The Belated Bride: Becoming My Own Muse Chapter 33

The Belated Bride: Becoming My Own Muse Chapter 33

I nodded.

“I’ve received it.”

He looked up at me.

I added, “But I’m not going back.”

The last sliver of hope in Christian’s eyes guttered and went out.

He stood there for a long moment. Then he smiled, very faintly.

“I know.”

When he turned to leave, his back wasn’t as straight as it used to be.

At the door, he paused for a second.

He didn’t look back.

“Claire. I hope you find happiness.”

I watched him.

“I wish the same for you.”

This was the honest truth.

Not forgiveness.

Just… letting go.

The exhibition hall lights began to dim.

I walked over to Belated and placed the old clasp into a small display box beside the main showcase.

Tara asked, “Claire, should we put this on exhibit too?”

“Yes.”

“What should the label say?”

I thought for a moment.

“Write: A button from an old dream.”

Tara nodded and went off to print the label.

Grant walked over and looked down at the clasp.

“Is it over?”

I stared at my own reflection in the glass vitrine.

A black suit. Red lips. My shoulders and back held straight.

I no longer looked like that timid bride from three years ago.

“It’s over.”

He said, “So can the trial period be converted to full-time now?”

I turned my head to look at him.

Today, he was dressed very formally. Even his tie was the deep charcoal gray I’d once offhandedly mentioned I liked.

But his eyes were a little tight with tension.

Like he was waiting for a very important verdict.

I suddenly smiled.

“Grant.”

“Here.”

“Are you always this impatient when you’re chasing someone?”

“It’s not impatience.”

He looked at me.

“It’s the fear that you might think I’m not serious.”

Something in my chest stirred.

He never made me guess.

And he never made me wait.

He said what he felt. And his respect was just as evident.

I looked out at the night beyond the exhibition hall.

“Then it converts to full-time. Starting tomorrow.”

Grant’s eyes lit up.

“Really?”

“But I have conditions.”

“Name them.”

“First. You are never allowed to make decisions on my behalf.”

“Agreed.”

“Second. You are never allowed to use ‘loving me’ as an excuse to make me back down.”

“I won’t.”

“Third. If, one day, I don’t want to keep walking this path, you don’t get to hold onto me and drag me back.”

Grant looked at me, and his gaze was so serious it was almost solemn.

“Claire. The reason I like you isn’t so I can pull you to my side.”

“It’s so that wherever you want to go… I can be there, walking in the same direction.”

Something in my heart felt like it had been gently knocked askew.

It wasn’t a passionate declaration.

It was steadier than any confession I’d ever heard.

I held out my hand.

“Well then, Mr. Grant Ashford. Here’s to a productive partnership.”

He looked at my hand. Smiling, he took it and held it.

“Girlfriend. To a productive partnership.”

A long time later, someone asked me why Belated became the most iconic piece my studio ever produced.

I thought about it for a long time.

Not because it was the most expensive.

Not because it was the most beautiful.

It was because everyone who saw it recognized a piece of their own unwillingness to let go.

The person still waiting for an apology. For an explanation. For a moment of being chosen first.

The person who was clearly in so much pain but kept telling themselves to endure just a little longer.

The person who, one day, finally understood that before you love anyone else, you have to carry yourself out of the hurt first.

Later, Belated was permanently archived in my personal gallery.

Next to the display case, there are two lines engraved.

The first line is the original hidden embroidery from the hem: May I finally become my own bride.

The second line is the one I added later:

After that day, Christian finally learned how to wait for someone. Too bad the bride he was waiting for had stopped looking back.