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Emily looks at me, curiosity replacing her earlier concern.

"I hope it's a good surprise." A hint of a smile tugs at her lips.

I take her hand, bringing it to my lips for a soft kiss. "Trust me," I assure her, my own heart beating faster at the thought of spending more time with her.

She gives me a small, tentative smile, and I can sense her internal turmoil.

I'm determined to show her that whatever fears or secrets she's holding onto, they don't have to define what's growing between us.

We step out into the evening, the setting sun casting a golden glow over the estate.

I sense Emily's tension beside me, her earlier confession about Evan still hanging in the air. But I'm determined to shift the mood, to turn this evening into a memory we'll both cherish.

"Emily," I say, breaking the silence. "I meant what I said about good surprises."

I guide her toward the gardens, where I've set up something special.

As we walk, I steal glances at her, trying to read her thoughts.

She's a puzzle, one I'm increasingly eager to solve. Her earlier vulnerability, the guilt in her eyes over something as trivial as her brother's identity, it speaks volumes about her character.

We reach the gardens, and her eyes widen in surprise.

I’ve arranged a small, intimate setup under the stars, complete with a cozy blanket, soft cushions, and a basket filled with her favorite treats.

“William, this is…it's beautiful." Her voice is laced with genuine wonder.

"I thought we could stargaze. Relax a bit after... well, after everything." I carefully pull off the cloth hiding the table laden with paints and brushes. Then I set up a canvas. “And I thought you could paint something for me.”

To my relief, Emily’s face lights up like a kid on Christmas.

“I’d be honored!”

Pouring over the paints like she’s choosing a fine wine, she waves a paint brush at me, her expression stern. “But don’t expect Monet. And you’re not allowed to peek until I’m done.”

“Until you’re done? Won’t that take days…?” I lift a brow.

Emily gives me a playful nudge with a laugh, and she sets to work. “No, my style of art is unique…”

She shoos me to the other side of the canvas and moves around happy and animated.

She’s in her own world now, pulling her curly hair back into a bun.

Minutes fly by, and I reject three more calls from my father as I watch, swirling the wine in my glass, as Emily sets to work creating her masterpiece.

I cannot pull my gaze from her, admiring the way she bites her lip in concentration, her eyes shining with a mix of determination and creativity.

The anticipation of seeing her work builds within me, a pleasant counter to the growing unease about my father's relentless calls.

Finally, Emily steps back, a satisfied yet slightly nervous look on her face.

"Okay, it's done. Remember, no grand expectations," she warns with a playful smile.

I stand up, eager to see her creation.

As she turns the canvas toward me, I'm taken aback.

It's an abstract representation of me, sitting beneath a blanket of stars, the colors vibrant and alive with emotion. The painting captures not just my physical form but something deeper, a part of my essence that I hadn't realized was visible to her.