Estelle’s fingers tightened around Roman’s arm just as he drew in a breath to speak. Her pulse was roaring in her ears, loud and unsteady, and her grip was almost instinctive as if she was anchoring herself before everything slipped.
Roman paused, looking at her, and sothing in his gaze cut through the noise. Her heartbeat didn’t stop, but it slowed just enough to let her breathe, and he shifted his hand, covering hers where it clutched his arm. His touch was warm, grounding, his thumb brushing lightly once, almost absentminded.
"Trust ," he murmured.
The words were barely there, a whisper ant only for her, and Estelle swallowed. She should have argued, should have pulled back, or insisted they stop this before it spiraled further out of control.
But she didn’t, because the way he said it, the calm certainty, the way he stepped into the mont without hesitation? It didn’t just calm her, it steadied her. Slowly, her grip on him loosened, her hand settling into his instead.
Roman turned back to the cara, and just like that, he shifted. A smile spread across his face, bright and effortless, the kind the world expected, the effortlessly convincing kind.
"I know there’s been a lot of fuss about my new status," he began smoothly, his voice carrying just enough warmth to cut through the chaos. He glanced at her briefly, the corner of his mouth lifting just a fraction. "And that of Estelle, the Ice Queen, as you all know her."
Then his attention returned to the screen. "Today, we’re here to answer that question," he continued, his tone steady. "And to share sothing important with all of you."
The comnts surged again, faster this ti, stacking over each other.
Are you really married to her?
Is this a PR stunt or real?
Since when did this happen?
Estelle’s eyes flickered over them, each one hitting harder than the last, her chest tightening with the weight of it. But Roman didn’t react, he didn’t even glance away. "I’m here to confirm that yes—" He paused, turned to her, and extended his hand.
For a second, Estelle just stared at it, her pulse climbing again. Then, slowly, she placed her hand in his, and his fingers closed around hers, firm and sure.
Roman turned back to the cara. "Estelle Rutledge is my wife," he said, pausing for a second. "She is my woman... my rib."
The words settled into the space between them, heavy and intimate.
He looked at her as he said it. Not at the screen, not at the flood of reactions, but at her. Estelle’s breath stalled in her lungs. For a mont, she had nothing, no response, no performance. Because the words ant for the act, ant for the world, didn’t feel like just that. They sounded real. And if they weren’t, then Roman was far more dangerous than she had thought.
Her fingers tightened slightly in his without her aning to. Roman didn’t react, at least, not outwardly. With his free hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the small golden-brown box. He held it there for a mont, the light catching softly against its surface, before angling it toward the cara.
"We decided," he said, his voice smooth again, asured for the audience, "that since none of you could be there for our wedding, we’d let you share in this mont instead."
He opened the box, and the ring caught the light instantly, gleaming. "To place the Whitehall ring on my wife’s finger," he continued, glancing briefly at Estelle before returning to the cara, "as a symbol of our union."
Before he could continue, the comnts surged again, faster, louder, impossible to ignore.
Amazing!
Yes, please! Do it live!
The excitent pulsed through the feed, hearts rising in a steady stream. Then, just as quickly, the tone shifted into sothing colder.
Why did you choose her? She’s not even a good fit.
That ring belongs to Lena Torres. When did you even break up?
Why her? A deadass ice skater? Stupid!!!
The words stacked over each other, relentless, making Roman’s jaw tighten, a muscle ticking faintly as his eyes flicked across the screen, and sothing in him snapped.
"I didn’t choose Estelle." The words slipped out before he could temper them, and the air shifted.
Estelle stiffened. Did he just betray ?
As if he heard her thoughts, Roman turned to her imdiately and saw that she was already looking at him. Her eyes held too much shock, hurt, sothing sharper buried beneath, and for a second, it hit him harder than the comnts ever could. He could almost see it, the storm building behind them.
Roman exhaled quietly and reached for her hand again, his fingers closing around hers, firr this ti. Grounding and apologizing without saying it.
Estelle’s lips parted, her breath catching. "You—"
"Estelle chose ." Roman cut in, his voice steadier now as he turned back to the cara, reclaiming the mont before it slipped any further. "And it’s the best thing that could have happened to ."
The shift that ca with it was imdiate and intentional. He tightened his hold on her hand, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin as if to anchor both of them.
"She is one of the most respected athletes in our world," he continued, his tone smoothing out. "And for her to choose , even with my reputation..." His gaze flickered back to her. "I’m honored." The words landed more softly.
"I don’t take it for granted," he added, turning fully to her now. His voice dropped slightly, no longer just for the audience. "I’m unworthy of you," he said quietly, the noise of the comnts fading into the background, "and I’ll spend every day proving what it ans that you chose ."
Estelle’s heart kicked harder against her ribs as she held his gaze. This was supposed to be part of the act they had carefully constructed, but the way he was looking at her now? That didn’t feel rehearsed, didn’t feel like an act. Her fingers curled slightly in his grip, her chest rising as sothing unfamiliar threatened to snap her composure.
For a mont, the noise, the caras, the watching world, it all blurred, and there was just him.
"Do you want to say sothing to our fans?" Roman asked softly, his eyes not leaving hers, grounding her and sohow unsettling her all at once.
Estelle swallowed, steadying herself, then turned toward the cara. The screen glowed back at her. Hearts rose in a constant stream, comnts stacking too fast to follow, and the noise of it felt urgent. Ti to put on your mask, Estelle.
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