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“Completely.”
She lifts her eyes to mine again, and they’re shining. “I love you so much, Vince. I love you, and . . .” She presses her lips together, searching for the words. “And I don’t think we should have to keep debating about whether we’re allowed to be happy. I just want to be with you.”
I move closer, putting my arm around her shoulders, and she leans into me, resting her forehead against my chest. “I want that too,” I tell her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
She stays tucked against me for a little longer, then lifts her face, her eyes glittering with the reflected light of the Christmas tree. “And you’re not going to wake up tomorrow and decide you’ve made some horrible mistake?”
I understand why she needs to ask. I don’t like hearing the uncertainty in her voice, particularly when I’m responsible for it, but I’m grateful she’s giving me the opportunity to answer. “No, Sophie. I’m not going to do that.”
“Promise?”
“Promise, promise. You mean everything to me, sweetheart.”
“Okay.” She grins suddenly, pushing her hair away from her face. “Oh my God,” she says, laughing. “We’re actually doing this.” She throws her arms around my neck with enough enthusiasm to knock me back against the cushions. I laugh, catching her around the waist, and she holds on to me tightly. Her hair comes loose from its careless arrangement, and several dark strands tumble across her shoulders. “God, Vince, you are such a pain in the ass.”
I chuckle, pulling her close, and she laughs again, burying her face in my neck. Then she sits up and looks at me, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, only to have it fall forward again.
I tuck it back for her. “There is something else I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
Her smile falters for an instant. “Oh, God. What now?”
I smile, enjoying the fact that she’s teasing me again. “There’s a New Year’s Eve gala at the Belvedere Hotel,” I tell her. “It’s a formal event. Dinner, dancing, all the usual festivities. I get an invitation every year, although I rarely go.”
She tilts her head, listening. “Okay.”
“And I’d like to take you.”
“Like, go together like on-a-date-in-public together?”
I chuckle. “That’s the general idea.”
Her eyebrows rise. “Vince, there’ll be people you know there.”
“There will be.”
She gives me a look of such astonishment that I have to suppress a smile. “And you’re okay with that?” she asks.
“I’m not suggesting we announce our entire personal history to a room full of strangers,” I tell her. “But I’d like to take you somewhere special. I want us to enjoy an evening together without behaving as though I have something to be ashamed of.”
A week ago, she would have thought nothing of going out with me for an evening. Now, because of what’s happened between us, a dinner invitation has taken on an entirely different significance.
She drops her gaze, smiling to herself for a moment, and when she looks up again, there’s such obvious pleasure in her expression that I wish I’d had the sense to suggest this sooner. “I have the perfect dress.”
“You do?”
“My prom dress! Remember the black one? The one you thought was too mature for me?”
I remember it well. Black silk, narrow straps, a plunging neckline, and a slit that revealed rather more leg than I’d been prepared for. She’d looked beautiful, although at the time I’d been convinced the dress was entirely too sophisticated for a high school prom.
“I remember having some reservations,” I tell her.
“Well, it’s perfect for this. And I’ve only worn it once. Is it a sit-down dinner?”
“Yes. Usually several courses, followed by dancing and whatever festivities they’ve arranged for midnight.”
She settles against my side again, resting her hand on my knee as I put my arm around her shoulders. She wants to know what the hotel looks like inside, whether there’ll be a photographer, and if people actually dress formally or whether she’s likely to feel overdressed.
I answer as best I can, remembering a few details from the years I’ve attended. She’s particularly pleased when I tell her the ballroom is usually decorated extravagantly for the holidays.
