Her tapered, elegant fingers move with the same precision as her gaze. There’s no hesitation in the way she signs. No fear. Just the conviction of boundaries about to be set.
We will sleep in separate rooms.
I will be free to go where I please.
I will keep my name.
I watch her, taking in every flick of her wrist, every sharp edge in her grace. She’s not asking for freedom. She’s declaring it.
I nod slowly. “Is that all?”
She looks at me, longer this time. Her brow lifts barely. I can see it in her face. She’s waiting for the refusal. The control. The part where I laugh and say ‘no, cara, you belong to me now.’
But I don’t. I say nothing.
And something in her demeanor shifts. Her hands rise again, but this time, they move more slowly, like she's about to drop something heavy.
No intimacy.
I take a breath as if I knew what was coming. I don't speak right away. I let the words hang between us, weighty.
She watches me, her eyes unreadable but intent. Her shoulders are drawn tight with tension she’s trying not to show.
“There will be no intimacy,” I say, carefully, my voice earnest, “because I’ll wait for you to give in to me. Not because I don’t want you.”
Her eyes widen, just enough for me to see the crack in her composure.
I lean forward, elbows braced on my knees, my tone low and unwavering.
“Make no mistake, Liliana. I want you.” I pause, letting that truth settle between us. “I want you in ways I haven’t wanted anything in a long time. But I won’t take what isn’t freely given. When I touch you, it’ll be because you want it. Because you ask for it.”
Her lips part slightly. She blinks once, twice. A flicker of something passes across her face—shock, maybe. Or confusion. Or maybe just the kind of disbelief that comes from a lifetime of being handled, never heard.
“I’ll wait,” I say again, my voice softer now. “Not because I’m a patient man, but because I know you will be worth the wait.”
She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t sign. Doesn’t nod. Just stares at me like I’ve set something down at her feet and asked her to carry it, unsure if she’s meant to keep it or crush it.
Then, without a word, she rises swiftly. Her movement is abrupt but not angry. Her cheeks are flushed, color blooming just beneath her skin.
She signs quickly, stiffly. I need to leave.
I almost reach for her, almost take a step forward, but I don’t. I can’t. She's not mine yet.
“We haven't talked about the wedding plans,” I say instead
She replies without pause. I know what I need to do. I’ll show up.
I nod once. Not because I agree with her, but because I won’t stop her. I can’t make her stay, no matter how much I want to.
She turns to go.
“See you on the day,” I say, then with a half-smile that’s more reflex than jest, “And just maybe you may find me irresistible on our wedding night.”
She pauses at the door, her spine ramrod straight. She turns. Her hands cut through the air with brisk clarity.
You’re a presumptuous prick. And an arrogant jerk. But my hopes are pinned on you now. I have no choice.
And with that, she leaves.
