Page 64 of Daddy's Christmas Obsession
I look up at him, every look makes my heart skip. "What kind of something?"
"You'll see." He sits up, reaching for his discarded clothes. "Get dressed, sweetheart. I have a surprise for you."
When I'm ready, Victor takes my hand and leads me downstairs to the main living area. I gasp when I see what he's done.
The Christmas tree is alight. Tiny white lights twinkle like captured stars, and beneath the branches, wrapped packages create a small mountain of silver and gold.
On the coffee table near the tree, he's set out crystal flutes and a bottle of champagne chilling in an elegant ice bucket. Fresh orange juice sits beside it in a cut-crystal pitcher, and I can see the makings for perfect mimosas.
"Victor," I breathe, taking in the romantic scene. "When did you do all this?"
"I've been up for a while," he admits, guiding me toward the couch. "I wanted our first Christmas Eve to start perfectly."
He pops the champagne, the sound echoing festively through the cabin. The golden liquid bubbles as he pours it into the flutes, adding just the right amount of orange juice to create perfect mimosas.
"To new beginnings," he says, handing me a glass.
"To Christmas magic," I counter, touching my glass to his.
The mimosa is crisp and perfect, bubbles dancing on my tongue as I take a sip. Everything about this moment feels surreal—the beautiful tree, the intimate setting, the man beside me who's thought of every detail.
"I thought we could make breakfast together after," he says, settling beside me on the couch. "But first, I have something for you."
"It's not Christmas yet," I protest, though anticipation flutters in my chest.
"This can't wait until tomorrow." He stands and moves to the tree, retrieving a small box wrapped in elegant silver paper. "Besides, it's Christmas Eve. That counts."
My heart starts racing as he returns to the couch and hands me the box. It's small and square and feels significant in a way that makes my hands tremble as I unwrap it. Inside is a velvet jewelry box, the kind that makes you catch your breath before you even open it.
"Victor?"
"Open it," he says softly, and when I look up at him, I see something vulnerable in his expression that I've never seen before.
I open the box with trembling fingers, and immediately gasp at what I find inside.
The ring is stunning beyond description. A massive center diamond surrounded by smaller stones that catch the Christmas tree lights like captured fire. It's the kind of piece that belongs in museums, the kind of ring that speaks of serious money and serious intentions.
"Kyra," Victor says. "These past few days with you have been the most real, the most alive I've felt in years. What started as... well, what started as something else has become something I never expected."
He takes the ring from the box, and I see that his hands are actually shaking slightly.
"I know how this all began," he continues. "I know the circumstances that brought you here weren't exactly natural. But what I feel for you, what we've built together—that's real. That's true."
"Victor," I whisper, my own hands trembling now.
"I love you," he says, meeting my eyes directly. "Not the idea of you, not the fantasy I built up over three years, but the realyou. The brilliant, stubborn, incredible woman who challenges me and surrenders to me in equal measure."
He shifts position, and suddenly he's kneeling beside the couch, the ring held between us like a promise.
"Kyra Sinclair, will you marry me?"
The words hang in the air between us, weighted with everything we've shared, everything we've become. The tree lights twinkle above us, casting rainbow shadows across his face, and I can hear the soft crackle of the fire in the background.
This should be impossible. Before this, I thought I was in love with his son. I was heartbroken and desperate and completely lost. Now, looking into Victor's eyes, seeing the vulnerability there alongside the determination, I realize that none of that matters. What matters is the way he makes me feel safe in the best possible way.
What matters is that I love him. Completely, desperately, against all logic and reason.
"Yes," I whisper, the word slipping out before I can second-guess myself. "Yes, I'll marry you."
