Somewhere around four o’clock, she heard footsteps in the corridor.
They were soft. Hesitant. They stopped just outside her door.
She held her breath.
A long pause.
Then—so quietly she almost missed it—a knock.
Fiona was out of bed before she fully realised she had moved. She crossed the room in three strides, her bare feet cold against the floorboards, and pulled the door open.
Christian stood in the corridor, illuminated by the small candle in his hand.
He looked terrible—hollow-eyed and unshaven, his hair disordered, his shirt untucked and his feet bare against the cold stone. He looked like a man who had spent the night wrestling ghosts.
“I couldn’t stay away,” he said.
His voice was raw, stripped of all pretence.
“I tried. I told myself it was kinder—that a clean break would be easier for both of us. But I couldn’t—I couldn’t let you leave without—”
His throat worked.
“Without what?” Fiona asked softly.
“Without telling you.”
He lifted his gaze to hers, and she saw everything there—love and fear and desperate, aching need.
“I meant what I said on the cliff. I believe walking away is the right thing to do. I believe staying will only hurt you more. But I also know that if I let you go without—without one more night—I will regret it for the rest of my life.”
Fiona’s heart was pounding so violently she could feel it in her throat.
“What are you asking me?”
“I’m asking for tonight.”
His hand rose, trembling slightly, and brushed her cheek.
“Just tonight. One more night to hold you. One more night to pretend the world does not exist—that tomorrow will never come—that we may have this, have each other, without consequence.”
“And in the morning?”
“In the morning, I will let you go.” His voice cracked. “I will watch you leave, and I will not follow. And I will spend the rest of my life remembering what it felt like to be loved by you. But tonight—please, Fiona. Give me tonight.”
Fiona’s chest tightened.
“I do not wish to leave,” she said quietly. “And if you truly intend to send me away, sharing a night together will only make the parting worse.”
Christian’s hand fell back to his side. For a moment, he said nothing, and the silence between them seemed to stretch painfully thin.
He turned slightly, as though preparing to leave before she could refuse him outright.
Fiona’s mind raced.
She had meant to reason with him in the morning—to speak calmly, to unravel the knot of fear and self-reproach that had driven him to this decision. Perhaps daylight would give her the clarity she needed. Perhaps time would give him the courage to reconsider.
Yet as she looked at him now—hollow-eyed and uncertain in the dim candlelight—another thought took root.
