Chapter 13 Charles
Charles
I want to marry this woman. I want to wake up to the scent of her hair on my pillows for the next fifty years.
I want the world to know she’s mine by the name she carries.
I want to come home from a hellish day, not to a silent penthouse, but to her—to the light in her eyes and the peace she radiates just by existing.
This torrent of feeling is what I need to convey. But when my mouth opens, my brain, trained for billion-dollar deals and legal loopholes, short-circuits. I fumble. I always do with her.
“Can I steal you away and bring you home?” The words are out, clumsy and crude, and I physically wince.
Instead of asking her to be my girlfriend, I’ve taken the kidnapping route. Perfectly smooth, Charles.
Her lips part, her eyes wide with a surprise that feels like a small puncture to my lungs. “You want to take me to Citrine Bay?”
Is she truly shocked? After the way I’ve devoured her, after the years of emptiness she’s just filled in a single night, did she think I’d just drop her off with a handshake and a hug?
The very idea is a visceral rejection in my blood. Hell, no. The truth is, I’m not sure I can let her out of my sight for more than a few hours without this new, desperate ache setting in.
I force a nod, my gaze snagging on a garish, inflatable Santa Claus across the street so she can’t see the nerves I’m failing to mask.
“You have a life there. Friends. A job. It’s…
a big ask.” It’s an insane ask. She’d be a fool to say yes.
We’re practically strangers woven together with decade-old threads.
Yet, the thought of her refusing is a cold knot in my stomach.
She’s silent for a moment that stretches into an eternity. Then, she clears her throat, and the sound is like a starting pistol. “How often would we visit? I can’t just leave Owen and his family. That’s not an option. Or… maybe we could find a place between here and there?”
She’s not saying no. She’s problem-solving. For us. Hope feels my lungs, makes me want to find a solution just as much.
Our eyes meet again, and I see the same conflict mirrored in her face—a beautiful, painful grimace. “I want this, Charles. But I can’t just say goodbye.”
She wants this. She wants me. The words are a seismic shift in my world, solid ground forming after years of freefall. That alone is everything.
“Whenever you want,” I vow, the words rough with promise. “I’ll get you wherever you need to be. Just say the word.” I’d buy her a private jet if it meant she’d come home to me.
I’d learn to live with the echo of loneliness in our bed on the nights she stayed here, because the trade-off—the right to see her sleep-softened in the morning, to touch her, to love her openly—would be worth any cost.
“Whatever it takes,” I say, the confession tumbling out and laying me bare. “I’m willing to do it. As long as it ends with you being mine.” My voice drops, hoarse with the ghost of our past. “I can’t… I won’t make the same catastrophic mistake twice. Leaving you behind once nearly destroyed me.”
Her fingers tighten around mine, giving a painful pressure that grounds me firmly in this present, erasing the past ache of that old yearning. It’s a promise.
“We’ll make it work.” Her smile is like the sun breaking past the horizon.
She lifts our joined hands and presses her lips to my knuckles, a seal on her vow.
“Even if it’s a process, and everyone thinks we’re insane, we’ll find a way.
” Her eyes sparkle with excitement. “I hope you know what you’re signing up for. ”
A low, relieved laugh escapes me. The same goes for her.
Does she have any idea what she’s unleashing? Does she know that the man she’s agreeing to has a heart that’s been a locked vault, and she’s just been given the only key? I have a decade of love to make up for, and I plan to spend the rest of my life ensuring she never, ever doubts it.
Returning our attention to the parade, I can only silently wish it to go by faster. The sooner it’s done, the sooner I can try to convince her back toward the inn.
After a revelation this big, there’s only one way I can think to celebrate. By making her mine in every way possible.
* * *
Getting her back is a challenge I’m learning to adore.
She resists my gentle guidance, yet melts at my touch—a contradiction that delights me.
Once the crowd thins, she takes charge, her hand firmly in mine as she pulls me through the festive streets, and I surrender willingly. This is a dance I never knew I needed.
She’s insistent on capturing everything, her phone a portal to the world through her eyes. She frames the rustic charm of Hope Peak, the glittering lights, the magic in the ordinary. Then, without warning, she’ll whirl around, stealing a shot of me.
I never have time to compose myself, to summon the polished, boardroom smile. And I realize—that’s the point. She isn’t seeking the billionaire CEO. She wants the man bewildered by happiness, the one whose guard is down completely.
She’s capturing me. And the way her face illuminates with each preview, a private, radiant sun, tells me she’s getting exactly what she craves.
My heart feels too full for my chest.
The only revenge I can conjure is to pull her tight against my side, stealing the warmth of her. “Our turn,” I murmur into her hair, my voice thick with an emotion I can no longer contain.
I want photos of us. Of her head thrown back in laughter against my shoulder, of our linked hands, of the way I look at her when she’s not watching. I want enough to fill a dozen albums, a tangible history of our beginning to pore over when we’re old and gray.
She captures one of us smiling. When I pluck the device from her fingers, I take the next photo, one of us kissing. I capture her surprise beautifully.
We spend the better part of the morning filling up her camera roll.
When her steps finally begin to lag, a sweet exhaustion slipping into her movements, my own smile grows effortless, a permanent, natural curve. Her weariness is a testament to this chunk of day perfectly spent.
“Tell me you want to take a break,” I coax, stepping back and tugging her gently with me. “I know the perfect place.”
“You,” she starts, shaking her head with that teasing curve of her lips that sends my heart sailing, “are demanding.”
A genuine laugh rumbles in my chest, the sound foreign and wonderful. I lean in, my lips brushing the shell of her ear, my voice a low, promising whisper. “I’m happy to tell you that you are going to find I am a lot of things, darling. Demanding is a perfect place to start.”
Her cheeks blush beautifully as the pink hue travels down her throat, depicting a map of her pleasure that I desperately want to trace with my lips. She can’t deny the way she feels, that she wants me. The evidence is right there, painting her skin in the soft, afternoon light.
“We have all the time in the world for more photos,” I assure her, my thumb stroking the back of her hand.
The promise is real. I want a lifetime of these stolen moments, of her trying to capture me off guard, of us filling albums with the proof of our lives.
“We’ll discover more places like this. We’ll document us over and over until you’re sick of seeing my face on your phone. ”
The patience I’ve been trying to hold together is starting to crumble. Every stolen kiss has only made this hunger in my chest grow. Now, it’s suffocating, overwhelming me.
“But this,” I continue, my voice dropping, losing its playful edge and gaining a hungrier one.
I step closer, erasing the last bit of distance between us.
The festive sounds of the square fade into a distant hum.
My world narrows to her face, her parted lips, her wide, trusting eyes.
“I can’t wait for this. Not for another second. ”
Not even she can hide away the need behind her gaze.
“Come with me,” I say. It’s not a demand anymore. It’s a plea, woven with a promise of everything I am and everything I hope to be for her.
I turn, not waiting for a verbal answer, my hand extending back for hers. It is the most profound act of faith I have ever performed.
A beat of silence. Then, her fingers slide between mine, warm and certain, fitting perfectly into the spaces made for them.
And without another word, she follows.