Please Harder, Professor

Chapter 193

Sophie’s POV

The bridal boutique smells like expensive fabric and champagne. I stand on the raised platform in front of the three-way mirror, wearing my wedding dress while the seamstress makes final adjustments to the hem.

The dress is beautiful—ivory silk with delicate lace details, off-shoulder sleeves, exactly everything I said I wanted when Eleanor and I went shopping.

But looking at myself in it, I feel like I'm watching a stranger play bride.

"It's stunning on you," Emma says from the couch, genuine enthusiasm in her voice. But I catch her glancing at my face in the mirror, clearly noticing the disconnect.

Cleo sits beside Emma, and her expression is pure concern. She's been watching me carefully since I arrived, reading my body language the way only a best friend can.

She knows something has happened since our coffee shop conversation yesterday. I can see it in the questions she's not asking, the way she keeps studying my face.

After yesterday's incident with Bellamy in my bedroom, I've been completely off-balance.

I can still feel his hands on my wrists, the ghost of his breath against my lips, the way he looked at me like I was something precious and dangerous.

The memory makes my skin burn even now, standing in my wedding dress, surrounded by the physical evidence of my commitment to someone else.

I'm trying so hard to focus on the dress, on the wedding, on being excited. But it's like trying to force yourself to feel something that's just not there.

"Can you turn around, dear?" the seamstress asks, and I rotate slowly on the platform, watching my reflection shift in the mirrors.

The dress really is perfect. The way it hugs my waist, the elegant drape of the skirt, the delicate lace that makes me look sophisticated rather than innocent.

I should love it. Should be squealing with Cleo about how I can't wait for Adrian to see me in this. Should be crying happy tears like brides do in the movies.

Instead, I feel confused as hell.

The seamstress steps away to grab more pins, leaving me alone on the platform with Cleo and Emma watching from below. The silence stretches uncomfortably.

"How are you really doing, Sophie?" Emma asks gently, her stepmother voice coming through—the one that says she wants the truth, not the performance.

I paste on what I hope is a convincing smile. "I'm good. Excited, nervous, happy—all the normal bride things."

Emma doesn't buy it for a second. "Derek mentioned last night that you seem disconnected lately."

The observation makes defensiveness flare in my chest.

"Why is everyone analyzing my feelings instead of just being happy for me? Can't I have pre-wedding jitters without it becoming a referendum on my entire relationship?"

"Sophie…" Emma starts, but Cleo cuts her off.

"Because you look like you're attending your own funeral instead of your wedding."

The bluntness of it shocks me into silence. I stare at Cleo in the mirror, and she holds my gaze unflinchingly. There's no judgment in her eyes, just honest concern and the kind of truth only a best friend can deliver.

My facade cracks. The smile slides off my face, and suddenly I'm just standing there in this beautiful dress feeling like I'm suffocating.

"I don't know if I'm making the right choice," I admit quietly, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. "Adrian loves me, we've built something together. Amelia deserves her family intact, but there's this voice in my head that keeps asking what if."

"What if what?" Emma prompts gently.

"What if I'm making a mistake? What if I'm marrying him because I've already invested too much to walk away? What if…" I stop myself before saying the rest: what if my heart wants someone else entirely?

Emma and Cleo exchange a look. Then Emma asks the question I've been dreading, her voice careful but direct: "Is there someone else?"

My face gives me away before I can formulate a response. I feel the color drain from my cheeks, then rush back in a heated flush. My eyes dart instinctively to Cleo—a silent, desperate plea not to say anything, to let me control this narrative.

Cleo catches the look and stays quiet, but her expression is pained.

Emma sees the entire exchange. She's not stupid, and she's known me long enough to read between the lines. Shock crosses her face—she clearly didn't see this coming.

"Sophie," she says slowly. "Do you have feelings for someone else?"

"Nothing has happened," I say quickly.

It’s technically true if you don't count the charged moments, the lingering looks, the incident in my bedroom yesterday where Bellamy's hands on my wrists felt more intimate than anything Adrian and I have done in the Red Room.

"I haven't cheated on Adrian. I would never…"

"That's not what I asked," Emma interrupts firmly. "I asked if you have feelings for someone else."

The silence stretches. Cleo is watching me with that mix of sympathy and concern. Emma waits patiently, her stepmother instincts fully engaged.

"I don’t know," I finally whisper, the admission feeling like pulling out my own teeth. "There are feelings I shouldn't have. Confusing feelings that won't go away no matter how hard I try to stop them."

Emma's response is immediate and pragmatic, delivered with the kind of firm kindness that made her such a good parent to my sisters.

"Then you need to decide before the wedding. You can't marry Adrian while having feelings for someone else. That's not fair to anyone—not to Adrian, not to yourself, not even to Amelia who deserves parents who chose each other completely."

"I do choose Adrian," I protest, but it sounds weak even to my own ears.

"Do you?" Emma challenges gently. "Or are you choosing the path of least resistance? The life you've already committed to publicly, the narrative that's already in motion?"

I want to argue, to insist she's wrong, to defend my choice. But standing here in this wedding dress, looking at my reflection, at the hollow-eyed woman playing bride, I can't find the words.

"What if I'm wrong?" I ask quietly. "What if I call off the wedding and it's the biggest mistake of my life? What if I'm confusing gratitude for attraction, comfort for love? What if I blow up everything I've built for feelings that aren't even real?"

"And what if you marry Adrian and spend the rest of your life wondering 'what if'?" Cleo counters. "What if you wake up in ten years, still married to him, still thinking about someone else, realizing you made a choice out of obligation rather than desire?"

The seamstress returns with her pincushion, oblivious to the heavy conversation she just interrupted. "Alright dear, let's get this hem pinned and you'll be all set."

I stand still while she works, my mind racing. Emma and Cleo watch me in the mirror, concern written across both their faces. The dress suddenly feels too tight, like it's constricting my ability to breathe.

When the fitting is finally done, when I'm back in my regular clothes and the beautiful wedding dress is hanging in a garment bag, Emma pulls me aside while Cleo handles the payment.

"I love you, Sophie, and I want you to be happy. Truly happy. "

She’s taking both my hands while talking.

"Not just going through the motions of what you think you should want. If that happiness is with Adrian, wonderful. But if it's not, if your heart is pulling you somewhere else, you need to be honest about that before you make vows."

I nod, not trusting my voice.

The drive home is quiet. Bellamy is behind the wheel, professional and distant since yesterday. I watch the back of his head and think about Emma's words, about choices and honesty and what I really want.

Less than three weeks until the wedding.

I need to decide who I'm actually choosing—and why.