Chapter 717 Isadora, Will You Marry Me? 1
Isadora felt her thoughts grow hazy, as if the ground beneath her feet had shifted.
Clarence, on the other hand, moved with the ease of an old acquaintance.
He extended his hand toward her, his grip light but deliberate, and offered a faint, knowing smile. "Maggie," he said, his tone almost teasing, "looks a bit more like Avery."
A flush crept up Isadora's cheeks.
Moments later, Clarence's assistant approached with impeccable manners, inviting them to take their seats. Even Isadora's own secretary was treated with the same courtesy.
The secretary, however, felt a quiet wave of emotion. She knew all too well the effort it had taken to secure this meeting. Clarence had been elusive, agreeing to see them only as a favor in passing. His posture had always been lofty, but with the kind of resources he commanded, it was no surprise. Still, in the presence of families like the Montagues and the Windsors, even he offered respect.
And indeed, once the dinner began, Clarence's stance softened noticeably.
Avery was far younger than Clarence, yet he handled the seasoned man with effortless grace. There was no trace of youthful inexperience in him; in just a few well-placed remarks, he had already secured the outcome Isadora had been hoping for.
The secretary was quietly thrilled.
But Isadora's heart was heavy. She feared they might be treading down the same old path again — that by accepting Avery's help, their relationship would slip back into that same imbalance as before.
What she feared most was losing him.
She hadn't realized until now just how much that fear had taken root. Only love could make someone afraid to lose.
And she knew, with startling clarity, that she loved him. Love was what made her cautious. Love was what made her hold her breath.
While she sat lost in thought, Avery's hand found hers beneath the table.
That gentle squeeze was enough to steady her heart.
She let herself exhale, letting him take the reins completely. Avery made a few promises to Clarence, and within minutes, the matter was settled — and settled beautifully.
Isadora could not help but feel a pang of awe.
By the time the clock neared ten, Clarence leaned back with a measured smile.
"Such a shame," he said to Avery, "I have an early meeting tomorrow. Otherwise, I'd insist we drink until neither of us could stand."
Avery's lips curved. "There will be other chances, Clarence. Business comes first."
After three rounds of wine, even the most guarded men let their pride slip a little.
Clarence turned to Isadora with a note of apology. "I didn't realize you and Avery were so close. My assistant may have been less than attentive — forgive the oversight. When the two of you marry, I'll be sure to send a proper gift."
Isadora replied softly, her tone gracious.
Clarence studied the pair of them — Avery tall and striking, Isadora poised and beautiful — and a smile touched his face.
He clapped Avery on the shoulder. "Once you're married, your father can finally rest easy."
Avery's smile was polite, measured.
In front of elders, he was always composed, his self-control impeccable. It seemed all his temper and boyishness were reserved for Isadora alone. But even that was changing. He was becoming the man she would want as her husband.
Night had fallen by the time they saw Clarence off. Isadora's secretary also took her leave.
Avery had been drinking, so Isadora took the wheel to drive him home.
She had intended to take him back to the Montague Mansion, but once they were in the car, Avery's composure began to slip. The alcohol was catching up to him.
He leaned back against the leather seat, hair falling across his forehead, a faint flush warming his face.
There was something undeniably, dangerously attractive about him in that moment.
"Avery," she murmured, fastening her seatbelt.
He didn't answer, only let out a faint hum, as if half-aware of her voice.
Without thinking, she leaned toward him, meaning to wipe the sweat from his neck. But before she could reach him, his arms came around her, pulling her in — awkwardly, but with surprising gentleness.
His embrace was warm, steady.
It wasn't the most comfortable position, but she found herself reluctant to move.
Resting against him, she knew he was drunk, yet she still asked, "How did you know about Clarence?"
Silence stretched between them.
He didn't answer. Instead, his hand moved to the back of her head, stroking her hair the way one might soothe Maggie.
The touch was tender, protective — part lover, part guardian — and it carried a quiet depth of affection that needed no words.
What woman wouldn't want to be held like this?
In that moment, Isadora felt an ache rise in her chest, sharp and sudden. She almost wanted to cry.