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“William, what are you saying?” Emily asks.
I squeeze her hands. “I cannot go back to England unless I have you with me… as my wife.”
EMILY
Standing there under the moonlight, with William on one knee before me, I feel like I've stumbled into some sort of alternate reality.
A part of me wants to laugh – this is the kind of over-the-top romantic gesture you'd find in a cheesy movie, not in my usually uneventful life.
"No. Are you crazy? You don't even know me!" I blurt out, my mind racing.
William looks up, his eyes earnest. "I know that I want to devote the rest of my life to getting to know you," he says, squeezing my hands. “And that’s enough.”
"Why now? Why marriage?" I stammer, still reeling from the shock.
He runs a hand through his hair, looking slightly flustered. "I have my reasons."
My skepticism must show on my face because he quickly adds, "It's not some shady visa deal, if that's what you're thinking."
I can't help but raise an eyebrow. "Really? Because this is all a bit sudden, William."
He stands up, brushing my hair away from my face and leaning in for another kiss.
His lips are soft and persuasive, making my heart flutter despite the chaos in my mind.
"You're warm and witty," he says as he pulls back. "I love the passion you have for art. And being with you feels like the most natural thing in the world. Like taking a breath. I'm worried that if I'm ever apart from you, I'll forget how and suffocate."
His words are so sincere, so heartfelt, that for a moment, I allow myself to get lost in the fantasy.
But then reality crashes back in.
The lies, the deceit – it's like a dark cloud looming over us.
I step back, needing space to think. "William, I... this is all so fast. And there's something you should know."
He looks at me, concern etching his features. "What is it, Emily?"
I open my mouth to confess everything – about not being the Art Queen's granddaughter, about the web of lies I've been weaving since we met. But the words catch in my throat.
Fear grips me.
Fear of losing him, of watching this magical connection crumble under the weight of my deceit.
Instead, I find myself hesitating, caught between honesty and the desire to hold onto the happiness we've found. "I... I need time to think about this," I finally say, my voice barely above a whisper.
William nods, a look of understanding in his eyes, but I can see the disappointment there too. "Take all the time you need, Emily. I'll be waiting."
As I retreat to my room, my mind is a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.
Part of me is elated, swept up in the romance of his proposal. Another part is terrified, knowing that the truth about my identity is a ticking time bomb.
I flop onto the bed, a mix of exhilaration and dread coursing through me.
"Emily Barnes, what have you gotten yourself into?" I mutter to myself, staring up at the ceiling.
The absurdity of the situation isn't lost on me. I've just been proposed to by a man who thinks I'm someone I'm not. And part of me, the part that's been swept off her feet by William's charm and sincerity, is tempted to say yes. I inwardly squeal at the thought.
If I say I do, I’ll becomeMrs.Willoughby.
