I flinch. "I wasn't crying. It was allergies."
"You were crying," he corrects. "Because I hurt you.”
He reaches out. His hand hovers, then cups my cheek. His thumb brushes away a tear that has fallen.
"But I realized something in the boardroom today," he says. "Winning doesn't feel like winning if you're not there to see it."
My heart is hammering so hard I think it might crack a rib.
"Brooks..."
"I'm giving you the waiver because I want to level the playing field," he says. "I don't want you here because of a contract. I don't want you here because you're afraid of me."
He steps closer.
"I want you to stay," he whispers. "Not as an asset. Not as a fake fiancée. I want you to stay because you want to."
I look at the check in my hand. Half a million dollars. Freedom. Safety for Maddy and Savvy.
Then I look at him. The man who ate a burger on a car hood. The man who defended me. The one who is looking at me now like I am the only thing in the world that matters.
"You're asking me to stay?" I ask.
"I'm begging you."
I could make him wait. I could fold this check into my pocket and walk out the door, let him wonder for days whether I'm coming back. He hurt me. He made me feel like a transaction. Part of me wants him to feel even a fraction of that.
But standing here, watching the most controlled man I've ever met come undone at the seams, I realize something. I can punish him, or I can forgive him. I can't do both.
And I'm so tired of being angry.
A smile breaks through my tears. It feels like the sun coming out after a month of rain.
"I can't leave tonight, anyway," I say softly. "I have to oversee the tent setup tomorrow. The florists are terrified of your mom."
Brooks lets out a breath he must have been holding for hours. A grin splits his face, boyish, relieved, beautiful.
"Is that a yes?"
"It's a 'we'll see,'" I tease. "You have a lot of groveling to do."
"I can grovel," he says. He leans in, his forehead resting against mine. "I can grovel very well."
He kisses me. It's soft, tentative, full of promise. It's not the desperate hunger of the storm; it's something sweeter. Something that feels like a beginning.
"I have to go to the main house," I whisper against his lips, though I make no move to pull away. "I left my purse and phonein the library when I was doing the charts. And I need to tell Betty the seating is finalized."
"Forget them," Brooks murmurs. "Stay here."
"I need to get my phone. Maddy will send a search party if she messages, and I don’t answer."
Brooks chuckles. He kisses my nose and steps back.
"Go," he says. "Get your things. Tell my mother whatever you want. Just come back."
"I'll be ten minutes," I promise.
I place the envelope on the table. "Leave that there," I say. "I haven't decided if I'm cashing it yet."
