Bound To Be Yours 🦌

Chapter 7 Two Ways to Remember [Edited]

Adrian's POV

I wait until the Ashbourne car is halfway down the street before moving toward mine. No reason to linger—except I do.

Her silhouette sticks, ghosting against my vision like the aftertaste of something I shouldn't crave. The curve of her neck above those pearls. The way her lips parted like she was about to say more. The exact second her smile finally reached her eyes.

I shouldn't be cataloguing her.

And yet—here I am.

The driver clears his throat, subtle, like he knows. I slide into the car anyway. The door shuts, and I swear her perfume follows me in. Fig—green, sun-warmed, edged with cream. Not syrupy. Not obvious. Just enough to haunt the air.

The city blurs past in lamplight and rain-wet glass, but I'm not in the car. I'm back at that table, back at the candlelight catching the fall of her hair. Back at the way she tucked it behind her ear without knowing it made me look.

Without knowing I was already watching.

My fingers drum once against my knee. A tell. One I usually bury. I'm not restless—I'm replaying. Every tilt of her head. The lift of her voice when she almost laughed. The exact way her lashes lowered when she pretended she wasn't blushing.

It hits me then—how far gone I already am. Every detail of her etched into me like I've been studying her for years, not hours. The realisation is sharp enough to drag a laugh out of me, low and dark.

The driver glances in the mirror. I don't bother explaining.

I don't remember when I decided she was worth noticing. Only that now, I notice everything.

And she doesn't even realise.

She will.

Aurora's POV

By the time I'm back in my room, the clock's dragged past ten. I'm still in the dress, perched on the edge of the bed like I might bolt again any second. My blazer's slung on the chair, pearls abandoned on the nightstand.

My phone lights. One tap, and Lily's voice detonates.

"Whaaaaaat."

I wince. "You're going to have to narrow that down."

"Don't you dare." Full outrage, Broadway-level. "Don't you dare play it cool. You were supposed to be stuck with Teddy Pompous Pembroke and instead—"

She breaks off with a gasp so loud I pull the phone from my ear.

"Instead," I say dryly, "I had dinner."

"With Adrian Sinclair." She stretches each syllable like elastic about to snap. "Do you know how many girls at Augustine's would sell their Cartier for that? You've been acting like you're allergic to him!"

"I am not allergic." My voice comes out too prim. Which only makes her howl harder.

"Mm-hm. The way I'm not allergic to cheesecake."

I roll my eyes. She steamrolls right on.

"And wait—what about Pembroke? Did he choke on his own ego? Collapse at the sight of Sinclair in a suit? Aurora, you're withholding vital intel."

A laugh slips out, unwilling but real. "I didn't ask."

"You didn't—" she gasps, scandalised. "You had the perfect chance for recon! I need to know if he slunk home crying into his caviar!"

Her ridiculousness infects me. I sink back against the pillows, only to realise—damn it—I'm smiling.

The smile shifts softer when my mind drifts. His voice, low and amused, when he said I always tuck my hair back when I'm thinking. The way he leaned in over candlelight for that ridiculous coffee bet.

Starbucks. Of all things. Rich boys make trust fund wagers and he hands me frappuccinos. I should laugh—but somehow it doesn't feel funny. Not when his eyes made it sound like a contract.

"Helloooo," Lily sings. "You went quiet. Don't tell me you're daydreaming about him."

"No." Too fast. Too sharp.

"Uh-huh. And I'm the Queen of England." A pause, sly. "Don't you think it's a little convenient? Him just happening to be there. Alone. Looking like that."

I scoff, weak. "Coincidence."

"Right. Total coincidence." Her voice drips sugar. "And I definitely don't think he might've—I don't know—engineered the whole thing so it was him across from you."

I don't answer.

Because deep down, I know.

It wasn't coincidence.

And the thought doesn't scare me.

It thrills.