Chapter 9
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Eleanor Trent's voice carried that particular blend of maternal warmth and aristocratic command that had bent prime ministers to her will: "James, darling, we're hosting a little dinner this Saturday. You'll bring Professor Sullivan, of course. Your father has been quite insistent about meeting this extraordinary woman you've been championing."
This wasn't an invitation but a royal decree thinly disguised as one.
James gripped his phone, experiencing an unfamiliar flutter of anxiety.
He knew his family's playbook by heart—this "casual dinner" was effectively an inspection parade.
He desperately wanted his family to see in Sophia what he saw, yet dreaded subjecting her to the Trent family's particular brand of polite interrogation.
He drafted and redrafted his message to Sophia multiple times, finally sending something deliberately casual that emphasized the "small family gathering" nature of the event, stressed that she should feel no obligation, and included three separate assurances that he would completely understand if she declined.
To his astonishment and barely contained elation, Sophia's response came almost immediately: "I'll be there. Send details."
Saturday evening found the normally austere Trent estate humming with unusual energy. James stationed himself at the entrance, having arrived a full hour early to ensure everything was perfect.
He'd opted for "casual elegance"—a look that had required three wardrobe consultations and cost more than most people's monthly rent. When her car pulled up, the practiced welcome speech died in his throat.
"You came," he managed, unable to completely mask his pleasure. Sophia stepped out in a simple lavender dress that somehow made the surrounding multi-million-dollar estate look overdone by comparison. Her minimal makeup highlighted rather than concealed her natural features, creating an effect that made it difficult to maintain his train of thought.
His hand twitched with the impulse to take hers, but he channeled the motion into a subtle gesture toward the house instead. "It's really just dinner," he assured her, though they both knew that wasn't entirely true.
Sophia glanced up, catching the barely concealed anxiety in his expression—the same man who could announce corporate takeovers without blinking now fidgeting like a teenager before prom. Her lips quirked slightly. "Lead the way, then."
The moment they crossed the threshold into the grand living room, Sophia felt the weight of multiple evaluating gazes lock onto her.
William Trent Sr., the family patriarch, occupied what could only be described as a throne at the head of the room, his posture military-straight despite his eighty years. James's father, William Jr., stood with the quiet confidence of old money and genuine intellect, while Eleanor Trent approached with the gracious warmth of someone who had perfected the art of making people feel welcome while simultaneously assessing their worth. James's brother Michael and his wife Catherine watched from nearby, their poised curiosity barely disguising their intense interest.
James made the introductions with a strange mix of corporate precision and barely contained pride, like a collector presenting a priceless acquisition. The initial atmosphere crackled with polite assessment, but as conversation began to flow, the evaluation gradually softened into authentic interest.
Eleanor took Sophia's hands in hers, asking thoughtful questions about her work-life balance and whether the entertainment industry's demands were compatible with her research. William Jr. engaged her on recent market volatility in Asian markets, visibly impressed when Sophia offered analysis that connected economic patterns to mathematical principles he hadn't considered.
The patriarch remained mostly silent until Sophia mentioned her thesis on mathematical patterns in ancient Greek poetry—then the old man leaned forward, eyes suddenly alive with interest, and launched into a discussion that revealed his own surprising depth of knowledge on the subject.
Most surprising was James's five-year-old niece Emma, who abandoned her usual shyness to attach herself to Sophia's side, looking up with unabashed adoration. "Are you really a math wizard?" she whispered loudly. "Uncle James says you're the smartest person in the whole world." The child's innocent revelation brought a moment of delighted laughter—and a rare flush to James's cheeks.
James remained close to Sophia throughout the evening, watching with growing amazement as she navigated his family's complex dynamics with effortless grace. The knot of tension in his chest slowly unwound, replaced by a warm glow of something dangerously close to hope.
Watching her animated discussion with his father about quantum computing applications, the soft lamplight highlighting her profile, James found himself wondering if he'd somehow manifested this moment from his deepest wishes.
At dinner, Eleanor insisted on personally serving Sophia the best portions, while William Sr. instructed the staff to bring up a bottle of Bordeaux from his private collection—a wine he typically reserved for heads of state and milestone family celebrations.
As dessert was served, Eleanor fixed her son with a meaningful look. "James, darling, when you find someone of Professor Sullivan's caliber, you can't expect to win her over with your usual half-attention while the other half remains on quarterly reports." The matchmaking intent behind her words was about as subtle as a billboard in Times Square.
James's ears burned as he met his mother's gaze with unusual seriousness. "I'm well aware of that, Mother."
Sophia, listening to this transparent attempt at parental intervention, felt an unexpected warmth spread through her chest rather than the usual irritation such meddling would normally provoke.
The sensation of being genuinely welcomed into a family circle—not for her fame or achievements, but for herself—was foreign yet surprisingly comforting.
She stole a glance at James, only to find him already watching her, his usually guarded expression replaced with something so nakedly adoring it almost made her look away.
Her pulse stuttered unexpectedly, and she quickly returned her attention to her dessert, though she couldn't quite suppress the smile that tugged at her lips.
