19. CHRIS
19
CHRIS
T he night felt like it was pressing in on me as I walked back to the yacht, the city around me both comforting and isolating. Monaco, even at this late hour, was stunning. The streets shimmered under the soft glow of streetlights, the reflections glistening on the slick cobblestones from the earlier mist.
The moon colored the parts of the town the lights didn’t reach.
The place was alive, but quieter now, with only the occasional hum of a distant engine or the echo of laughter from some late-night party-goers. It was beautiful—but it also felt empty, like it was missing something.
Maybe it was just me.
The time with my brothers had been great. It always was. We laughed, drank, and took turns roasting each other like we were teenagers again. For a few hours, it felt like nothing had changed, like we were still just a bunch of guys with big dreams ahead of us, fucking around and having fun.
But they all had their own lives now, their own responsibilities, and where they were all leaving to go do something big, I was staying behind. They were leaving tonight or in the morning. Not that I didn’t have something big I needed to do, but having them leave reminded me of all the shit I had to focus on.
It was horrible, drinking all my sorrows away, only for them to come crashing down on me again.
I stumbled slightly as I walked, the alcohol still humming warmly through my veins. The night breeze helped, cooling my face, but it couldn’t do much for the gnawing feeling in my chest. It was always like this—no matter what I achieved, no matter how much I had, there was still this emptiness. Fuck, I hated it. This feeling that I was missing something. Someone. I shook my head, trying to clear it, but it didn’t help, it only made the world spin a little more, and my head hurt.
The yacht came into view, its sleek lines reflecting the moonlight off the calm water. It was a masterpiece—a testament to everything I’d built. But tonight, it looked more like a monument to what I didn’t have. I groaned and stepped on board, ready to head to my suite and pass the fuck out.
There was a soft glow coming from the dining room, and I frowned, squinting through the darkness. Someone was still up.
I turned away from the luxury suites and toward the entertainment areas. I moved quietly, my footsteps muffled against the polished wood. The light drew me closer until she came into view.
Bella.
She sat at the dining table, her laptop open, surrounded by spreadsheets and papers. She looked focused, her brow furrowed slightly in concentration, her fingers moving rhythmically over the keys. The lamplight bathed her in a soft, golden glow, highlighting the curve of her cheek, the way her hair fell over her shoulder.
She was beautiful. She’d always been beautiful, but there was something about seeing her like this—so determined, so capable—that twisted something deep inside me. I wanted her. I’d always wanted her, but it wasn’t just that. I wanted to be the one she could rely on, the one she could turn to. I wanted to be enough for her. But I wasn’t, was I? Not then, and probably not now, and knowing that just made me feel… like complete shit.
I shifted and the wood gave way under my feet, the soft creak breaking the silence. Her eyes snapped up, and for a heartbeat, I saw something there—something raw and open. But it vanished, replaced by a hardness that cut straight through me.
I guess I deserved that.
“You’re still up,” I said, clearing my throat. I felt like an idiot for being caught watching her.
“The work isn’t going to do itself.”
“You’re really dedicated.”
“I know you wouldn’t know what that’s like.”
Her comment sliced straight through me, and it stung as it did, and I winced. Bella pursed her lips and she looked away before looking at me again.
“What do you want, Chris?” Her voice was cold, her hands folded in her lap now as she looked at me.
I swallowed, stepping further into the room. “I just… wanted to check on you.”
She let out a scoff, her eyes narrowing. “Check on me? Really? After everything?” She shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “You’ve got some nerve.”
She was furious, and I couldn’t blame her. She had every right to be angry. I’d pushed her away, hurt her, and for what? Because I was scared? Because I didn’t think I was good enough? I’d been so sure of everything earlier but now, with my alcohol-infused brain, it was harder to remember why I’d done that. How could I let someone so incredible slip through my fingers? It felt like I didn’t even have a good excuse.
I forced myself to meet her gaze. “I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have pushed you away. You didn’t do anything wrong. It was… it was me.”
She was silent for a moment, her eyes searching mine. I could see the hurt there, the confusion. “You’re apologizing?”
I nodded.
“Why, Chris?”
“Because what I did was wrong,” I said again. “And you deserve an apology.”
She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut as if it was too much to bear.
“Why do you keep doing this?” Her voice was almost a whisper. She opened her eyes again.
I took a step closer, my heart pounding. “Because I…” The words caught in my throat, my chest tightening. “Because I’ve always loved you. And that scares the hell out of me.”
There it was, plain and simple. The words I’d been looking for all night, the thoughts I’d been wrestling, all came together in a neat package, delivered with the most honest truth I had to offer.
She stared at me, her lips parting slightly as if she didn’t know what to say.
“I…” she started, but she stopped and shook her head. Her eyes were dark in the low light when she looked up at me. “Why now?”
“What do you mean, why now? It never changed.”
The air between us felt thick, charged with everything we’d left unsaid for so long. I took another step, closing the distance between us, my hand reaching out to gently brush against her cheek.
“Chris…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “After everything… I don’t know what to say. I don’t have the words to—”
“There’s nothing else left to say,” I murmured, my gaze locked on hers. And before I could second-guess myself, before I could convince myself that this was a mistake, or she could say something that would hurt or change my mind, I leaned in and kissed her.
She responded immediately, her hands fisting in my shirt as she pulled me closer. The kiss was desperate, hungry, years of longing and heartache pouring into that moment. My hands slid into her hair, tangling in the soft strands as I deepened the kiss, the length of my body pressing against hers, needing her closer. I could feel her warmth, her softness, and for a moment, the rest of the world disappeared.
There was no yacht, no Monaco, no mistakes or regrets. There was just her. And God, I didn’t want to let go.