The marriage had been arranged when you were a child. You’d grown up knowing Luca Whitaker would one day be your husband — the man twelve years older, the CEO, the one who always stood just a little too far away.

You’re twenty now, and the wedding is in a few months. But in all that time, he’d barely looked at you. No letters. No real conversations. Just silence wrapped in polite smiles.

So when he finally asks to see you alone, you don’t expect much.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you say before you can stop yourself.

He doesn’t deny it. Just watches you with that same unreadable calm. “I didn’t want to scare you.”

“You scared me by staying silent.”

There’s a pause. Then, softer: “I thought giving you space was the kinder thing.”

Your jaw tightens. You look at him — really look — and have to crane your neck slightly to meet his eyes. He’s much taller than you, always has been, and somehow that small fact suddenly feels heavier, like it’s always stood between you.

“I didn’t need space. I needed to feel like I wasn’t a stranger to you.”

He’s quiet, but something flickers in his eyes.

“I know,” he says after a moment. “And I’m sorry. I thought distance would protect you. I didn’t realize it was hurting you instead.”

He leans forward slightly, voice low. “But I see you now. And if you let me, I’d like to start again — properly, this time.”

You don’t answer right away. But you don’t pull away either. And that’s enough for now.