Chapter 5 Sophia
Sophia
The garden was quiet, except for the steady trickle of water from the fountain and the occasional rustle of wind through the trees.
I walked the path slowly, arms folded across my chest, gravel shifting under my shoes.
The air was cool, but sunlight cut through in spots, warming my skin in flashes.
It smelled like roses, lavender, and fresh earth, Even though summer was already over, and everything around me was starting to wither.
I settled onto a bench beneath a canopy of climbing roses, the stone still holding the sun’s warmth beneath me.
I pulled out my phone, found some meditation music, and slipped in my earbuds.
Ambient tones dulled the world around me.
I closed my eyes, but I couldn’t relax. Not really.
Not when everything around me felt like a test. I didn’t want to belong here, only to belong to him.
I didn’t know what I was doing here. I just wanted Gabriel.
This world didn’t need to shove to see if I’d break. It just waited.
I shifted on the bench, pulling my knees up, wrapping my arms around them as if that could anchor me. If Gabriel welcomed me here, then why did it feel like I was one wrong step away from being pushed out?
I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, willing the doubts away. But they only grew louder, pressing against the edges of my mind, telling me what I already knew.
I was in over my head. And sooner or later, I would see pity and realization in Gabriel’s eyes as he looked at me.
The bench rocked slightly, and I opened my eyes, startled. A woman was sitting next to me, so close I could see the deep patterns in her bright blue eyes.
"Sorry," she said, holding up her hands with a sheepish smile. "Didn’t mean to sneak up on you."
I pulled out my earbuds. "It’s okay. I’m—"
"Sophia?" she interrupted, tilting her head, her gaze warm but curious.
"Yes. And you are?"
She blinked slowly letting the moment hang for a heartbeat too long
"I’m Isabelle. What are you doing out here?"
“Oh, of course. Its good to meet you”
I swallowed nervously. "Just... thinking. Gabriel was busy, thought fresh air would be good for me."
"You picked a great place for it. I come out here to think too," she said, her voice lighter than her expression.
She was as beautiful as Gabriel was handsome.
"I’m sorry about your sister. Gabriel told me everything."
She let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, her frown deepening. "I doubt he told you everything."
I couldn’t help but feel frustrated, the feeling was becoming too familiar. I’d hoped that Gabriel would trust me enough to be fully open.
Silence sat between us, not uncomfortable but weighted. I searched for something to say or ask, but she spoke first.
"So, tell me about yourself," she said, leaning forward slightly, studying me. "I want to see what Gabriel sees in you."
"Well… Where should I even begin, before I came here, I was working three jobs just to survive."
A shadow flickered through my thoughts, Henry’s wide eyes, his reaching hands, the little camera in the wall watching everything. I pushed the memory away.
"I worked in a café, a marine biology lab, and.. and an art gallery," I said, keeping my voice steady.
Isabelle pursed her lips, nodding thoughtfully. "So how did you meet Gabriel?"
I felt myself smile a little at the memory. "He came into the café I worked at. I hated him at first, he was rude and arrogant. But then I found out he was my new boss at the lab."
I paused, laughing softly. "It’s strange to think someone like him would’ve gone to college for marine biology."
Her expression shifted, just slightly at first, then her brows knitted together in brief, unmistakable confusion before she smoothed it away.
"Gabriel’s full of surprises," she said, her voice measured. But there was something about the way she said it, like she was trying to make sense of it herself. But before I could dwell on it, she was already moving the conversation forward.
"So… working together, is that when things started?"
"Sort of," I said carefully. "It wasn’t easy at first. He doesn’t like to let people in."
"No, he doesn’t," Isabelle agreed, her tone dropping. Her eyes flicked to mine, holding my gaze. "But he lets you in now, doesn’t he?"
"I don’t know," I admitted finally.
I looked past her at the sound of footsteps on the path. Gabriel emerged from the trees—silent, steady, unreadable.
Her smile was small but knowing. "You’ll figure it out. Just remember he has his reasons for keeping secrets. Don’t take it personally."
I looked back into her bright blue eyes, they were softer now.
"It was nice to finally meet you." I said.
She stayed where she was, leaning back a little. "You too."
Gabriel stopped at the edge of the bench, his attention settling on me like it had been there the whole time. He reached out his hand.
"Walk with me."
I stood without a word, brushing off the back of my jeans, then followed after him.
We walked in silence. His steps were unhurried, deliberate. Mine synced with his like it had always been this way.
A breeze slipped between us, and all I could smell was him—clean, sharp, unmistakably Gabriel.
He tilted his head, watching me with a careful kind of quiet. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m good,” I lied.
His fingers brushed against mine, the contact light but certain. “You’re stronger than you think.”
I let out a breath. “That’s only because I have you.”
“No,” he said, and there was a weight behind it now. “That strength? It was always there. You just didn’t have anyone who saw it.”
I took his hand. His grip tightened, firm and sure—like he had no intention of letting go, then relaxed.
He didn’t lead me so much as he guided me, his pace measured, deliberate.
I let my fingers shift in his hold, just enough to feel the roughness of his palm, the faint drag of callouses against my skin.
A slow tremor curled through me, heat pooling under my skin.
We walked in silence for a while. The only sounds were the soft crunch of gravel beneath our feet and the steady rhythm of our steps.
“You’re quiet.” He said.
I glanced up at him, “So are you.”
He said nothing, but looked at me expectantly.
I huffed out a quiet breath, looking ahead. “I don’t think Isabelle trusts me.”
“Isabelle doesn’t trust anyone.”
“Does she trust you?”
He didn’t answer right away, and when I looked at him, I found his gaze already on me, heavy, sharp, assessing. Like he was peeling back my words, searching for what I wasn’t saying.
“She trusts that I’ll do what needs to be done,” he said finally.
Before I could think too much about it, his thumb dragged slowly across the back of my hand. A silent reassurance. A quiet distraction.
It worked.
I should have focused on the meaning behind his words, but instead, all I could focus on was the warmth of his skin, the way his fingers curled around mine.
It wasn’t fair, the way he did this. How he could control my feelings better than I could.
The path opened into a clearing, where a large gazebo sat encircled by trees in a beautifully manicured area, its sheer white curtains fluttering in the faintest breeze.
Inside, a low daybed stretched against one low wall, its cushions crisp and inviting.
A small bar stood in the corner, even more inviting.
“This is pretty,” I said.
“At the right time of day, in spring, this place looks like something out of a painting.”
“I look forward to seeing that.”
He looked around—slow, appraising—before turning back to me. “Do you miss painting?”
“I do, sort of. But the idea of art kind of makes me remember things I’d rather forget.”
He said nothing, moving toward the bar and pouring us each a drink.
“You shouldn’t let what happened with Henry destroy something you’re passionate about. Don’t let him take that from you.”
I took the drink from his outstretched arm and sipped, using the time to think. He was right, but that didn’t really matter.
“If you think about it, you being an artist is what brought us together to begin with, and I would hate to see you drop something you’re so good at, something you love, in order to keep unpleasant memories and emotions suppressed.” He said, deep and soft.
He looked into the distance thoughtfully, set his drink down, and regarded me, one eyebrow slightly raised.
“I think what you need is exposure therapy, along with being paid what you’re worth. Your talent was...” He circled his hand in the air, searching for the word. “Undervalued, in that town.”
“You’re in New York now. Things are different here. And that’s not just a fact about the city. It applies to you. To your skills.”
He stepped closer, his voice dropping with intent. The smell of him, the weight of his presence, wrapped around my senses as he tucked a stray hair behind my ear.
“The people here have a more refined taste for art.”
He shook his head softly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“They aren’t just tourists looking for a keepsake. You’re an amazing artist, and that’s a beautiful part of who you are. It’s something I love about you.”
I looked up at him, smiling as my lashes fluttered away the tears that hadn’t fully formed. My voice came out soft, teasing.
“Why are you saying this to me? I’m already yours, aren’t I?”
He smiled. But the seriousness in his gaze didn’t waver. He pulled me closer, tilted my chin up, and kissed me. Slow and purposeful.
“Yes, you are mine.”
And just like that, my fears and doubts dissolved. For one suspended moment, I didn’t have to question if I belonged.
I did.
He kissed me deeper, his hand sliding into my hair as he guided me backward, slow and unyielding, until the backs of my knees touched the edge of the daybed. He eased me down, his mouth never leaving mine, until I was lying back against the cushions, breathless.