If You're Going to Sell Yourself, Sell It to Me - Chapter 125

Looking at the family she had finally found, Georgiana made up her mind—of course she had to follow her grandfather’s wishes.

She was curious about the images of her parents preserved in paintings, but more than that, she felt she couldn’t leave her elderly grandfather alone any longer.

The newspapers had always depicted him as iron-willed, but in reality, he looked every bit his age. Perhaps it was the strain of the journey that left him looking so weary, but as her flesh and blood, he felt all the more precious to her.

Of course, he was still as dignified as ever regardless of age.

There was no way she could refuse such a request from him.

As far as her condition went, she could probably leave in two days without pushing herself—she had no major injuries, only a few bruises.

The problem was Locke.

She couldn’t just leave him behind, not when he had been injured for her sake. In truth, even without the injury, she didn’t want to be apart from him.

She was certain Locke would feel the same.

That persistent man, known for never backing down, would never let her go so easily.

Still, it felt a little awkward to bring up these feelings to a grandfather she had only just met.

They weren’t even engaged, and she couldn’t exactly say they had started off as a contract couple.

Georgiana lay in bed, lost in thought.

Judging from the lack of word from Henry, it seemed Locke was still asleep…

Should she ask him to come to Northwest with her when he wakes up?

Rebuilding the half-destroyed house would take time anyway. According to Henry, it would take several months if they decided to tear down the damaged section and rebuild from scratch.

Staying at Raymond’s estate to rest was an option—but perhaps staying in Northwest…

To be honest, Northwest was a place filled with bad memories for her.

If she hadn’t met Mr. Jerry, she might have been arrested by those officers in the street.

She had fled in such a panic that all that remained were dark, gloomy impressions.

But if she went back with her grandfather, maybe she could erase some of those old memories.

She remembered a book in Raymond’s study that described Northwest as a beautiful port city. Sparkling waves and mansions on the hills—it looked like a scene out of a painting.

Now she wanted to fill that place with good memories, with the people she loved.

Knock knock.

“Miss, he’s awake now—would you like to see him?”

Right on cue, Henry’s voice came through. Georgiana sprang out of bed.

“Yes, I’ll be right there.”

As she hurriedly walked in her house shoes, she came to a stop in the middle of the room.

Her pale face in the vanity mirror bothered her more than usual today. Her hair looked a bit messy, and her outfit didn’t feel right.

Though she was in a rush, she stepped into the attached bathroom, washed her face, and even applied makeup—something she rarely did.

After tinting her chapped lips with a soft pink, she changed her clothes and stepped out. Her cheeks were redder than her lips.

They had been together so often lately, yet oddly enough, her heart pounded as if she were meeting him for the first time.

Perhaps it was because she was now seeing him not as Georgiana Courtney, or Juliana Limberton, or Leona Owen—but for the first time as her true self.

Evelyn Leona Seymour.

The name still felt foreign, but she wanted to hear it from him.

She wanted him to be the one to place that last piece of the puzzle.

Even before reaching the door, her throat was dry.

Henry, waiting for her just outside, looked at her curiously.

Swallowing hard, Georgiana knocked.

Perhaps he had been warned ahead of time—without any response, the door opened from within.

It wasn’t a servant. It was Locke.

With his shoulder bandaged, he stood at the door and held his breath at the sight of her.

His wide eyes and slightly stunned expression reflected clearly on his face.

Suddenly, Georgiana felt embarrassed for having done her makeup and changed clothes at night.

Maybe it was too much.

Her shoulders tensed.

Heat crept up to her ears, and she turned away from him with a swift motion.

“I-I’ll come back tomorrow. I suddenly remembered something urgent.”

Before she could turn away, Locke caught her arm at a speed invisible to the eye.

“Where are you going?”

He yanked her into the room so swiftly that later Henry would describe it as faster than a bird snatching up a fish.

Thud—the door shut behind her.

Alone with Locke in the room, Georgiana looked up at him with a nervous face.

He opened his mouth, about to say something, then closed his eyes briefly and whispered, “I must have died from that horse kick. Otherwise, why would an angel be standing before me?”

Her face flushed bright red at the word “angel.”

“D-don’t tease me.”

“I’m not exaggerating. You look like an angel. Not just today—you always have, to me.”

His tone wasn’t playful; he meant it. Embarrassed, she lowered her gaze and fidgeted with her fingers.

Locke gently lifted her chin.

Their eyes met, and she saw his face blushing just as deeply.

Come to think of it, his appearance was no less polished than hers. Though he wore bandages, he was dressed in tailored pants, a pressed shirt, a cravat, and even a doublet—not the casual clothes of a man recovering from injury.

Maybe he felt the same way.

For the first time, it felt like their hearts truly aligned.

Georgiana looked into his eyes, her own trembling.

His Adam’s apple bobbed, and then in the most solemn tone she’d ever heard from him, he said, “Evelyn Leona Seymour. I love you.”

Not too fast, not too slow—the words landed in her ears all at once.

Hearing her name from his lips, a name that represented her true self, and this confession—the first since reclaiming her identity—made her chest feel like it would burst.

Her mind went blank. Everything she’d prepared to say vanished.

But maybe preparation wasn’t necessary.

He wrapped his uninjured arm around her waist, and with a look he could no longer suppress, pressed his lips to hers.

Forehead, eyelids, nose, cheeks, and lips—there wasn’t a single part of her face untouched by his lips.

It was a kiss filled with unrestrained affection in its rawest form.

Instead of pushing him away, Georgiana rose on her toes and hugged him tightly around the waist.

She didn’t want even an inch of distance between them.

Seeing her like that, Locke looked at her in surprise—then she smiled with her eyes.

There was nothing to fear anymore.

Then, furrowing his brow, he let out a low groan between kisses.

“That expression should be illegal.”

He murmured as if scolding her, and his lips dived into hers with urgency.

His tongue pushed past her teeth and swept through her mouth without pause.

When he dragged his thick tongue across her soft palate, she unknowingly clenched her hands tight enough to wrinkle her clothes.

“Mmmph…”

As if he took all the saliva from her mouth, a parching thirst rose.

She had only given him her lips, yet it felt like her whole body was being consumed.

There was no corner inside her mouth his tongue didn’t touch.

The fierce kiss, so overwhelming it made her fear he’d swallow her lips whole, didn’t stop until they were left swollen.

Even if he had gone further, she wouldn’t have been able to resist—but in the end, it was Locke who pulled away from her.

His face, flushed as if it would burst with one more touch, was tense. He clenched his fists and caught his breath.

Georgiana, too, gasped for air, her breathing ragged.

Once their breathing calmed, he hugged her again and whispered above her head, “I’ll take you as my own only after receiving official permission to marry you. When that time comes, I won’t hold back.”

His vow felt almost like a declaration of war, and Georgiana trembled slightly at his words.