I sat at the edge of the pool, legs dipped in cool water, flipping the ring over in my palm. The same ring she’d cried over. Not because of the price or the design—but because of everything it didn’t mean.
I still didn’t get it.
She’d said she didn’t want the marriage anymore. But last night, she’d kissed me like I was oxygen and she was drowning. We had given in to something deeper—maybe lust, maybe confusion, but definitely real. And I needed to understand what the hell that meant.
“Your grandpa said that… you have to go to the office later on at 3 to attend meetings.” I turned and saw her approaching. She sat beside me, her voice quieter than usual. She took the ring from my hand without a word and slipped it back on her finger like a truce. Or maybe a leash.
“Do you want to tell me why you cried last night?” She stared at the water as it rippled around our legs.
“I just want to be happy,” she said, voice heavy. “Is that a crime?”
“No,” I said quietly. “You deserve to be happy.” Her words weren’t about the ring. They were about the pressure. The weight of expectations crushing her spirit into silence.
“I know the idea of us getting married will make a lot of people happy,” she continued. “But what about us? We’re the ones marrying each other. I wanted to make my grandpa proud… but what about me?” I looked at her. Not the woman I slept with. Not the secretary I once ordered around. But her. Catherine Ashton. The real one—torn between duty and desire.
“I understand,” I said. “I thought maybe… you were sad because the ring wasn’t enough.”
She laughed dryly. “No.” Silence again.
“After meeting your friends yesterday,” she said, “they looked happy.”
“Ian and Tatiana weren’t married for love. It was an arrangement.”
“But they’re in love now. You can see it.”
“You’ve known them for five minutes,” I said.
“You can tell when a guy’s in love. You see it in his eyes.”
“Cliché.”
She smacked my arm. “Have you ever been in love?”
I grinned. “I was too busy with work, remember?”
She mocked my voice in a high-pitched tone. “Oh righttttt! Too busy with work.”
“You sounded just like that.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“You’re annoying.”
“You didn’t say that last night.”
Her face turned pink. She kicked my side, and I tumbled into the pool.
I surfaced and glared at her. “You did not just—”
“Oops,” she said, too smug. I grabbed her ankle.
“Jacob, don’t.” I rose between her legs, drenched and grinning. “You’re wearing a white shirt.”
She paled. “You pervert.” She smacked me, but it was too late—I yanked her into the water. She splashed up with a shriek, smacking my arm.
“I can’t swim!” she screamed, clinging to me like a koala.
“You what?” I started walking to the deep end just to tease her.
“Jacob. I swear. I will end you.” She buried her face into my neck, panicking. That’s when I realized she wasn’t joking. Her breath hitched.
“Okay, okay—back to the shallow end,” I muttered, instantly turning. She smacked me the second I got her out of the pool.
“You are mean,” she hissed. I didn’t even have a chance to appreciate the view, her shirt clung to her body, curves visible before she splashed water in my face.
“Pervert.”
“You started it,” I said, laughing. “And you’re hot, so sue me.” I handed her a towel and ruffled her hair.
“Go take a shower,” I said, already making my way upstairs. In the bathroom, I laughed under the water. Her threats, her spark—God, she was a storm. And I was getting caught in it.
Later, dressed in a suit and fixing my tie, I knocked on her door. No answer. She was probably still showering. I left alone, headed downstairs. My grandfather was waiting.
“Sit down,” he said, formal. Great. What now?
“I spoke to Tim,” he began. “We’ve agreed—” That alone made me nervous.
“You and Catherine don’t need to get married next month.”
I blinked. “Wait. What?”
“We’re postponing the wedding. Give you two a year. Time to grow.”
“A year?” He nodded. “But you’ll remain engaged. No dating other women. You and Catherine decide: marry in a month, or next year. You tell me tomorrow.” My head spun. They were the ones pushing the wedding. Now they were… backing off?
A year?
I nodded slowly, unsure what to feel. Relief? Confusion? Maybe a little of both. I left the room, his words echoing in my head.
You and Catherine decide.
For the first time, it was our choice. The question was… what would we do with it?