Page 118 of Secret Heir For The Billionaire Twin

“I’m reconsidering.”

She smiles. “You’re terrible at this.”

“At what?” I ask.

“Having fun without controlling it.”

I look at her over the rim of my glass. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You are,” Sophie concedes, still smiling.

“I suppose that counts as progress.”

That becomes the rhythm of the day. We walk along the waterfront, stop for another drink, and eventually take the boat farther south toward Como. Sophie leans against the rail while the wind moves through her dark hair, and every few minutes she turns toward me with an observation, a joke, or a question that has nothing to do with Blackwell Technologies, deadlines, or the article. I answer every one of them. Somewhere between Bellagio and Como, I stop thinking about the phone I deliberately left behind.

We spend another hour walking through Como, stopping for coffee and wandering through the streets before returning to the boat. Sophie sits close beside me on the ride back, our shoulders touching whenever the boat shifts beneath us. At one point, she laughs at something I say and rests her hand briefly on my thigh without seeming to think about it. I notice. I notice every time she touches me.

By the time the estate comes back into view, the sun has dropped lower over the mountains, casting long streaks of gold across the water. Dinner is less than two hours away when the boat slows beside the private dock.

Clive is already waiting for us. The expression on his face tells me something has changed before he says a word.

“Mr. Blackwell,” Clive says as I step onto the pier.

“There have been several calls for you.”

I turn and offer Sophie my hand, helping her from the boat before looking back at him.

“From whom?” I ask.

“Mr. Adrian, Ms. Cross, and Daniel. There were also two other calls from New York.”

Sophie glances at me, and I can see the question in her eyes.

“Thank you, Clive,” I say.

Clive nods and steps aside to speak with the boat captain while I turn toward Sophie.

“Dinner will be ready in about two hours,” I tell her.

“I’ll meet you in the dining room.”

Her gaze remains on mine.

“Is everything okay?”

“I’ll know in a few minutes.”

Sophie studies my face, but she does not push.

“All right,” she says. “I’ll see you in two hours.”

“I’ll see you then.”

I watch her head toward the house before going upstairs.

My phone is exactly where I left it that morning, sitting on the nightstand beside the bed. The moment I turn it on, notifications begin filling the screen. There are multiple missed calls from Adrian, several from Vivian, messages from Daniel, and more emails than I can count without opening the inbox.

I carry the phone into the home office and close the door behind me. Adrian’s first voicemail is almost six hours old.