Convenience of Marriage

Everyone in the Whitmore estate was rushing around that particular morning. The skies were clear and the sun shone brightly. It was the day that marked Cecelia's true comeback to high society so everyone was on edge, especially Margaret and the family's stylist Elio Fontaine. 

"No, Ma'am. This face? This face belongs in paintings, not in beige."

"Maybe the blush silk? That looked sweet on her…"

"Sweet is for fruit, darling. We're going for stunning."

"…What about sleeves?"

"Absolutely not. She has arms like a Botticelli painting and I refuse to hide them!"

Cecelia did not bother entering this battle and just let them play dress up with her like she was a doll. 

"Give me the pearl pins, the silk wrap, and a moment of silence to mourn whoever thought she needed sequins."

"And…we are done. Voila!" 

The curtains drew to reveal Elio's newest creation. 

The gown curved over her shoulders in a delicate sweep of lavender satin, the off-shoulder sleeves puffed just enough. The bodice cinched softly at the waist, drawing the eye to the effortless grace of her posture. Ethereal white cascading tulle spilled from her hips like clouds unraveling at her feet, catching the light with every slight movement. Her hair fell like a silk curtain, each strand lay in place obediently just like their owner. 

Dozens of amethyst teardrops, deep and crystalline, hung like captured twilight from a lattice of fine diamond work. Each stone was cut with surgical precision, their sharp gleam softened only by the royal curves of the silver filigree that bound them together. 

It sat high on the collarbone like a ceremonial collar, the center drop falling just above the heart. Every turn of the light sent the jewels into flickers of fire and frost. Purple flame kissed with glints of white.

Matching earrings completed the ensemble, two smaller amethysts suspended from intricate diamond-set scrollwork. 

Everyone present gasped at the sight and were staring in awe until Margaret led Cecelia behind the beaded curtains leading to the mezzanine balcony where Bennett stood with his sons and Dawn, giving a dramatic speech. 

"My daughter…she has gone through a lot. I humbly request the noble ladies present here to be tolerant if she makes ignorant mistakes and offer her guidance. Now, I will bring out the lady of the hour. My daughter. Cecelia Arden Whitmore!"

Cecelia walked out, linking arms with her mother. Her eyes twitched as they adjusted to the bright light cast upon her face. She smiled and waved at the people below. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, before we get carried away with the rest of the festivities, I have one more announcement." 

Everyone on the balcony shifted to a side to welcome the newcomer. A man with flaming red hair, a tall and lean body. He was dressed in a sharp white suit and his hair combed back and to the side in smooth, gleaming waves. A subtle widow's peak accentuated the crisp part on the left, and every strand held its place, the sheen catching the light like polished mahogany. The soft curl at the front lifted slightly above his brow, a perfectly sculpted quiff that gave him the air of a dashing rogue.

"Next month, the Whitmores and Sinclairs will become one through the union of our Cecelia and Marquess of Westrath, Sebastian Marius Sinclair."

The crowd erupted into thunderous claps.

Sebastian, now stood next to Cecelia, whips out a ring box revealing a gigantic diamond inlaid on a platinum band. 

"This is for you, Miss Cecelia." Sebastian said as he slipped the ring onto Cecelia's ring finger. 

The two were then led to the dance floor where they waltzed to The Blue Danube. 

Sebastian's hand lingered a little too long at the small of her back, guiding her effortlessly through the turn. His gaze never left her face , not even once , as if trying to memorize every flicker of her expression.

"You look…" He exhaled, his voice lower now, meant only for her. "You look like every man's undoing tonight."

Cecelia's eyes didn't meet his, not immediately. She kept her chin high, her focus fixed on the polished floor behind his shoulder. "That sounds more like a warning than a compliment."

His lips curved. "Maybe it's both."

The strings of The Blue Danube surged around them, the ballroom drifting into a blur of velvet gowns and eager stares. She could feel the heat of Sebastian's body against hers, his palm pressing confidently against the curve of her waist, fingers curling ever so slightly with each movement as if he resented the thin barrier of silk between his skin and hers.

"I'm glad you're back," he said, quieter now. "Truly. It hasn't been the same without you. Everything's been…" He faltered, and for a second, the real man seemed to peek out from behind the polish. "Empty."

Cecelia finally looked up at him. Her green eyes held his for a beat too long, and he mistook it for softness.

"I missed you," Sebastian said, his voice low, almost reverent. "More than I know how to say."

Cecelia tilted her head slightly, offering a delicate smile that glittered just enough to pass for warmth. "That's very poetic of you."

"I'm not trying to be poetic," he said. His hand slid slightly, pressing her closer. "I'm trying to be honest."

"My lord, you need not shower me with these meaningless sugarcoated words."

Sebastian didn't say anything right away. He studied her, studied her the way one studies a rare piece of art. The interprets. The colors. The shapes. The price that had to be paid to possess it.

"I don't pretend with you, Cecelia. I never have. You know that."

She laughed softly, the sound feather-light and devastating. "You're very good at meaning things, My lord. Even when they don't really mean anything good."

The waltz spun them beneath the chandelier's golden halo. Her skirts flared, his grip firm, his control flawless but there was something too still in the way he held her, like a man keeping his prize in place.

"You can say what you like," he murmured, "but you belong to this world. To me." You can't run away this time. 

That was the bottom line.

Cecelia's lips parted, his words came across as a surprise to her but then, with a voice like silk sliding over a blade, she replied.

"I belong to no one."

His jaw tightened, just barely.

But the music swept them onward, and Cecelia smiled again. Lovely and cool and camera-ready as if nothing tense had passed between them at all. The applause was beginning to rise, slow and swelling.

And Sebastian, ever the gentleman, dipped his head and brushed his lips over her gloved hand like a prince out of a fairytale.

Only she knew the truth. Fairytales never end well for the woman who can't be kept.

One after the other, Cecelia had already danced five rounds before she finally escaped to a quiet balcony away from all the noise.

She began to process what had just happened. 

She was about to marry someone. Someone she swore she never would. Not the someone she vowed to marry. 

Behind her, the door opened with a soft click.

"I'd say you disappeared, but that would imply I noticed," a voice drawled lightly.

Cecelia turned. Her spine stiffened, though her expression did not.

Soren.

He stepped into view with quiet steps, wine glass in one hand, moonlight pooling along the shoulder of his black coat. His tie had been loosened. A single strand of hair had fallen across his brow, but nothing about him looked unkempt. Just… unraveled in a deliberate way.

She composed herself. "I wasn't aware we were close enough for you to speak to me so freely."

He smiled faintly. "We're not. But I've never been particularly good at staying in my lane, Sister-in-law"

He approached, stopping beside her with a languid grace. He offered the glass.

She didn't take it.

"No?" he asked, as if it were a shared joke. "Pity. I hear you're fond of cabernets. The dry kind. Acidic. Complex."

Cecelia didn't respond. Her eyes shifted, a flicker of wariness, quickly veiled.

Soren watched her for a long moment. "You played the role well tonight, a born actress. I can see why they chose you."

There it was.

She didn't flinch, but her gaze cut to him like a drawn blade.

"I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean."

He leaned just slightly closer, lowering his voice to a murmur.

"No one else here knows what you're capable of but I do, Sabine Vale."