Chapter 75

Chapter 75
Georgiana was sitting at the desk, flipping through the photos they had taken that day when she heard Michael's footsteps returning from the bathroom.

She glanced over her shoulder to see him with slightly damp hair, his face fresh and clean. He wore a loose t-shirt and shorts that revealed the smooth lines of his muscular arms and calves.

Her heartbeat quickened involuntarily, and she quickly turned back to her phone, pretending to be absorbed in the images.

Michael seemed equally self-conscious. He sat on the edge of the bed without speaking, absently rubbing his already half-dry hair with a towel while stealing a glance at her back as she curled up in the chair.

"Do you want to shower?" he finally asked.

Georgiana slowly raised her head, then turned to look at him.

"I forgot to bring pajamas," she admitted quietly.

Michael stood and retrieved a t-shirt from his closet, offering it to her. "You can wear this."

Georgiana took the shirt, and as she left the room, she discreetly inhaled its scent—it smelled like him.

When the door closed behind her, Michael exhaled slowly, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

When Georgiana returned some time later, she had her hands balled into small fists, clutching something. She looked slightly uncomfortable as she asked, "Do you have a hanger?"

"Sure, what's wrong?" Michael got up to find one.

Georgiana's cheeks flushed pink. "I forgot to bring underwear."

Michael handed her the hanger with an embarrassed smile. She uncurled her fingers to reveal a small bundle of white cotton, a tiny triangle that she hung carefully on the back of Michael's chair.

She was too self-conscious to hang her underwear outside where Victor might see it.

Michael glanced at the small garment, feeling an unexpected wave of desire wash over him.

Georgiana hung up her underwear and turned back toward him, nervously rubbing her arm. Fresh from the shower, she looked a little cold.

Michael gestured toward the bed. "Get under the covers before you catch a chill."

She obediently climbed onto the bed, but as she did, his cotton t-shirt clung to her body, outlining her slender back and round bottom. The hem revealed her long, shapely legs.

Michael was acutely aware that she was wearing nothing underneath.

His throat felt dry. He pressed his lips together and scratched the back of his head, thinking that sleep would be impossible tonight.

Georgiana slipped under the covers and sat cross-legged, opening an old photo album that lay on the bed. The first page showed Michael as a baby—a round face with grape-like eyes, utterly adorable. In one photo, he wore split-crotch pants.

Georgiana stared at it and giggled softly.

"Don't look at that," Michael said with mock seriousness as he joined her under the covers, quickly turning to the next page.

The album was full of photos marking milestones—hundred-day celebration, first birthday, eighteen months—showing how much the family treasured this child.

Georgiana noticed Michael's mother in the photos. She was a beautiful woman, slender and gentle, with an especially tender smile. Yet she disappeared from the photos after Michael turned four or five.

"Your mom was really beautiful," Georgiana said softly.

"She died from illness," Michael replied. "Beyond these photos, I can barely remember her face in my real memories."

"Your father never remarried?" she asked.

Michael shook his head with a hint of regret. "When I was young, he worried a stepmother might not treat me well. Later, he said he'd grown used to being alone. He meets plenty of people through work, and I know some women are interested in him. But he just... doesn't want to start a new family."

Georgiana understood that Victor clearly treasured his son deeply and wouldn't let him suffer any hardship.

She turned the pages one by one as Michael explained each photo. "This was elementary school, on a field trip."

"This was a baseball game in middle school."

"This is my middle school graduation."

The later photos showed his time at military academy, where his facial features became increasingly defined.

These were all in uniform—training exercises, drills, daily life, and moments of camaraderie—bringing his past vividly to life before her eyes.

Georgiana was grateful for her rich imagination; just looking at the photos, she could picture the scenes as they happened.

Near the end of the album, she found many photos of Michael learning bomb disposal techniques.

Her eyes drifted to his right ear, and Michael, understanding her unspoken question, smiled. "It's getting better lately."

"That's good," she said. "Now you can go back to doing what you want to do."

As they continued flipping through photos, Georgiana noticed one showing Michael with a short-haired female soldier. They were receiving awards together.

"A comrade," Michael explained.

"An ex-girlfriend?" Georgiana asked.

Michael suddenly laughed, tilting his head to look at her. "Are you jealous of this too?" he asked in a low voice.

"It's not fair," Georgiana frowned. "I don't have any ex-boyfriends."

Michael studied her expression, smiling silently before becoming serious again. "To be honest, I've never had a formal relationship. That kiss in the stairwell was my first."

Georgiana pressed her lips together but couldn't suppress a smile. Under his direct gaze, her face flushed slightly, and she shifted her position awkwardly.

As she moved, her foot accidentally brushed against his leg. Just as she was about to pull away, he caught her foot under the covers.

"Why are they so cold?" he asked, warming her feet with his legs.

Georgiana felt a wave of heat spread through her.

"I thought you must have had lots of relationships," she said.

Michael raised an eyebrow. "Why would you think that?"

"Because you're so..." she hesitated, "...good."

"You're good too," he replied.

"I've met many men through work, but never felt anything special," Georgiana reflected. She had interacted with countless men professionally, yet none had made her heart flutter. But with Michael, one glimpse had been enough to lodge him firmly in her heart.

"I haven't met many women," Michael admitted. "My commanders were always trying to set me up. That's how I met Jessica. But I never found the right person."

As they spoke, their eyes locked. Georgiana suddenly felt nervous, and Michael also seemed uncomfortable. He looked away, collecting the photo albums from the bed. As he lifted the covers to get up, Georgiana was pulling her legs back, and Michael accidentally caught a glimpse under her t-shirt.

In an instant, he felt blood rushing to his head. Without showing any reaction, he gathered the albums and left the bedroom.

In the darkened study, he stood gripping a bookshelf, head lowered as he tried to regulate his breathing.

The visual flash of what he'd seen refused to leave his mind—the pink, soft curves of her chest.

When Michael returned to the bedroom, Georgiana was curled up on her side, sleeping peacefully.

He turned off the light, got into bed, and lifted the covers to lie beside her, putting an arm around her waist.

In the darkness, he felt her body stiffen momentarily before gradually relaxing.

They lay facing each other, their breathing barely audible, their exhalations tickling like feathers in the dark.

Michael could smell his own shower gel on her skin, and he felt like his willpower was being tested.

Gradually, his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he saw that she was also awake, watching him. Her eyes gleamed in the dim light, looking especially beautiful.

"So, will I be that right person?" Georgiana asked timidly.

Michael didn't answer with words. Instead, he gently pulled her closer. She nestled against him, tucking herself into his embrace. He leaned in to kiss her lips, their mouths moving together softly, not fiercely passionate but filled with infinite tenderness.

Their breathing grew increasingly ragged as they struggled to maintain control.

Michael gazed at Georgiana in his arms, then released her lips and said, "That's my answer."