Eloise
It was a really busy day and long day at work. All my body aches as if I've been doing some man labour job or some kind of weight lifting.
When I returned that evening, I only wanted two things: a hot bath and a quiet meal in my room. My body was dragging, my mind cloudy, to the extent, I didn't notice the bunch of flashing cars, SUVs and convoys parked outside the mansion. But I did notice Maverick leaving work so early before the usual closing time.
I didn't bother to ask. Probably it could be wifey and kiddies home call or whatsoever.
Like I said before, I need a hot bath and a nice dinner served in my bedroom. But, the moment I stepped into the living room, my plans scattered.
The dining table was already set—beautifully, like some holiday I had forgotten to mark on my calendar. The fine cutlery was gleaming, the air smelled of rich jollof rice and chakalaka, and laughter was spilling like wine. My brothers, both towering and noisy as ever, were cracking jokes. My elder sister was laughing, and even my youngest brother, usually buried in his phone, was alive in the chatter.
And my parents—oh, my parents sat like the proud hosts of some royal banquet.
I froze at the doorway, clutching my work coat against me. "What is going on here?" I asked, my voice higher than usual.
"Ah, you're back!" My mother stood and gestured warmly after a sweet kiss plastered on my cheek. "Come, join us. We were just waiting for you."
Waiting for me? How? This had been arranged under my very nose, and somehow, I hadn't sensed a thing?
Suspicion flickered in my chest, but before I could piece anything together, my gaze shifted—
And there he was.
Sitting by my eldest brother who was next to my father, as though he had always belonged at this table. Tall, composed, his brown curls catching the warm chandelier light, and those piercing blue eyes—Lord, those eyes. My heart dropped to my stomach.
Don't look, Eloise.
My lips parted in a gasp, but no words followed.
He smiled at me. Not a wide grin, no. Just the slightest curve at the corner of his lips—enough to let me know he was enjoying my shock.
I blinked furiously, glancing back at my mother, who was still beckoning me closer, her eyes twinkling with something between mischief and triumph. I wanted to protest, but my legs betrayed me, moving stiffly toward the table.
Hunger call. If not, I'd have left this moment and hide in my room. Like the old me.
My younger brother Rex whispered a teasing "Somebody's blushing" under his breath, and I nudged his chair as I passed, though my face was indeed burning.
I sat down slowly, making sure to choose the chair farthest from him, even if it looked ridiculous. Mom, of course, noticed. Everyone noticed. He noticed.
But I refused to let him tame me with his eyes.
The dinner carried on—my brothers telling childhood stories, my sister correcting exaggerated parts, my father throwing in Yoruba proverbs that had my South African mother rolling her eyes. And him… oh, he blended in so effortlessly, laughing at the right places, asking questions, even trying to repeat one or two Yoruba words with that crisp English accent of his. My father loved it.
And this whole time, I swear to god, I had my head buried in my plate. I don't want to see anybody's face now. Not when he was here. I can't handle that moment if it happens, believe me.
At some point, dad leaned forward, curiosity glowing. "So, George," he said, folding his hands, "forgive my ignorance, but I hear you are from… dynasty?"
"Dynasty?" Rex teased. "Dad, he's not from a TV show."
We laughed, but my father waved his hand. "You know what I mean. Royal blood. Prince." His eyes sharpened. "Is it true?"
My heart skipped.
No, not now, daddy.
He should have asked me the question in private and I'd have told him instead, other than drag up the topic here when he knew how much tension was burning me already. Besides, I knew mom had already enlighten him before now. Or maybe Maverick did because he was George's best friend.
The table fell quiet, all eyes shifting to him. But he didn't flinch, didn't shy away. He smiled softly and nodded. "Yes, sir. I am."
Gasps, murmurs, widened eyes from my siblings—except my mother, who already knew, and was now biting back a victorious smile.
My father leaned back, clearly impressed. "A whole prince, under my roof." He chuckled deeply. "This house will remember today."
Surely not me because I know I'm out already.
I, on the other hand, wished the ground would swallow me whole.
The conversation spiraled into talks about monarchy, traditions, cultures. I chewed my food slowly, eyes glued to my plate, afraid to lift them. But he had other plans.
George had other plans even when he knew how much I'm battling with nervousness.
In the middle of Henri's jokes, his voice cut through, warm and direct. "But what I would really like to know," he said, his gaze locked on me, "is why she has been running from me."
My fork clattered against my plate.
Jesus Christ of Nazareth. Can the ground spare me this once and open up to swallow me? What kind of embarrassment is this? What kind of tension was he pulling in now, lord?
The laughter at the table stilled. My siblings turned their heads like an audience watching a scene unfold. Dad raised his brows. Mom folded her hands, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips.
My chest tightened. "Excuse me?" I muttered, eyes still glued to my plate.
Of course he didn't end it there, his tone unshaken. "You've ignored me for two days. No calls. No messages. No explanation." His words were firm, unashamed, every syllable deliberate. "If I had done something wrong, I'd rather you told me than run."
Heat rushed to my face, my hands trembling under the table. He was saying this… here? In front of everyone?
Can the damn ground open and swallow me?
I swallowed hard, refusing to look up and gritting my teeth as a showcase of holding in. "George, for goodness sake. This isn't the place—"
"It is exactly the place," he interrupted softly, but his voice carried weight. "Because your silence hurt more than you think. At least, let's solve it here where we have panels of judges. I want to put an end to this 'Catty and the chase' thing you put up every time."
So, my family's are panels of judges now, hmm?
It seems like Maverick was already opting in without somebody asking him to speak. "Wow. I didn't know there were more people in the world to love this much."
The table was silent. My siblings stared between us as though watching a live drama series. Dad cleared his throat, uncomfortable but intrigued. Mom's eyes glistened with a mix of pride and satisfaction.
And me? I wanted to vanish into thin air.
I finally lifted my gaze, just once, meeting his. His blue eyes were sharp, unyielding, but beneath them I saw something vulnerable. A plea.
My lips trembled, words caught between honesty and fear. I couldn't answer him—not here, not now.
So I dropped my eyes again, fiddling with my napkin, praying the ground would split open and swallow me whole.
Since the ground was not helping matters at all, I stood up and excused myself to the bathroom. Of which I knew I wasn't going to do anything there.
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Like I said before: I couldn't sit there any longer. The laughter, the stolen glances, the way he so openly pulled me out into the spotlight at the table—I had to breathe. And mom who always fucked things up every now and then, came to the bathroom and pull me back to the dining room when she suspects I was hiding there.
The moment dinner ended, I slipped away, pretending to carry dishes to the kitchen, then quietly making my way outside. The night air in Zürich was cooler than I expected, brushing my skin with relief.
And of course, he was already there.
Leaning against his car like he had every right to own the driveway, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone, but his eyes—those damn eyes—lifted the instant I stepped out.
I froze halfway down the steps, clutching my arms around me. "You didn't have to embarrass me in front of everyone," I snapped, though my voice betrayed more nerves than anger.
He pushed himself off the car, walking toward me with that effortless confidence that made my heart pound. "Embarrass you?" His tone was calm, low, dangerous in its gentleness. "I called out the truth. You've been avoiding me. And I needed to know why."
I looked away, hugging myself. "Because…" I faltered, the words clinging stubbornly to my throat. "Because I was scared, alright? I needed time. Privacy."
He stopped a breath away from me, so close I could feel the warmth radiating off him. "Scared of what? Of me?"
I shook my head, my curls brushing my cheeks. "Not you. Of… everything. The family, the dynasty, the expectations. You're a prince, George and one day—some day, you'll be ruling a great nation. But me?" My voice cracked. "I'm just… me. An ordinary woman. No royal blood. No titles. I don't fit there. Check it out yourself."
For a moment, silence wrapped around us, heavy and sharp. Then he reached up, gently tilting my chin until my eyes met his.
"You think I care about titles?" His voice was fierce now, each word deliberate. "Eloise, I care about you. The woman who has made me lose sleep for nights. The woman I can't imagine my future without. How do you expect me to rule Britain and Ireland all alone without you by my side? Why do you think I haven't accepted the crown from my father yet? Because I need a trusted woman to be by my side. And then, fate brought you to me and this is all you have to say?"
My breath caught. Mom's words from two nights ago came rushing back: "He's serious about you. If you are too, don't let fear cheat you."
I blinked rapidly, tears pricking my eyes. "It's not like that, George. You don't understand—"
"I understand enough." He leaned closer, his eyes burning into mine. "So tell me. My proposal… do you have an answer for me, or will you keep running?"
My chest tightened, my heart hammering so loudly I thought his guards could hear it from where they stood by the convoy. He wasn't asking casually; he was demanding my truth.
Oh lord most high.... should I tell him now? Should I tell him my final answer? How would he feel or react when he hears it?
I swallowed hard. My lips trembled. "Yes."
His eyes widened slightly. "Yes…?"
"Yes." My voice broke, but I nodded firmly this time, staring into his face. "Yes, Sebastian. My answer is yes."
For a heartbeat, he froze, as though making sure he'd heard me right. And then, all at once, the mask of restraint shattered.
He grabbed me by the waist, pulling me flush against him, and his lips crashed onto mine in a kiss so deep, so searing, it set my head spinning. My hands flew to his shoulders, clutching his shirt, anchoring myself before my knees gave out.
God, I wasn't expecting that but I gave in anyway, responding my best.
It wasn't a careful kiss. It wasn't shy. It was hungry, claiming, sealing. A prince unbothered by the presence of his guards, by the possibility of my parents peeking through the curtains. He kissed me like the world needed to know I was his.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, both of us breathing hard. His voice was a hoarse whisper. "You have no idea what you've just given me."
I laughed shakily, tears spilling freely now. "A headache, maybe?"
He grinned, brushing his thumb over my lips, still swollen from his kiss. "No. A reason to live."
Behind us, I could hear the low shuffle of his bodyguards pretending not to watch, but I didn't care. In that moment, it was just him and me, the driveway spinning around us, and the truth finally out in the open.