I pull her into my lap. Kiss her like she’s the only thing anchoring me to earth. Which she is.
When we break apart, I press my forehead to hers. “You are my redemption. My salvation. My everything.”
“And you are mine.” She smiles tenderly. “I love you, my love.”
“Say it again,” I murmur.
She kisses me on the lips. “I love you, Gregory Falk.”
I exhale shakily. “I love you, too, Sorrel Silva. And I’m going to keep saying it until you’re sick of hearing it.”
She laughs. “I’ll never be sick of hearing it.”
I cup her face in both hands and my voice cracks. “You showed up desperate on my doorstep, and even after you knew who I was, you never asked me for anything. You fought me on everything. You called me out. You made me want to be better.” I swallow hard before continuing. “And that’s when I knew.”
She shakes her head ever so slightly. “Knew?”
I pull her closer. “I’ve been surrounded by people who only care about what I can do for them for so long I thought it was normal. I’d spent my whole life building an empire, and it couldn’t buy the one thing that mattered.You. Your respect, your forgiveness, your love. I had toearnthose. And I did. And that’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m not exaggerating. Learning that I’m enough without it all. That you loveme, not what I can provide, not what I can do for you.”
She smiles through tears and touches my face. “Oh god, Gregory, I do. I love you exactly as you are.”
We stay like that for a long time, wrapped around each other in her tiny apartment. The research initiative documents lie forgotten on the table.
They can wait.
Right now isfor this.
For us.
For finally being brave enough to say I love you.
And that’s enough.
Epilogue
Sorrel
One Year Later...
It’s Christmas Eve at the chalet, and I’m basically living my childhood fantasy except with significantly better gift wrap and way more expensive booze flowing in the kitchen.
The tree Gregory had Thomas install in the great room reaches all the way to those ridiculous cathedral ceilings, and underneath it looks like Santa’s workshop exploded. There are presents everywhere. Like literally everywhere.
The entire base of the tree is completely buried under wrapped boxes. They’re spilling out across the floor in a three-foot radius. There are also presents stacked on the sectional. Presents on the coffee table. I’m pretty sure I saw presents tucked behind the fireplace screen. It’s like Gregory said “Christmas” and his credit card had a seizure.
My modest contribution of ten gifts I wrapped in my apartment looks absolutely pathetic next to this retail avalanche. I can’t even see the tree skirt anymore. It’s just wrapping paper and bows as far as the eye can see.
And the best part? Gregory remembered. I’m talking about that conversation we had last year on Christmas Eve, when we were stuck here and got talking about my childhood Christmases. About how my parents would wrap chocolates separately and put ties in individual boxes just to make the pile look bigger. To make it feel magical.
Gregory apparently heard “mountain of presents” and thought “challenge accepted.”
Though I suppose there are also a lot more people here than just my family, so not all the presents are from him. And yes, my parents are here. And he also flew my roommates in from Boulder. Thomas and Vin brought their families. And even Marcel showed up with his partner, looking remarkably un-butler-like in a colorful Christmas-themed cashmere sweater with a big green tree on the front.
This is my life now. I’m the girl who has a butler at her Christmas party. What even is reality?
I’m sipping some eggnog when Mom picks up a present and squints at the handwriting.
“Sorrel, dear, is this from you?” she asks. “To Gregory, From... Marcel’s Condom Factory?”
