Chapter 10 - The Choice
1105 Words
I don’t say yes straight away.
That’s the first thing Ezra seems to understand about me.
He doesn’t rush it. He doesn’t fill the silence with reassurance or persuasion. He sits back in the armchair, hands loosely clasped, and lets the moment stretch until it becomes uncomfortable, until it becomes honest.
Outside, a car passes too slowly. Voices murmur. Somewhere nearby, a camera lens clicks.
“I need to be clear,” I say eventually. My voice is steady, even though my chest feels tight. “I’m not agreeing to this because I want to.”
Ezra nods. “I assumed not.”
“I’m agreeing because the alternative is worse.”
“Yes.”
“No pretending,” I add. “No romanticising this.”
His gaze sharpens slightly. “I wouldn’t insult you by doing that.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding.
Pride is a strange thing. It doesn’t vanish when you’re desperate, it just becomes heavier. Every instinct in me is screaming that this is humiliating, that agreeing to another marriage of convenience so soon after the last one imploded makes me look foolish, weak, replaceable.
But instinct is a luxury.
“Before I agree,” I say, “I need to know exactly what happens next.”
Ezra straightens, as if this is the moment he’s been waiting for.
“We move quickly,” he says. “Lawyers you haven’t met yet will draft an amended agreement. The narrative will be controlled but minimal. No interviews. No spectacle.”
“No spectacle?” I echo.
“That already happened,” he replies. “This isn’t celebration.”
I huff a soft, humourless laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”
“You’ll move out of your flat,” he continues. “Too exposed. Too many people know the address.”
I gave that a thought. I had been here for what felt like so long, Mum never told me that the flat had been crowded as well.
“And my mother?”
“She can remain,” he says. “Or relocate. Her choice.”
That small concession lands harder than I expect.
“And the money?”
“Reinstated,” Ezra says. “Immediately after the legal framework is in place.”
I stand and walk to the window, folding my arms as I look out at the street below. Two reporters pretend not to watch the building. They’re bad at it.
This is my life now.
“You said something earlier,” I say without turning around. “That if I mattered to you, it would be a mistake.”
“Yes.”
“And if you matter to me?” I ask.
Ezra doesn’t answer immediately.
“That,” he says carefully, “would be dangerous.”
I close my eyes.
“Then we don’t get too close,” I say. “Not like that.”
“That would be safest.”
I turn back to face him.
“If I do this,” I say. “I don’t become your shield. Or your secret weapon.”
He holds my gaze. “Agreed.”
“And I won’t be grateful,” I continue. “I won’t owe you one for getting me out of a crap situation.”
“I wouldn’t expect it,” he says.
I walk back to the sofa and sit, spine straight, hands resting on my knees. This feels like a boardroom, not a living room. Like a negotiation table rather than the beginning of a marriage.
I think of how Lucien looked at me when I signed my name, certain, detached, already finished with the moment.
Ezra is watching me now, but not like that. He looks… alert. As if he knows this is the point where things either lock into place or collapse entirely.
I think of the girl I was before all of this. The one who worked three jobs and still believed that if she just tried hard enough, the world would meet her halfway.
I mourn her. Briefly.
Then I let her go.
“Alright,” I say.
Ezra inhales slowly.
“I’ll marry you.”
The words sit between us, stark and undeniable.
Ezra nods once. No smile. No relief. Just acceptance.
“Thank you,” he says.
My hands start to shake now that the decision has been made. I curl my fingers together to steady them.
“This doesn’t mean we’re close,” I say. “You’re still just… some guy.”
“I know. We’re just aligned.”
“And if this fails?”
“Then we renegotiate,” he says. “Or we burn.”
“I snort. “You’re very calm about that.”
“I’ve been waiting for something like this for years,” he replies. “This is my way out of this damned family.”
There’s something unsettlingly reassuring about his lack of concern.
“Tell me one more thing,” I say.
“Alright.”
“If Lucien tries to interfere—”
“He won’t,” Ezra says.
The certainty in his voice makes me look up sharply.
“Why?”
Ezra’s eyes darken. “Because he’ll have me to deal with.”
I swallow.
“Good,” I say. “I’m done being under anyone’s control.”
We stand at the same time, the movement strangely in sync.
Ezra retrieves his phone. “I’ll make the calls.”
I nod. “I’ll tell my mother.”
He pauses. “You don’t have to do that alone.”
“Yes,” I say gently. “I do.” I know she can be extremely forward sometimes.
He accepts that without argument.
At the door, he hesitates.
“This will get worse before it gets better,” he says. “The press will speculate. The family will object.”
“I know.”
“And you may regret this,” he adds.
I meet his gaze.
“I already regret the first one. What’s the harm?” I joke.
He inclines his head slightly, a gesture that feels like respect rather than approval.
“I’ll be in touch,” he says.
When the door closes behind him, the flat feels very still.
I sit down slowly, heart pounding.
and let the weight of what I’ve done settle into my bones.
I have agreed to marry a man I don’t love.
Again.
In my room, Mum shifts in her sleep, unaware that the ground beneath us has just stabilised.
I close my eyes.
Pride will heal.
What matters is that we endure.
- Writer
