I rested my forehead against his. “But … can you really leave right now?” I asked quietly. “Your brothers, Dominion—everything you’ve all been dealing with. Department 77’s still out there. Your mom’s still …”
My voice trailed off, but he knew what I meant.
Charlie didn’t flinch. He cupped my jaw, grounding me.
“I’ve talked to them,” he said. “They get it. After everything, they want this for me—for us. If something urgent comes up, they’ll get in touch.”
I searched his face. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” he said, steady as ever. “They’re my brothers, but you’re my future.”
My breath caught.
“I’m in,” I whispered against his ear. “Let’s go today.”
He pulled back enough to look at me. “You’re sure?”
I kissed him once, slow and deep. “Let’s sail, Captain.”
His grin was wicked. “You trying to get me to wear a uniform?”
“I mean,” I said, pretending to think, “if it’s lying around …”
We spent the rest of the morning packing. Just a few bags between us—casual clothes, sunscreen, a worn paperback I’d been pretending to read, and a silky nightgown I tossed in last-minute. By afternoon, we were stepping onto the yacht. It gleamed in the sun, all sleek lines and polished teak, like something out of a dream. Tom, the actual captain, greeted us at the gangway with a nod and a quiet, “Welcome aboard.”
The crew was efficient but warm, treating me like I’d always belonged there. Charlie moved through the space like it was second nature, checking our course, asking about the crew, running through logistics with Tom like the ex-military man he was. I trailed behind, sunglasses perched on my head, letting the wind tangle my hair as we pulled away from the dock.
As Charleston faded into the distance, I settled beside Charlie on the upper deck. We toasted with champagne—because why not—and watched the coastline blur into a watercolor of blues and greens.
That night, after dinner under the stars and too much wine, I curled into bed, my skin still warm from the sun. The gentle rocking of the water soothed something deep inside me, like a lullaby I hadn’t known I needed.
Charlie stepped out of the shower, towel slung low around his waist, and crawled in beside me. His hair was damp, his eyes unreadable.
“You good?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair from my face.
I nodded. “Better than good.”
He was quiet for a moment. Then he shifted, reaching into the drawer of the nightstand, and when he turned back, he was holding a small velvet box.
My breath caught.
“I’d thought about making this a whole thing,” he said, voice low and serious. “Big gesture. Fancy restaurant. Fireworks over the water. The works.”
He opened the box. The ring inside was simple. Timeless. A single diamond, set in a band that shone like moonlight.
“But then I realized,” he continued, “you’d had enough drama to last a lifetime. What you need isn’t spectacle. It’s real. It’s quiet. It’s this—me and you. No noise. No fear. Just the truth.”
My heart pounded so hard it drowned out the gentle slap of waves against the hull.
He took my hand. “Sloane Carrington, you are the most stubborn, brilliant, infuriating, brave, beautiful woman I’ve ever known. You didn’t just walk into my life—you crash-landed in it. And I thank God every day that you did. I want to be the one who stands between you and anything that tries to hurt you ever again. I want to be the man who makes you laugh if the nightmares come back. I want to be your home.”
I swallowed hard, my throat too tight for words.
“So,” he said, almost shyly, “will you marry me?”
“Yes,” I whispered, and then louder, steadier, “Yes. Absolutely, yes.”
He slid the ring onto my finger. It fit like it was always meant to be there. And when he kissed me, it wasn’t fireworks. It was better.
