Her breath catches, surprise and wariness warring in her expression. "What you feel...?"
Here it is—the moment of complete vulnerability, of truth I've never spoken aloud, of risk I've never been willing to take. "I'm in love with you, Sophie. Have been since that charity auction. I didn't recognize it at first—called it interest, fascination, desire. But it's more. Deeper. More significant than any emotion I've allowed myself to feel since my parents died."
The confession hangs in the air between us, raw and unguarded in a way I've never been with another person. Sophie stares at me, searching my face for deception, manipulation, calculation—finding none because, for once, I'm offering none.
"You barely know me," she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I know enough," I counter. "I know you're kind without being weak. Creative without being impractical. That you value honesty and directness. That you see beyond my wealth and power to the man beneath—and reBenably, you haven't run from what you've found there."
"Until today," she reminds me, though the hurt in her tone has lessened.
"Until today," I acknowledge. "When my own fear of losing you led me to withhold information that might have given you reason to walk away. The irony isn't lost on me."
I take another step closer, close enough now that I could touch her if I reached out. I don't. Not yet. "I want you to understand something, Sophie. If it comes down to a choice between the European expansion and you, there is no choice. If it comes down to Hawthorne Enterprises and you, there is no choice. I built an empire to ensure I'd never be left with nothing again. But today I realized that all of it means nothing if you're not part of my life."
Her eyes widen at the declaration, the implications of what I'm saying clearly registering. "You can't mean that. Your company is your life's work."
"It was," I correct her. "Until you. Now it's just a company. Important, yes. But not essential. Not like you."
I kneel before her, bringing us to eye level, abandoning the last vestiges of control and pride. Christian Hawthorne, who has never knelt before anyone, who has built a reputation on standing above and apart, now on his knees before a small-town shopkeeper who has somehow become more precious than an empire.
"I'm not asking you to forgive me immediately," I tell her, my voice steady despite the vulnerability of my position. "I'm not expecting you to trust me again without question. I'm simply asking for the chance to prove, through actions ratherthan words, that you matter more than any business deal, any expansion, any amount of wealth or power."
Sophie's eyes glisten with unshed tears, her guard finally lowering enough to reveal the conflict beneath—her hurt battling with the connection between us that remains powerful despite today's revelation.
"I was falling for you too," she admits quietly. "That's why it hurt so much to think I was just temporary. Just something to pass the time before you left."
"Never temporary," I assure her, finally allowing myself to reach for her hand. "Never disposable. Never less than essential."
She doesn't pull away from my touch, her fingers curling slightly around mine. Not surrender, not yet. But openness to possibility. To healing. To moving forward together rather than apart.
"What happens now?" she asks, the question encompassing far more than the immediate moment.
I squeeze her hand gently, the connection between us more meaningful than any business contract I've ever signed. "That depends on you. On us. On what we choose to build together—here in Evergreen or anywhere else in the world."
For the first time since this morning, Sophie offers me a genuine smile—small, cautious, but real. And in that smile, I see something I've never truly had before, something no amount of wealth or power could purchase: a future with someone who matters more than ambition, more than control, more than empire.
A future I'd sacrifice everything else to claim.
Chapter
Fourteen
SOPHIE
Christian Hawthorne ison his knees before me. The man who commands boardrooms and builds empires, who never compromises and rarely apologizes, is kneeling on my worn carpet, telling me he'd choose me over his business, his wealth, his carefully constructed life. His eyes—those storm-gray eyes that have haunted my dreams for weeks—hold nothing but raw honesty, an emotional nakedness I've never seen from him before. Part of me wants to believe him instantly, to throw caution to the wind and trust that this powerful man would truly prioritize a small-town shopkeeper over a global empire. But the wounded part, the part that spent today crying by a frozen lake after discovering his omission, urges caution. Warns me that words are easy, even seemingly sincere ones.
"You're falling in love with me," I repeat his words, testing their weight, their truth. They hang in the air between us, impossibly significant, terrifyingly fragile.
"Yes," he confirms, no hesitation, no qualification. Just certainty, in that way only Christian can convey. His hand remains holding mine, warm and solid and real. "I realize it seems fast. Improbable, perhaps. But it's true."
I search his face for any sign of calculation or manipulation, any hint that this is another strategic move by a man accustomed to getting what he wants through whatever means necessary. I find none. Just vulnerability so raw it almost hurts to witness it from someone usually so controlled.
"What would this even look like, Christian?" I ask, practical concerns rising through the emotional turbulence. "You run a global company. I have a small shop in a tourist town. Our worlds are completely different."
"They don't have to be," he replies, his thumb tracing small circles on my palm. "We can find balance. Integration rather than separation. I've kept my business and personal lives compartmentalized because I had no reason not to. Now I do."
The conviction in his voice makes my heart ache with want—want to believe him, want to trust that this can work, want to fall back into the connection that felt so promising before today's revelation.
