The silence that followed was vast. Oceanic.
The room was packed, yet not a soul stirred. They were waiting… Waiting for just one person to do the honors.
“Sir Kurt Ozhorn,” said that gentle, mellow voice.
“Here,” replied that grating, squarish tone.
“Before I give you my answer, I’d like to ask you two questions. Is that all right?”
“Of course. Ask anything.”
His dark, obsidian-like eyes didn’t so much as twitch.
“First question.”
“Yes.”
“Did you come all the way from your home to here dressed like that?”
“I did.”
Not a flicker of doubt. He answered as if wearing that pristine, dated, conspicuously all-white suit was the most natural thing in the world. As if he hadn’t just stepped out of a century-old picture book.
And yet, in that moment, Sophie could admit it: he looked both impossibly good and completely out of place.
“Second question.”
“Yes.”
“Look at me closely. Do you notice anything different?”
Kurt squinted his eyes, studying.
Really, really studying. Then:
“Did you cut your hair?”
Sophie almost smiled. “No.”
She crouched down to meet him at eye level, then took his hands and gently pressed them to her face.
At first, he was simply pleased to be touching her.
Then his brow creased. His eyes widened.
“Your skin…it’s all better!”
“Yes. I had it fixed just now, actually.”
She could feel his large, calloused hands on her now baby-soft skin. She could see her reflection in the glossy surface of his impossibly dark eyes. And in it, the trail of a single tear slipped down her cheek, slipping past Kurt’s fingers. Instinctively, she reached to wipe it away but stopped—there was nothing disgusting about it anymore.
It was a clear, glistening drop of water, like a pearl or a gem, catching the light as it fell past his hand and landed on the floor.
“Ms. Sophie…”
His voice had softened. His gaze, too. Just slightly as he looked at the woman he loved.
For a moment, the two stayed there, suspended in silence. It felt as though nothing, and no one, could pull them from the quiet world they shared.
“What the heck is he wearin’?! That’s lame as all hell!”
Well, aside from Duncer, that is.
While the other sailors had been keeping him back, blocking his view, Duncer had somehow managed to rise up on his tiptoes and catch a glimpse of the scene. And what followed had been pure instinct: his immediate, unfiltered opinion shouted at full volume, like a happy-go-lucky boy calling out from the back of a crowd.
If a dunce was someone who spoke without thinking, then yes—Duncer was living up to his name.
The response was swift and decisive.
“Read the room!” someone barked.
“You’re not wrong… You’re not wrong, but now’s not the time!” said another.
“Go to hell, Duncer!” yelled a third.
Clonk, clonk, clonk! Three solid thuds rang out, and then the room fell silent as if nothing had ever disturbed it.
Kurt furrowed his brow in thought.
“May I take a moment to summarize my actions thus far?”
“Be my guest,” Sophie replied.
“It seems I—dressed in an outfit described as ‘lame as all hell’…”
Sophie nodded.
“—barged into your salon without reading the room, knelt before you, and proposed by declaring my fondness for your discharge. Not realizing you no longer have any. Would that be accurate?”
“It would.”
“Yikes…” came the sailors again.
“Why would you say it like that… Why would you summarize it…”
“Someone kill me… Kill me!!!”
The big, burly men clutched their chests in unison, collapsing under the weight of second-hand embarrassment, but Kurt paid them no mind.
He stared off into the distance for a beat. Then, with a slow, steady breath, he collected himself, lifted the bouquet again, and held it out to Sophie.
“Even so, my will remains unchanged. Ms. Sophie, will you marry me?”
“Damn! He just trucks on like nothing even happened!”
The voice captured what the entire room was feeling: awe and disbelief in equal measure.
“When I come home,” he continued, “it’s your face I hope to see first. Your smile, your voice saying ‘welcome back’—I ache for that more than anything. I want to be the one who stands closest to your joys and your sorrows. The one who shares the longest days and the quietest nights with you. For all the years ahead, Sophie, I want that life with you.”
A proud and poignant confession. Earnest, even after everything.
A collective gulp passed through the room; everyone held their breath.
Sophie opened her mouth.
“Mr. Ozhorn, of course, I—”
“Now, hold on just a hot-buttered second!”
The voice boomed like thunder.
One moment, there was nothing between them. The next, there stood a man.
Johann Olzon. The head of the household.
Sophie’s esteemed father.
“I’m Sophie’s father, Johann Olzon.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Father.”
“Don’t you call me that. Not yet. No, no, no—we’ll see about that.”
Johann glared at Kurt at point-blank distance.
“All right, ‘Kurt.’ You’re already on thin ice after barging in and spoiling what was meant to be a quiet moment celebrating my daughter’s recovery. So watch yourself. As her father, I have some questions for you. I’ll be the judge of whether you have the right to propose to her.”
“Of course.”
“First—this isn’t some twisted prank, is it? You’re not mocking her?”
“Mock her? How would I, dressed in an outfit that mocks me more than anything?”
“Damn it, that’s a good answer!” The words seemed to knock the wind out of Johann, but he caught himself and forged on. “Moving on. What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a third-rank healer with the Royal Fifth Healers.”
“Mm. So you’re successful. Not bad, but don’t let that swell your head—plenty of successful men out there. Age?”
“Twenty-two.”
“Young. Successful. Good age for Sophie.” Johann squinted. “Parents? Siblings?”
“No siblings. Both my parents passed. I’m alone.”
“Ah… I see. That’s—well, I’m sorry to hear that. You’re far too young to be without family. But…” He scratched at the side of his face. “No in-laws to clash with, no ailing parents to care for later… Not the worst situation.”
He cleared his throat.
“Do you own property?”
“A detached house in the capital. The crown gave it to me. Does that count?”
“He owns a house in one of the best areas in the country and doesn’t even have to worry about a mortgage?! Damn it, damn it, damn it!”
Johann—company president, sailor, father—started stomping on the floor like a child throwing a tantrum.
“The boss has lost it…”
“Shh.”
The sailors all looked on, pitying their big boss like he was the sorriest creature in the world.