Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Winter
The staff has everything ready. The table is set with crisp white linens, polished silverware, fresh flowers in a low arrangement that doesn't block the view. The chef appears briefly to greet us, assuring us everything is piping hot and prepared to perfection.
Knox pulls out my chair and I sit down, still buzzing from what just happened below deck. My body feels satiated, alive, completely wrapped up in the bubble we've created over the past two days.
The sun has just finished setting on the horizon, leaving only a thin sliver of gold peeking through the darkening sky. The water reflects the last of the light, creating this perfect romantic scene that feels almost too beautiful to be real.
The first course arrives—an amuse-bouche, delicate and artfully plated. I take a bite and the flavors explode on my tongue. Knox is watching me from across the table. He reaches his arm out and takes my hand, lifting it to his lips. He kisses the back of my hand gently, his eyes never leaving mine.
"This is incredible," I say.
"Good."
The staff brings out the second course—lobster tail with drawn butter and microgreens. The wine they've paired with it is fantastic, crisp and perfectly chilled.
Knox sets down his fork and leans back slightly.
"Have you traveled much? For pleasure, I mean. Not just work."
"Some. Paris a few years ago. That's where I fell in love with French cuisine. The food there is just..." I pause, searching for the right word.
"It's an experience, not just a meal."
Knox nods. "I spent three months in Japan about ten years ago. Best food I've ever had. There's this place in Tokyo, tiny restaurant, seats maybe eight people. The chef makes sushi right in front of you. Every piece is perfect. I still think about it."
"Three months? That's a long time."
"I was younger. Figuring things out. Decided to just disappear for a while and see the world."
"Where else did you go?"
"South America. Argentina, Chile. Europe—Paris, obviously. Barcelona. A few Michelin-starred places in Copenhagen." He takes a sip of wine.
"What about you? Where else have you been?"
"Italy. Rome, Florence, the Amalfi Coast. That was incredible. The architecture, the art, the food. I couldn't stop taking notes."
Knox smiles.
"Of course you were taking notes."
"I'm a designer. It's what I do,” I say, proudly.
The third course arrives—filet mignon with roasted vegetables and a red wine reduction. The meat is cooked perfectly, practically melting in my mouth.
The music playing softly in the background shifts to something even more mellow. The yacht rocks gently with the motion of the water. Everything feels calm, easy, like we're suspended in this perfect moment.
Knox is listening to me talk about a gallery I visited in Florence, asking questions that show he's actually paying attention. It's refreshing. Different.
I've seen Knox be confident, arrogant, full of bravado in professional settings. But in these intimate moments, I can see something else. He's thoughtful. Kind. He knows how to take care of someone who means something to him.
But what does this all mean?
The question lingers in my mind as I take another bite of the filet. Knox sets down his fork and looks at me.
"What's on your mind?"
I meet his eyes. "I guess this is coming to an end soon. The trip."
Technically, we're supposed to be flying back to New York tomorrow.
Knox nods. "Correct." He pauses.
"But it doesn't have to end right now. Immediately."
I look at him and our eyes lock across the table.
"We stay another day," he says.
I smile. "Really?"
Knox holds my gaze. "It's up to you. Obviously, I know you have other clients and a business to tend to."
I raise an eyebrow. "Well, that never really stopped you from bringing me down here in the first place."
Knox's lips curve into a slight smirk.
I continue. "And considering that it was only yesterday, you only needed me for, like, what, two hours?"
Knox takes a sip of his wine, clearly amused.
I lean forward slightly.
"So that begs the question. Did you really need me to come down here?"
Knox sets down his glass.
"I think we both know the answer to that question. I'm just glad you said yes."
I smile. "I'm glad I said yes as well."
"Well, if you'd like to stay another day, I can whip up a little magic. Make it worth it."
"It already has been worth it so far."
Knox's expression shifts slightly, something darker flickering in his eyes.
"I hope this beats your date at the bar the other night."
I roll my eyes. His jealousy is showing again.
He leans forward. "Is that your type, that kind of guy?" He pauses.
"Or how about, what's his name? Tom Smith."
I roll my eyes again.
"You know, I meet people and I have a conversation. I'm a businesswoman. You know all about networking. Correct?"
"I understand," Knox says.
"But really..." He pauses, his eyes searching mine.
"Is that your type?"
Silence settles between us. I look down at my plate, then back up at him.
"My type has evolved."
Knox's jaw tightens slightly.
"Well, my brother was your type as well. For a while."
The words land like a stone dropping into still water. My stomach twists. The mention of Rowan puts a sour tone on the moment, briefly popping the bubble we've been floating in. Knox sets down his wine glass and looks at me.
"What did you see in him anyway?"
The question catches me off guard. He continues before I can answer.
"His boyish charm?" The sarcasm is evident in his tone.
I look down at my plate, then back at him.
"I don't know. It seemed like a good fit at the time. Convenient. It made sense."
I pause.
"At the time," I add.
Knox nods slowly, taking another bite of his food. He follows it with a sip of wine, his eyes never leaving mine. He's studying me like I'm some sort of hidden code he's trying to decipher.
I deflect. "So what was your type?"
Knox raises an eyebrow.
I continue. "I mean, you are one of the most eligible bachelors on the East Coast. Probably the country. You're a very sought-after man for business and perhaps more." I pause.
"Weren't you jet-setting with some model last year?"
Knox smirks. "Is that a question or are you just being facetious?"
I lean back in my chair.
"No. I think your reputation precedes you. THE Knox Sterling of the Sterling Dynasty. Featured in Forbes not once but twice. Bloomberg. GQ." I smile, taunting him slightly.
"Ladies love Knox."
His face goes deadpan. "I have dated. Nothing really ever stuck."
Now I'm curious. I lean forward.
"So you were never married? Never engaged?"
"Never married," Knox says.
"Probably the last time I came close to asking a woman to marry me was almost ten years ago. But it ended before I had to get down on one knee."
I nod, listening.
He continues. "I've dated some high-profile people and some not-so-high-profile people. It's all the same in the end."
The words tumble out of my mouth before I can think them through.
"What about kids? Do you want that? Do you want marriage? Do you want a family? A name to carry on the Sterling legacy?"
Knox looks at me and cocks his eyebrow.
"I've created my own legacy."
He pauses, swirling the wine in his glass.
"But the idea seems great," he adds.
"I never really clung to it over the years. Sometimes people get caught up in the idea of a dream or a fantasy, and it doesn't do them any good. I have to deal with what's right in front of me."
He looks directly at me as he says that last part.
My breath catches in my throat. I'm not sure how to read it.
His glare is intense, penetrating, like he's trying to tell me something without saying it out loud.
Before I can respond, the waiter appears to refill our wine glasses and clear the plates.
The moment breaks. Knox leans in again once the waiter leaves.
"How about you? Do you want marriage? Kids?"
He takes a sip of wine, then adds, "Did you have these conversations with my brother?"
Now it's obvious he's really trying to understand the dynamics of my relationship with Rowan.
I shake my head.
"We never really had conversations. He mentioned marriage in passing. But he said a lot of things in passing."
Knox nods. "You seem disappointed."
I look up at him. "No. Not at all."
There's a deafening silence between us. The music in the background seems to play a little louder, filling the space where our words should be.
Knox breaks the silence after what feels like an eternity.
"What is it that you want, Winter Hayes?"
I lift my glass and take a sip, buying myself time to think.
"I guess I can start with just wanting to be happy."
"Are you happy now?" Knox asks.
I look at him, really look at him.
"In this moment, yes."
"Well, that's a start," Knox says.
The staff appears with dessert—something decadent and chocolate, plated beautifully with gold leaf and fresh berries. The chef himself comes up to our table, a tall man in his fifties with a warm smile.
"Mr. Sterling, Ms. Hayes, I hope you enjoyed your meal," he says.
Knox nods. "It was exceptional. The lobster was perfect."
"Thank you, sir. And for dessert, we have a dark chocolate torte with raspberry coulis and fresh cream. I hope you enjoy."
"I'm sure we will," I say, smiling at him.
The chef nods and retreats back toward the galley.
I take a bite of the torte and close my eyes. It's rich, smooth, the chocolate melting on my tongue with just the right amount of sweetness balanced by the tart raspberries.
"Good?" Knox asks.
"Incredible."
We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, just savoring the dessert and the wine. Knox sets down his fork and looks out at the water.
"We have the yacht for another couple of hours. They'll take us around the bay before heading back to the marina."
"That sounds perfect."
We finish the dessert slowly, not rushing.
A crew member comes by to refill our wine glasses one more time.
Another asks if we need anything else. We decline politely.
The conversation shifts to lighter topics.
Knox tells me about a disaster at one of his early developments where the contractor installed the wrong windows and he had to eat the cost. I tell him about a client who changed their mind about the entire design concept three days before installation and I had to pull an all-nighter to create something new.
We laugh. We drink. We talk. The yacht makes its way back toward the marina, the lights of Naples twinkling in the distance as we approach.
As we near the dock, I lean over to Knox and say,
"Yes. I want to stay another day."
Knox looks at me, and there's something in his expression that I can't quite name. Relief, maybe. Or satisfaction.
"Good," he says simply.
The yacht pulls up to the pier and the crew begins securing the lines. Knox stands and extends his hand to help me up from my chair. I take it, and we walk toward the stairs together as the evening comes to a close.