His Father Bought Me-Chapter 29: Seal Your Union

Estelle’s shoulders lifted slightly, then settled as she straightened in her chair, and a small smile found its way to her lips. "Having a husband like Roman," she began smoothly, "is a feeling I can’t quite put into words."

She kept her eyes on the screen, on the flood of reactions, on anything but him. "To the world, he’s nothing but a beast on ice," she continued, her tone warming just enough to feel real, "but to me he’s the one person who sees me in a way no one else does." Her fingers tightened slightly in her lap. "And that’s something I wouldn’t trade for anything."

She didn’t look at him, she couldn’t. Because she wasn’t entirely sure anymore where the act ended or where something else might be beginning. Her smile shifted, growing a touch brighter, a spark of boldness slipping through.

"And for those of you who say he’s the hottest thing on ice," she added, her voice taking on a lighter edge. "Well, I have news for you." Her lips curved, just enough to tease. "He’s mine now. Find someone else."

The comments exploded again, laughter, shock, excitement flooding in.

Beside her, Roman fixed his eyes on her. There was something in his expression, surprise, maybe, or something deeper, that flickered before settling into a slow smile. She was claiming him, publicly, unapologetically, and even if it was part of the act, it didn’t feel like just that.

And he didn’t mind it, not even a little.

He let the moment linger for a second, then turned back to the camera, the smile still faintly there. "I hope you’re all ready for this," he said, his voice steady, measured, "because I’m about to make it official."

He opened the box slowly, and the hinge gave a soft click. The ring caught the light instantly, gold gleaming, the diamond flashing with every slight movement. The reactions surged again, hearts, fire emojis, messages stacking over each other in a blur of anticipation.

Roman reached in and lifted the ring, holding it between his fingers before turning toward her. He extended his hand, palm open, waiting. Estelle’s pulse pounded in her ears as her gaze dropped to the ring.

Up close, the engraved Whitehall symbol, the sharp brilliance of the diamond, and the weight of everything it represented made the moment feel like more than a performance, more like a claim, a story they were about to seal in front of the world.

Her pulse spiked, fast, echoing in her ears.

"Are you ready," Roman asked quietly, his voice dipping just enough that it felt meant for her alone, "to become Mrs. Roman Whitehall fully?"

Estelle’s eyes lingered on the ring for a second longer, and then she looked up at him. Her heart was racing too fast, pulling her in one direction while everything else demanded the opposite.

Still, she nodded. "There’s nothing I want more," she said, even as her pulse told a very different story.

Roman’s hand trembled just slightly as he guided the ring onto Estelle’s finger, and her own hand wasn’t steady either. The metal slid into place with a soft ease, and for a moment, everything else fell away. They both froze.

Their gazes dropped to her hand, to the ring now resting there, gold catching the light, the diamond flashing with every shallow breath she took.

Estelle’s heart pounded hard against her ribs, fast and unrelenting, and when she looked up, she found Roman looking at her. His chest rose sharply, like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

For a second, the air between them felt charged, like something fragile had just been set in motion and neither of them quite knew how to stop it.

Then Roman lifted her hand slowly, and his lips brushed against the ring before he looked at her. "Hello, Mrs. Roman Whitehall." The words were soft, but they settled deep.

Estelle didn’t answer, she couldn’t because the weight of the ring felt heavier than it should have, like it carried more than just gold and stone. Still, she forced a smile, small but steady. The show had to go on.

Together, they turned back to the screen and froze. The comments were flooding faster than before, a blur of excitement and demand.

Kiss her!

Kiss your wife, Roman!

You may now kiss the bride! Come on!

The words repeated, stacked, impossible to ignore.

Estelle’s eyes widened as she glanced at Roman, her pulse spiking again. He was already looking at her. Their eyes met, held, and then both of them turned back to the camera, as if that might somehow steady the moment.

Estelle let out a small, awkward laugh, her fingers tightening slightly in her lap. "Why do—"

"Are you ready to seal this union, Mrs. Whitehall?" Roman’s voice cut in gently. He was smiling, looking at her.

Estelle’s heart dropped, then surged, her thoughts tangling over each other. He wanted to kiss her. Why? This was supposed to be an act. Just an act. She shook her head faintly, her lips parting as she tried to find something, anything, to say, to slow this down, to pull them back from the edge.

But the words wouldn’t come. And before she could gather them, Roman moved.

He leaned in, closing the space between them, and his lips met hers, soft, warm, certain. Estelle’s eyes fluttered shut instantly. Her mind protested, a rush of confusion and resistance, but her body didn’t follow, nor did her lips pull away.

For a second, she was frozen in it, and then suddenly, something shifted. Her breath deepened, her grip loosening, and instead of pushing him away, she leaned in. Just slightly at first, then more. Her hands lifted slowly before settling against his shoulders, like they had found their place without asking her permission.

Roman’s hand rose to her jaw, his touch steady, anchoring her there as the kiss deepened, unhurried but undeniable. And for a moment, just a moment, the world, the camera, the noise... all of it faded.