Semua Bab Hearts at the Helm:A Billionaire's Gamble on Love: Bab 281 - Bab 290

The Aether drifted in a breathless, airy hush, an isolated gem on a blue glass plain of finely burnished blue. The storm of yesterday had been a dream, a baptism by exigency that had cleaned the sea and sky to a dazzling, impossible purity. There was no other sound than the gentle, oscillating creak of the boat and the far, infrequent cry of a gull gliding high overhead.Clarkson leaned in the shaded doorway of the cabin, a cup of coffee cradled in his hands to warm them. He surveyed the deck, an automatic, protective look, but today there was no room for urgency, only deep, long, lingering happiness. And then he spotted Jonah.He reclined on a crumpled blanket against the portside railing, his back propped up against the storage locker, his large sketchbook open on his knees. His head was forward in thought, the sun catching the gold and copper highlights in his hair, sending them ablaze. One hand clutched a stout graphite pencil, working with swift, confident lines. The other rested

The question had also lingered between them for weeks, that subtle, unspoken tension. It was there in the occasional glance between them where Jonah would stare at the ring on his finger, a small, secretive smile curving his lips. It was there in the weight of the compass in Clarkson's pocket, a constant, grounding reminder of their shared path. They were in love, and the world now knew it with honeymooning zeal, but the shape of the occasion itself was a beautiful, blank sheet.They were in the large room of the Maine house, a fire crackling in the firebox on this warm afternoon, casting leaping shadows on the stone and bare wood. Jonah was curled up at one end of the huge sofa, his feet tucked under it, looking out through the glass doors at the cove where the Aether rested peacefully. Clarkson was at the other, a financial report on his tablet left there in his lap, his attention on Jonah.We should probably start thinking about it," Jonah murmured, without shifting from the window

The day of the surprise visit was one of those crisp, clean-aired Maine days, the sky a hard, bright blue, the sun coaxing a last, fiery brilliance out of the leaves that had fallen. Clarkson was in the study, sorting out the final, happily uncomplicated details of the wedding with Jonah—a local justice of the peace had been booked, a small, family-owned catering business catering. The simplicity of it all was a luxury greater than any extravagant ballroom.A hard, unrecognizable knock on the front door echoed through the vacant house.Both of them looked up, a question between them. They were not expecting anyone. The couriers had learned to leave packages on the porch.Jonah got up. "I'll get it."Clarkson nodded, half his ear still preoccupied with the caterer's menu. He heard the thud of the heavy door, a second of silence, and then Jonah's voice, polite but inflected with confusion. "Can I help you?"A deep, older, whisperily familiar voice responded, "I'm looking for Clarkson. I

The world was reduced to a beat. The slow, sighing drag of the wave falling back, the scrunched sound of his tread across the damp, hard sand, the steady, metronomic throb of his own heart. The beach at Maine was deserted in the pewter light of a late afternoon, the sky a low cloud ceiling, the sea a turbulent, churning grey. It was a world that mirrored the world of Clarkson's inner landscapes, the world he had come here to cross.He had started to think of legacy.It was a word that had been the cornerstone of his existence as far as he could remember. The Roberts legacy. His father's legacy. It was something of steel and diesel, of shipping lanes and profit statements, a vast, impersonal edifice he was born to maintain and enlarge. His entire life had been an anarchic, futile effort to author his own page to that frigid, stunning narrative. He had measured his worth in buys, his success in share, his legacy in the impenetrable fortress of his bottom line.But the fortress was reduc

The kiss had tied them together, but there was still a holy, unspoken tension in the air. The news had been announced, but the biggest truth was yet unspoken. When they parted, their foreheads still together, there went between them a shared, unspoken understanding. Something more had to be said. The vows they had printed out were in their pockets, neatly typed on heavy cardstock, but now they were redundant. The words to be spoken were not written down; they were etched into the very fabric of their common experience.Maya, sensing this, nodded slightly and stepped back into the circle of friends.Jonah's hands were still trembling, but now they were firmly wrapped in Clarkson's. Clarkson's grip was firm, a hold on the flood of emotion. He looked at the man standing before him—his husband—and saw the entire, impossible journey reflected in his bright eyes. The ceremony's stately scaffolding crumbled away, leaving only the stark, hammering heart of the moment.He took a slow breath in