Page 83 of Bid For Me

Maybe that’s where I’ll start. Something that reminds her of the little things she loves, the parts of herself she thinks she has to hide.

Because I see her.

And I want her to know it.

She deserves better than this circus. She deserves better thanme.

I grab my keys and head for the door. It’s not enough to sit around and brood over my feelings for her. I need to act. I need to show her how much she means to me.

I slide into my favourite sports car – a classic, rather than the showy performance vehicles I also have – and head toward the city. My mind races with ideas, half-formed plans for the perfect wedding gift. Something meaningful. Something that’s just for her, not for my father, the press, or anyone else. Something that says,I see you, Elle.

I start at a little boutique tucked into the corner of Covent Garden. It’s quiet, unassuming, the kind of place Elle would love. As I step inside, the faint scent of flowers drifts toward me, and I’m reminded of her perfume – the subtle, floral scent she’s always worn.

The shopkeeper looks up, her brows arching slightly as she sees me. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for something with…jasmine? I think,” I say, glancing around the shelves of candles, oils, and sachets. “Perfume, maybe. Or something personal.”

She smiles, leading me to a display of hand-poured candles, delicate bottles of perfume oil, and beautifully packaged bath salts. I pick up a small bottle of jasmine and vanilla oil, imagining Elle’s soft sigh of contentment as she rubs it onto her skin.

I grab a candle, too, wrapped in soft white packaging with the wordserenityetched in gold script. She could use some of that right now.

Next, I find myself at a charming old bookshop. Not one of the fancy chains with their perfectly pristine hardcovers, but a second-hand store with shelves that groan under the weight of their wares.

The air smells faintly of old paper and ink, and I grin as I step inside. This is exactly the kind of place Elle would disappear into for hours, hunting for her next adventure.

I comb through the romance section, looking for spines worn from too much love, titles with curling covers, and paperbacks held together with nothing more than a wing and a prayer. A familiar title catches my eye –The Rogue’s Heart. I vaguelyremember her reading it when we were younger, curled up in a corner of the garden. She’d been so engrossed, she barely noticed when I stole one of her cookies.

I grab it, along with a handful of others that look just as well-loved, paying no mind to the odd look the cashier gives me.

I hit a confectionery shop next. The bright, sugary scent is almost overwhelming, but I don’t care. I make a beeline for candy turtles, gummy strawberries and chocolate covered salted pretzels, but as I’m checking out, a display of Kinder Eggs catches my eye.

She used to hoard those eggs as a kid, savoring the chocolate while carefully building the little toys inside. I buy a dozen, just in case she’s still the same. I know she mentioned them the other day, but maybe she was joking. I second guess myself, but decide to just go with it.

My next stop is a boutique known for its cashmere. I run my fingers over the soft, buttery fabric, imagining how it’ll feel against her skin. A cream cardigan catches my eye – simple, elegant, and warm, like the perfect hug. I know Elle loves cashmere, always has. She’s a sucker for anything soft, and even though it’s expensive, it’s who she is. Still, I add a pair of pink fluffy socks to my haul, remembering how she used to complain about the posh hardwood floors making her feet cold.

When I finally head back to the mansion, the tiny boot of my car is full. My chest feels lighter than it has in days. For once, I feel like I’ve done something right. There’s one more gift I need to get her, but I can’t risk buying that on the high street, so I order it from my phone to be delivered tomorrow.

In the quiet of my study, I set about arranging everything. I pack the books into a vintage leather satchel I found at the bookshop, the candle and oil nestled inside with care. The Kinder Eggs and other edible goodies go into a sleek gift box,and I fold the cardigan and socks neatly, tying them with a soft ribbon.

It’s not extravagant. It’s not grand. But it’s her.

I imagine her reaction, the way her eyes will light up, her lips curving into that rare, genuine smile that makes my chest ache. I want her to feel seen, to know that she’s more than just my fiancée for show.

She’s Elle.

And she’s everything.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Elle

As I openthe door to our shared bedroom suite after a long day at work, a neat stack of beautifully wrapped gifts greets me, bundled together with a simple ribbon and a note tucked on top. The handwriting is unmistakably Seb’s, looping confidently across the card.

Maybe these are more to your taste. I didn’t want to wait until our wedding to make you smile.

I can’t help it – a smile spreads across my face, unbidden and infuriatingly warm. I trail my fingers over the stack of gifts, noticing each one has been lovingly wrapped.

The first one I open is a gorgeous cashmere cardigan, one of the softest I’ve ever felt, and a pair of super cute pale pink fluffy socks with candy canes and bows on them. I love them and pull them on right away.

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