Chapter 8 #4
“I still don’t understand the issue.”
The annoying thing was that she no longer did either. Months ago, comments like that would have tied her stomach in knots. Now they mostly made her smile.
He studied her face, attention sharpening. “You’re thinking.”
“That’s a dangerous observation.”
“You always say that when you’re avoiding a conversation.”
“I hate how observant you are.”
“No, you don’t.” The certainty in his voice sent warmth through her chest.
He stepped closer — not enough to crowd her, just enough that she could smell his cologne, feel his attention. “What are you thinking?” he asked quietly.
She looked down at her glass, watching the city lights reflect against the dark surface of the wine, then back up. “I used to think you were arrogant.”
His mouth curved. “Used to?”
She pointed a finger at him. “Don’t push your luck.”
His fingers wrapped around hers before she could lower her hand, the simple contact instantly changing the atmosphere between them. “Continue.”
She looked down at their joined hands. “You were always so certain.”
He stayed silent.
“You talked about us like there was never another outcome.”
“There wasn’t.”
She laughed softly. “See? That’s exactly what I mean.”
“It’s true.” The answer came immediately, no hesitation, no apology.
She shook her head. “Normal people don’t think like that.”
“I’m not normal.”
“No kidding.”
His thumb moved slowly across her knuckles, the simple gesture making it hard to concentrate. She swallowed, then forced herself to continue. “I kept waiting for you to change your mind.”
His thumb stopped. His eyes locked onto hers. “About what?”
“About me.”
“That was never going to happen.” The answer came so quickly it felt instinctive.
Her breath caught — not dramatically, just enough for him to notice. He always noticed.
“You say things like that so easily.”
“Because they’re true.”
She looked away first, not because she wanted to, but because holding his gaze felt overwhelming sometimes. He reached up and touched her chin — not forcing, just guiding, waiting until she looked back. His voice lowered. “Josephine.”
Something in the way he said her name made her heart stumble. “What?”
“Stop acting surprised.” Her brows pulled together. “I’ve wanted you for over a year.”
The statement settled heavily between them. “I know.”
“Do you?” The question wasn’t challenging, wasn’t angry — if anything it sounded patient, as though he genuinely wanted an answer.
His hand slid from her chin to the side of her neck, touch gentle, gaze anything but. “You still look surprised every time I tell you.”
She released a slow breath. “Maybe because nobody has ever been this certain about me before.” The confession slipped out before she could stop it.
His expression changed — not dramatically, just enough for her to notice. His hand tightened slightly. “That sounds like their mistake.”
The response made her laugh. Of course that was how Viktor saw it. Simple. Direct. Certain.
She looked down at their joined hands again, then back up. “I’m starting to understand.”
His gaze narrowed. “Understand what?”
“Why you’ve always been so sure.”
For several seconds he said nothing. The city kept moving below them; neither noticed. Her pulse accelerated beneath his hand.
“I spent so much time waiting for something to go wrong.”
“And?”
“And you never left.”
Something warm flashed across his face — satisfaction, possession, relief, maybe all three. She took another breath, then said the thing she’d spent months avoiding.
“I want it too.”
He went completely still. “What?”
She laughed, nervous. “You heard me.”
“I want to hear you say it again.” The demand wasn’t harsh, wasn’t even loud, yet she felt it all the way down to her bones.
She held his gaze. “I want the future.”
His eyes never left hers. “With me?” Quiet. Confident. As though he already knew.
She nodded. “With you.”
For several seconds he simply looked at her, the satisfaction in his expression impossible to miss. “There she is.”
She frowned. “What does that mean?”
His hand slid around her waist — slow, possessive, certain. “The woman I’ve been waiting for to stop arguing with me.”
She laughed despite herself. “I wasn’t arguing.”
“You absolutely were.” His arm tightened slightly. She rested her hand against his chest, the steady beat of his heart thudding under her palm.
“I think you enjoyed it.”
“I enjoyed winning.”
“Unbelievable.”
“I know.” The answer made her laugh again.
He pulled her closer until she stood between his arms and the railing. The city disappeared from her attention — the lights, the traffic, the skyline, none of it mattering. Only him. Only this. Only the certainty she’d spent months fighting.
She looked up at him. “So what happens now?”
He lowered his head until their foreheads touched, eyes never leaving hers. “Now?” His mouth curved slightly. “Now you stop pretending you’re going anywhere.”
This time she didn’t argue. This time she didn’t look for an exit. This time she didn’t pull away.
Instead, Josephine smiled. And chose him completely.