Chapter 17

In the hallway, she stopped.

She turned and took hold of his sleeve.

"Sebastian." She searched for the right words and couldn't quite find them. "Thank you. For what you said. For all of it."

He looked down at her hand on his sleeve.

"I told you — between us, there's no need for gratitude."

"I know. But."

He tilted his head, waiting.

"I've been reading the contract," she said. "The last page."

Something shifted in his expression — subtle, and something she hadn't seen there before.

"The handwritten part."

"Yes."

She reached up and turned the small clause over in her mind: If, at any point during the term of this agreement, genuine feeling develops between both parties, they undertake to honour it fully — to remain, to be faithful, and never to leave.

"That wasn't in the original draft," she said.

"No," he agreed. "I added it later."

"When?"

"Before I gave it to you." He didn't look away. "I wanted it in writing. In case it became relevant."

"Sebastian." His name, easy this time. Natural. "Is it relevant?"

He looked at her for a long moment.

"Very," he said.

She let go of his sleeve and instead took his hand.

He smiled — not the careful, professional expression she'd become accustomed to, but something much less guarded. He brought her hand up briefly and pressed his lips to the back of it.

"You're going to make this difficult, aren't you," he said.

"Probably," she said. "You started it."

He laughed.