Page 130 of Under Southern Stars
She whirls back to face me. “I already told you how Troy viewed me, Jack. How he systematically tore down my confidence, my independence, my sense of self-worth until I barely recognized the woman in the mirror.” Her voice breaks, but she pushes on, the words tumbling out, fueled by years of suppressed pain and fresh betrayal. “And for years—years—I let him convince me that was normal.”
My face is a mask of anguish. I reach for her, but she recoils. “Don’t.”
She pauses for a moment.
“And then you showed up,” she continues, her voice thick with unshed tears. “This kind, funny, attentive paramedic with a heart of gold. You made me laugh! You were good to Madison. You made me feel…seen. Cherished, even.” She chokes on theword. “You made me feel safe enough to want to try again, to believe that maybe not all men were like Troy.”
She takes a ragged breath. “So when I realized everything you told me about who you are, about your life, was a lie—what do you think that did to me, Jack? It wasn’t just about the money. It was about the trust. The honesty. You made me a fool all over again, Jack.”
Sophia’s words hit me with the force of a physical blow. Each one is a perfectly aimed scalpel, slicing through my pathetic defenses, exposing the raw, ugly truth of what I’d done.
The comparison to Troy, the man whose vile online persona I’d just seen laid bare, is a stake through the heart. I’d wanted to be everything Troy wasn’t for her, and instead, I’d become just another man who had betrayed her trust, who had made her question her own judgment.
Tears stream down her face now, those beautiful blue eyes filled with a pain so profound it mirrors the desolation in my own soul. I want to pull her into my arms, to hold her, to somehow absorb her hurt, but her earlier “Don’t” echoes in the space between us.
“Sophia,” I start, my own voice cracking. I have to make her understand, even if understanding doesn’t mean forgiveness. “There are no words…no excuses for what I did. For how much I’ve hurt you.”
She stands rigid, arms wrapped around herself, waiting.
“I was a coward,” I say, the admission raw and true. “Plain and simple. I was terrified. Terrified that if you knew about…all this…” I gesture vaguely at the sprawling estate around us, “…you’d see the money, the name, and not me. That you’d think Iwas just another privileged tosser, or that I was slumming it, or that I couldn’t possibly understand your life, your struggles.”
“So you assume the worst of me?” she whispers, her voice trembling. “You didn’t think I was capable of seeing past a bank account?”
“No! That’s not…I was projecting my own baggage, Soph. My whole life, I’ve seen how people change when they find out about my family. The way they look at you differently, the assumptions they make. I just wanted…for once…to be just Jack. The paramedic. The bloke you shared coffee with, the one who made you laugh. I wanted that Jack to be enough for you, before you knew about the other one.”
“But it wasn’t the whole truth, was it?” she says, her voice flat. “It was a curated version. A lie of omission that went on for months. Every conversation, every shared moment…was it all calculated?”
“Never calculated,” I insist, stepping closer, unable to bear the distance. “Every moment with you, with Madison, was real. The most real thing in my life. The hiding…that was my fear, my stupidity. I kept telling myself I’d find the right time, the perfect moment to explain, but it never came. And the longer I waited, the harder it got, the more I had to lose.”
I finally reach her, gently taking her hands. They are cold, trembling. She doesn’t pull away this time, but she doesn’t respond either.
“Sophia,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “And if—if there’s a road back from this, if we can find our way again—then I’d give all of it up. Every cent. Every acre. All the ‘legacy’. I’d take your name, Sophia. I’d be Jack Mitchell and never look back, just as long as I had you.”
Silence stretches between us, filled only with the sound of our ragged breathing and the distant call of a night bird.
“You idiot,” she finally says, her voice barely audible. “You already have me.”
The words take a moment to register, my mind struggling to process what I’m hearing. “What?”
“You already have me,” she repeats, her voice stronger now. Her hands tighten around mine. “I’m still angry. I’m still hurt. But I love you, Jack. The paramedic in America. The vineyard heir in New Zealand. All the complicated, sometimes infuriating parts that make you who you are.”
Hope blooms so suddenly it’s almost painful. “Sophia—”
“I’m not saying it will be easy,” she continues. “We have a lot to figure out. But I don’t want to lose what we’ve found because of fear or pride. And what you did for Madison…confronting Troy without ever seeking recognition or advantage…that tells me everything I need to know about your character, Jack McKenzie.”
In the dim light of the sanctuary, Sophia leans forward, her hand cupping my cheek with infinite tenderness. “I’ve spent too many years being careful, keeping people at arm’s length to protect myself. I don’t want to do that anymore. Not with you.”
Her lips find mine, hesitant at first, then with growing certainty. I respond with equal gentleness, hardly daring to believe this is happening. When we part, her forehead rests against my chest, our breath mingling in the cool evening air.
“What happens now?” I whisper.
“Now,” she says, her voice stronger, “you show me your cottage. The real one, not the guest house. I want to see where Jack McKenzie actually lives when he’s home.”
Understanding dawns. “Are you sure? We don’t have to—”
“I’m sure,” she interrupts, her gaze resolute. “I want to know all of you, Jack. No more holding back. No more secrets.”
I stand, pulling her gently to her feet, our hands still linked. “It’s not far. Through those trees, just beyond the main path.”
