let myself forget what it really is… I’ll be the one left shattered.
I can’t stop this wedding, but I can control what it takes from me.
He doesn’t want my heart. And I won’t make the mistake of offering it.