I shake my head slightly. "On the contrary. I've made a decision."
Her eyebrows lift in question. I take her hand in mine, brushing my thumb across her knuckles in a gesture that's become familiar in just one evening.
"We're leaving," I tell her, not a question or suggestion. A statement of fact.
"Now?" she glances around, taking in the party still in full swing. "But what about your guests? Don't you have to stay until the end?"
"The advantage of being the one who signs the checks," I say, "is the freedom to make my own schedule."
She studies my face, searching for something. "Why? What's changed?"
Everything. The taste of her. The knowledge that I can't go back to merely watching her, merely standing beside her without touching her the way I now know she wants to be touched.
"I find I've lost my appetite for sharing you with this crowd," I say honestly.
Her cheeks flush at the possessiveness in my tone, but she doesn't pull away. Progress.
"What about my display?" she asks, practical even now. "My ornaments..."
"Already handled. My assistant will have everything packed and delivered to your shop tomorrow."
Her eyes widen slightly. "You planned this? To leave early?"
"I plan for all contingencies," I tell her, not mentioning that this particular contingency has been on my mind since I picked her up tonight. "But no, this decision is…spontaneous."
The word feels foreign on my tongue. I don't do spontaneous. Every action, every business move, every relationship has been calculated, measured, controlled. Until Sophie. Until tonight.
"I should at least say goodbye to Eleanor," Sophie says, wavering. "She was kind to me."
"Of course." I place my hand at the small of her back, guiding her through the crowd. "A few necessary farewells, then we leave."
I send a quick text to my driver while guiding Sophie through the crowd. People part before us, some attempting to engage, others simply watching with undisguised curiosity. I acknowledge only those who cannot be ignored without causing offense—board members, major investors, the chairman who is visibly surprised to see me departing so early.
"Leaving us already, Christian?" he asks, glancing between Sophie and me with poorly concealed interest.
"I've attended to what matters," I reply, my hand never leaving Sophie's back. "The event is in capable hands."
He nods, understanding the subtext. "Miss Winters, a pleasure to have your work featured tonight. I hope we'll see more of you."
The emphasis on "we" isn't lost on me. The old man is fishing for information about my intentions. Sophie smiles politely,thanking him for the opportunity. She handles herself well—natural grace beneath the nervousness.
We find Eleanor near one of the champagne fountains, engaged in conversation with two other investors. Her eyes light with knowing amusement when she spots us approaching.
"Don't tell me you're escaping already," she says, not bothering with pretense.
"I've never been one for prolonged social engagements," I reply smoothly.
Eleanor's attention shifts to Sophie. "My dear, your ornaments are exquisite. I've already placed an order with your shop manager for fifty custom pieces."
Sophie's eyes widen. "Fifty? That's—thank you. That's incredibly generous."
"Not generous at all. Good business. Quality speaks for itself." Eleanor pats Sophie's arm. "As does chemistry." Her pointed glance between us makes Sophie blush again. "Christian, don't be a stranger. And Sophie—" her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, though not low enough that I can't hear "—he's worth the trouble. Trust me."
I pretend not to hear, but satisfaction curls through me at Eleanor's tacit approval. She doesn't offer it lightly.
We make our final farewells, declining three more attempts to keep us engaged in conversation. My hand remains at Sophie's back, possessive, guiding. I feel her relaxing into my touch as we navigate the crowd, unconsciously leaning toward me when someone steps too close. Her body recognizes what her mind is still questioning. She belongs with me.
The night air hits us like a shock when we finally step outside. Snow has begun falling again, fat flakes drifting lazily from the black sky. My driver has the Bentley waiting at the bottom of the steps, engine running, exhaust creating clouds in the cold.
