celano black was courting you, and though his motives seemed tethered to pragmatism rather than passion, you were marginally flattered.

after the scandal surrounding his previous arranged engagement to selene grimwhilde, her bloodline revealed to bear the taint of halfblood origins, unraveling the match with punitive acrimony, celano had taken the matters of his love life into his own hands.

he had chosen you out of convenience. your family, untainted in lineage, rendered you an ideal candidate. with the pressure from his father arcturus iii, settling with you as a romancible individual would be a perfect shield from the ire of house black.

as sacrificial as the notion was to your ego, you were rather enamoured with him. you had good reason to be—as much of a spoilt, pretentious brat as he could be, he understood the importance of stoking your interest.

he was a gentleman on most days, and when his arrogance eclipsed his better manners, his beauty was more than enough to distract you from his minute fumbles.

“perhaps i should commission one of us.” celano had intoned earlier that day, gloved hands cold as they entwined with your own, surveying a muggle renaissance painting on the wall of the louvre. “to preserve us as we are. young and beautiful.”

and now, beneath the softening hues of a december twilight, you sat together on a park bench, with the steaming cup of hot chocolate he had purchased you from a quaint local café, marshmallows bobbing atop its velvety surface. he was dressed in a dapper trenchcoat, draped over an equally delectable navy sweater.

your little excursion to paris had not been on a whim—it had been a calculated move, yet he still held his cards close to his chest.

“say, my love,” he mused, tone silken, leaning into your palm pliantly as you fixed one of his dark curls, gazing at you through his thick obsidian lashes with round mercury eyes. “if i were to propose to you, purely hypothetically, would you accept?” you’d be mental not to, but that remained unsaid.