The Rivals - Vi Keeland Page 0,95

before she had a chance.

We followed the receptionist into a long conference room. I was glad it wasn’t one of those fishbowl rooms that corporate America loved these days, where everything that went on inside was visible to anyone passing by.

“Are you sure I can’t get you coffees?” the receptionist asked from the door after we were both inside.

“No, thank you,” Sophia said.

“I’m good.” I smiled and motioned to the door. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to shut this.”

“Oh. Sure. Yeah. I’ll do that for you.” She grabbed the door handle and gently closed it behind her.

“Weston—” Sophia jumped right in.

But I cut her off. “I need thirty seconds. If you want, I’ll go wait in the lobby after that.” I had no idea how much time we had, or if we’d get a chance to talk again before we wrapped things up at The Countess, so I needed to say what I needed to say—and fast.

Sophia’s lips flattened to a grim line. She didn’t acknowledge granting me the thirty seconds, but I figured her not talking might be as good as I was going to get. So I paced back and forth, looking down at the floor, trying to choose the right words.

My ribs felt like a weight was sitting on them, squeezing the air from my lungs. And I knew exactly what that weight was. I had this moment to get everything off my chest.

Now or never.

Don’t be a chickenshit all your life.

So I took a deep breath and looked across the table, waiting for Sophia to look up. Eventually, the awkward silence tricked her into meeting my gaze, and I went for it.

Fuck it.

Go big or go home.

“I love you, Sophia. I don’t know when it started or if it even matters anymore. But I need you to know it.”

At first, I saw hope bloom in her eyes. They widened with surprise, and the slightest hint of a smile formed at the corners of her mouth. But just as quickly as that hope had blossomed, it wilted.

And I watched as she remembered.

Remembered how I’d fucked her over.

Remembered how she’s supposed to hate me.

Remembered how nothing I say should be trusted.

In the span of less than ten seconds, that slightest upturn at the corners of her mouth melted into a giant downturn, and her wide eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“You have no idea what love is.”

I shook my head. “You’re wrong. I might not know a lot of things—like how to have some balls when dealing with my family, or how to tell my grandfather no when he tells me to do something morally reprehensible, or even how to be in a relationship, because fuck knows I’ve never had a real-life role model of what a normal one is supposed to look like. But I absolutely, positively know that I’m in love with you. You know how?”

She didn’t answer. But she also didn’t tell me to stop.

So I kept going.

“I know I love you because for the five years since Caroline died, I have never wanted to be a better man. I’ve never once looked in the mirror and given a shit whether I liked what I saw. But every morning since you got on that plane and made me move out of that window seat, I’ve stared at myself, wondering what I could do today to be a better person—a better man who deserves a woman like you.

“I know I love you because my family would disown me for falling in love with you. And that doesn’t scare me half as much as you leaving this room without believing that my heart belongs to you more than it’s ever belonged to anyone.

“I know I love you because for my entire life I felt like I had no purpose except to be spare parts for my sister…until you.

“I know I love you because…” I shook my head and dragged a hand through my hair. “Because you are the finest, loveliest, tenderest, and most beautiful person I have ever known—and even that is an understatement.”

Sophia’s lips parted, and tears welled in her eyes. I didn’t have to tell her I’d borrowed that one from F. Scott Fitzgerald instead of Shakespeare. A month ago, I’d searched for quotes to taunt her about her ex, but lately I’d started to enjoy reading them. So many reminded me of her, like that one.

I cleared my throat. “Soph, I fucked up. It’s not the way you think, but I realize it doesn’t matter