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The gramophone crackled softly from the corner of the room.
A warm summer rain tapped against the windows, turning the world outside into a blur of silver and gold, while inside everything glowed with candlelight.
Sophie should have been reading.
There was a book open in her lap and another stacked beside her chair, but she had not turned a page in nearly twenty minutes.
Because Benedict Bridgerton was staring at her.
Again.
“You know,” she said finally, keeping her eyes on the book, “most people were taught that staring is impolite.”
“I am not staring.”
“You absolutely are.”
“I am admiring.”
Sophie laughed despite herself.
Across the room, Benedict stretched languidly across the chaise lounge, one arm hanging over the side as though he had abandoned all attempts at dignity hours ago.
The record changed.
A trumpet swelled softly.
Then came the unmistakable opening notes of At Last.
Benedict’s eyes brightened immediately.
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes.”
Before she could protest, he was already crossing the room.
“Benedict…”
“Dance with me.”
“We are alone.”
“Precisely.”
“There is no one here to witness your scandalous behaviour.”
“There is you.”
His grin was devastating.
“There is always you.”
Sophie felt the familiar warmth bloom beneath her ribs.
Even after all this time, she had not grown immune to him.
She suspected she never would.
The music drifted around them.
At last…
My love has come along…
Benedict extended his hand.
The gesture was ridiculous.
The room was far too small.
Neither of them was dressed for dancing.
Yet Sophie found herself setting the book aside and placing her hand in his anyway.
His fingers closed around hers instantly.
As though they belonged there.
As though they always had.
He drew her close.
One hand settled against her waist.
The other held hers.
And then they began to sway.
Not properly.
Not elegantly.
Just enough to follow the music.
Just enough to remain wrapped around one another.
The rain continued outside.
The song continued.
And Sophie rested her head against his shoulder.
She could hear his heartbeat.
Steady.
Familiar.
Home.
For a while neither of them spoke.
The silence felt sacred somehow.
Then Benedict pressed his lips into her hair.
“I used to think I would spend my entire life searching.”
She lifted her head slightly.
“Searching?”
“For something.”
His smile was faint.
“Meaning. Purpose. A place I belonged.”
Sophie looked at him.
His gaze remained fixed on her.
Soft.
Unguarded.
The sort of look he never gave anyone else.
“And then?”
“And then I met a woman masquerading as a servant who continually refused to let me flirt with her.”
She rolled her eyes.
“I did not continually refuse.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I tolerated you.”
“Tolerated.”
“I was very patient.”
Benedict laughed.
The sound vibrated through his chest beneath her cheek.
Then his expression changed.
The teasing disappeared.
Leaving only truth.
“Sophie.”
The way he said her name made her breath catch.
She knew immediately that whatever came next mattered.
His hand tightened around hers.
“You are the reason I exist.”
The room seemed to still.
Even the rain felt quieter.
Benedict swallowed.
“You are the very reason I was born.”
Sophie stared at him.
For a moment she could not breathe.
Could not think.
Could not do anything except feel.
Because there had been a time in her life when she had believed herself entirely unwanted.
Unnecessary.
Forgettable.
A burden.
There had been nights she had wondered whether anyone would notice if she disappeared.
Whether she mattered at all.
And now this extraordinary man was looking at her as though she were the answer to every question he had ever asked.
Tears burned unexpectedly behind her eyes.
“Benedict…”
“I mean it.”
His voice was rough.
“I know it sounds absurd.”
“It does.”
He laughed softly.
“It does.”
She touched his cheek.
The familiar scrape of stubble met her fingertips.
“But continue.”
His eyes never left hers.
“I spent years searching for inspiration.”
His thumb brushed over her knuckles.
“I thought I would find it in paintings.”
A pause.
“In galleries.”
Another.
“In travel.”
Then his smile returned.
“But apparently all along it was standing in front of me, telling me to stop being ridiculous.”
A watery laugh escaped her.
“I do say that rather often.”
“You do.”
His forehead rested against hers.
“And thank God for it.”
The song continued around them.
At last…
The skies above are blue…
Sophie closed her eyes.
She felt his breath.
His heartbeat.
The warmth of his hands.
Everything she had once believed impossible.
Everything she had once believed belonged to other people.
Love.
Belonging.
Being chosen.
Being known.
Being adored.
When she opened her eyes again, Benedict was still looking at her as though she were a miracle.
And perhaps she finally understood that she was allowed to believe him.
Allowed to believe this.
Allowed to believe in forever.
“I have something to tell you.”
His smile softened.
“What is it?”
Sophie rose onto her toes.
Pressed a kiss against his lips.
Slow.
Tender.
Certain.
When she pulled away, she rested her forehead against his.
“You are my beyond.”
Benedict blinked.
“My what?”
“The thing beyond every dream I ever dared have.”
Her voice trembled.
“The thing beyond hope.”
His expression crumpled in that beautiful way it always did when she managed to reach straight into his heart.
“Sophie…”
“You are more than I imagined.”
The tears finally escaped.
She laughed as she wiped them away.
“Which is rather irritating, actually.”
Benedict’s own eyes were suspiciously bright.
“Irritating?”
“Very.”
He pulled her impossibly closer.
“I apologise.”
“You should.”
“I shall endeavour to be less wonderful.”
“Please don’t.”
The words came out before she could stop them.
Quiet.
Honest.
Real.
Please don’t.
His smile turned soft enough to break her heart.
Never.
The record spun on.
The rain continued to fall.
And they remained there in the middle of the room, dancing long after the music ended, holding one another as though neither could imagine a world where they had ever been apart.
Perhaps they couldn’t.
After all, some loves felt less like beginnings.
And more like finally coming home.