Let It Be Me (Triplets book 1)

Chapter 25

Everything was oddly quiet after everyone had left. Ophelia stood alone in the middle of the room, while Sullivan stood with his hands braced on the back of a sofa watching her. It was as if now that they were alone, after everything that had happened, they didn't know where to begin.

"Do you like my house Ophelia," Sullivan asked. His deep was gentle, as if he was frightened that he would scare her away.

"No, not particularly," she responded honestly.

Then Sullivan smiled, and the tension broke.

"I don't much care for it either." He walked around the couch to join her. He didn't touch her, only looked down at her from his towering height. He was so close that Ophelia had to lean her head back to look up at him.

"Then why do you live here?" She frowned in confusion.

"Because it reminds me of something I should have forgotten a long time ago." He turned to look at the room around him. "Would you like to go upstairs?"

"No!" Ophelia was not ready for that. Although, she did want to know why he was reminding himself of something he should have forgotten. It was an odd choice of phrasing.

"Let me begin again," Sullivan said with a tender smile. "I have a study upstairs that is much more comfortable. Would you like to go there to talk? I promise there is not a bed or couch insight. Only a few comfortable armchairs and a large desk."

"Alright, can we take Polly?" Ophelia looked down at the dog who was curled up by the door.

"I think she would prefer it there," Sullivan agreed. Then he turned and led the two of them up that stairs and down a hall. The study was dramatically different from the rest of the house.

It was wood-paneled and dark, with lamps giving the room a comforting glow. There were indeed two deep green plush armchairs in front of a dormant fireplace. Most of the walls were covered in bookshelves, and there was a large desk sitting in the middle of the room.

"Is this where you wrote your screenplay?" Ophelia asked as she walked to an armchair and sunk into it.

"In part. I wrote most of it in L.A. after I would spend time with you," he admitted as he walked to a long table that held glasses and decanters. "Would you like something?" he asked.

Ophelia shook her head. "Why, after spending time with me?"

"Because you were the inspiration for it." Sullivan had his back to her as he poured himself a glass amber liquid.

"How?" Ophelia was perplexed.

"The story is a satire of the political world today, but the romance in it is all you. It's about a girl who is torn between two brothers, after having been brought into their mother's house."

Ophelia frowned, still not able to make the connection. "But I was never torn between two brothers. I only ever loved you." She spoke her thoughts aloud, not thinking about how they would sound, and she bit her lip once she realized what she had said.

Sullivan stilled for a moment before he finished what he was doing and then turned to face her. "I know that now, but I didn't then. I was always jealous when I saw how easy you and Sawyer were with each other. You were always touching and hugging, and I wondered if that was because there was something there." He moved to sit across from her. "I didn't really think you cared one way or another about me until I returned from South America. The concern you showed at my weight loss gave me hope. Then when I was helping you out of your predicament with the fence, you showed concern again. Although, even though I hoped, I was unable to understand it as such at the time."