His Father Bought Me-Chapter 26: High And Dry

The hand of the clock struck over to four a.m.

Estelle sat in front of the mirror, taking herself in one last time. The light was bright, catching every detail, every flaw she refused to let exist in that moment. Her fingers lifted, smoothing a stray strand of hair back into place, lingering there for a second longer than necessary.

Her heart wouldn’t slow down. Roman had been gone for hours, and time was slipping. She drew in a steady breath, her shoulders rising, then falling as she forced herself to stay still. Perfect. Everything had to be perfect.

Then the door opened behind her. The sound was soft, but it cut through her thoughts instantly.

She didn’t turn right away, she just caught his reflection in the mirror first.

"Finally," she said, the words leaving her lips before he could speak. "I thought you’d never show."

Roman stepped fully into the room, the door closing quietly behind him. "I wasn’t going to leave you high and dry," he replied, his tone easy, but his eyes were already moving, taking everything in.

The room was different now, orderly, intentional. The bed was cleared, and the clothes were neatly arranged. In the corner, the soft glow of the ring light cast a warm halo, already set, already waiting. There was no turning back now.

His gaze shifted and landed on her. For a moment, he just stopped.

Estelle saw it in the mirror before she felt it. The way his expression changed, the way something unguarded flickered across his face, not calculation, not strategy, something else...something that made her heart beat faster, her breath catching.

Roman didn’t say anything. His eyes traced her, slow, almost disbelieving, like he was trying to reconcile the woman in front of him with the one he’d left behind.

His eyes made heat creep up her neck. "Are you just going to stand there staring?" she said, sharper than she intended, cutting through his thoughts. "The dress!"

Roman blinked, as if pulling himself back. "Oh, right. That." A faint, almost embarrassed breath left him. "Sorry." He moved forward, setting the bags down and opening them one by one. Fabric whispered softly as he pulled out the dresses, the rich material catching the light. "I got options," he added, glancing up at her briefly. "Couldn’t decide what you’d prefer."

Estelle didn’t hesitate. "Just get your tux and be ready," she said, her tone clipped, though her fingers tightened slightly against the arm of her chair. "We’re running out of time." She wheeled herself forward, reaching for one of the dresses without really looking, the fabric cool and smooth beneath her hands.

Roman watched her for a second, then took a step closer. "Do you need me to help—"

"I’ve got it." Her reply came quick, slicing through his offer. She didn’t look at him as she began unpacking the dress. "I need privacy." The words hung between them.

Roman hesitated. Something flickered across his face, instinct, maybe, or the urge to argue, but whatever it was faded just as quickly, and he gave a small nod instead. "Alright."

With that, he picked up his tuxedo and turned toward the bathroom. As he stepped inside, the door closing softly behind him, the noise of the room dulled. The air was cooler in here, faintly scented with polished marble and something clean. Roman set the tux aside and looked up. His reflection stared back at him.

For a moment, he just stood there, hands braced lightly against the counter, his jaw tightening as thoughts crowded in. Magnus, the ring in his pocket, Estelle on the other side of the door, waiting, trusting him more than she should. It almost felt too much, but he forced himself to exhale slowly, the breath leaving him in a controlled release.

There wasn’t time for any of it. Not now.

—

Moments later, Roman stepped back into the room, stopping just inside the doorway. Estelle sat in her chair, already dressed, but not quite.

The fabric hugged her frame perfectly, the burnt orange color catching the soft glow of the ring light, but the zipper at her back was only halfway up. The lower part of the dress was bunched awkwardly beneath her, refusing to fall into place. She was trying to fix it, one hand reaching back, the other tugging at the fabric with growing frustration.

Roman opened his mouth, instinctively ready to offer help, then he paused. He already knew what she would say, so instead, he said nothing. He just crossed the room to where she sat.

Before Estelle could react, before she could put up the wall, his fingers were already at her back, steady and sure as he drew the zipper up in one smooth motion. The soft sound of it closing filled the space between them.

Estelle inhaled sharply. "Roman, I—"

But the protest didn’t make it far, because in the next breath, he had already moved. One arm slid carefully around her, the other supporting her as he lifted her from the chair. The sudden shift stole the rest of her words.

"Lean on me," Roman said quietly, his voice low, firm, grounding in a way she hadn’t expected. "Finish dressing."

For a second, she froze. Then, slowly, she did as he said. Her hand found his shoulder, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his shirt. The warmth of him seeped through instantly, solid and steady beneath her touch. Her breath hitched, barely noticeable, but there.

Roman’s hold tightened just enough to keep her balanced, his hands careful, like he was acutely aware of every inch of space between them. Their heartbeats seemed too loud in the silence.

Estelle swallowed, focusing on the task as she pulled the dress down, smoothing the fabric over her hips. The material fell into place at last, soft and seamless. "I’ve got it now," she murmured.

There was a brief pause before Roman eased her back into the chair, like he didn’t quite trust himself to rush it. Her fingers lingered on his arm for a fraction longer than necessary before she let go.

"Thank you," she added, quieter this time.

Roman didn’t respond. Not with words. He stepped away, moving toward the bed where the bags lay, and reached for a small red velvet box. The fabric brushed softly under his fingers as he opened it. Light caught the necklace inside it instantly, the fine stones glinting, scattering tiny reflections across the room.

A small gasp escaped Estelle’s lips.

He came back to her, standing just behind her again, and without a word, he lifted the necklace. His fingers brushed lightly against her skin as he draped it around her neck, the cool metal warming almost instantly against her collarbone.

Estelle sat still as her breath slowed, then deepened. He fastened it carefully, his touch calm, but there was something else there too, something softer, something that didn’t need words. And her heart? It wouldn’t stop racing.

He’s supposed to be a monster. The thought came uninvited. So why? Why is he the only one treating me like I matter?