A “Worthy” Suitor
Sophie stood by the window, gazing at the empty courtyard. The trampled snow glittered with remnants of holiday sparklers, and tattered bits of tinsel clung to the bare branches of the shrubs. The city seemed lifeless, everyone asleep after the exhausting revelries of New Year’s Eve. Inside, Sophie felt just as hollow.
How had she been so deceived? Why hadn’t she sensed the falsehood? So much was clear to her now, but back then… Oliver had seemed clever, affectionate, a little wounded by his father. That was the trouble—he had only seemed so. And she had believed he loved her.
The click of the front door lock made her flinch. She had rehearsed her accusations, but now every prepared word fled her mind. Quiet footsteps halted behind her. Sophie tensed, holding her breath. A shiver ran down her neck as Oliver’s warm breath brushed her skin.
“Soph,” he murmured, leaning close to her shoulder.
She shifted away. “Are you still angry with me?” he asked, his voice ingratiating. “I don’t know what came over me. The way he looked at you—I was overwhelmed with jealousy.” Oliver waited, but Sophie said nothing.
“It’s your fault, really. Smiling at him, clinging to him, never taking your eyes off him. I couldn’t stand it.”
“You’re inventing things. We were only dancing,” Sophie replied coldly.
“Come on, forgive me. Jealousy is natural when you love someone.” He tried to turn her toward him, but she shrugged his hands away.
“Soph, honestly, it’s ridiculous. I’ve apologized,” he said, attempting conciliation.
“You should apologize to him, not me.” Sophie finally looked at Oliver, then turned away again.
“Oh, I went to the hospital, apologized to your sailor,” Oliver spat, malice flaring in his eyes—though Sophie didn’t see it. She was still staring out the window. “He didn’t press charges, so they let me go. Let’s forget this ever happened. When he’s discharged, invite him over—we’ll have a drink, bury the hatchet.”
Sophie spun around.
“*We*? Forget? Have a drink? There is no *we*. There never will be. Leave the keys and get out.”
“Oh, so it’s like that? You’ll bring *him* here instead?” The coaxing tone vanished, replaced by venom.
“Get out. I don’t want to see you again. You lied to me.” Try as she might to restrain herself, bitterness and fury seeped through.
“I should’ve taught you a lesson too, not just him. Remember what you said to me?” Oliver grabbed her arm above the elbow, squeezing hard, yanking her close until their faces were inches apart. Hathere’s no dialogue. I’ll continue where I left off:
Sophie saw the hatred in his eyes.
“Let go, you’re hurting me,” she pleaded.
“I’ve wasted so much time on you. No, darling, I’m not going anywhere. You *will* marry me.” With his free hand, Oliver pulled a ring from his pocket. “Meant to give you this earlier.” He lifted her hand, forcing the ring toward her finger. Sophie twisted away, but his grip tightened.
“Let me go. I won’t marry you!” Tears burned in her eyes.
“You will—if you want that sailor of yours to stay alive and unharmed.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, I would.”
***
“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Daniel said.
He liked Sophie—very much. But he’d been afraid to tell her he was going away. They’d only just started seeing each other.
“Where?”
“Portsmouth. I’ve been accepted to the naval academy. Sorry I didn’t mention it sooner—wasn’t sure I’d get in.”
“Will you at least call?” Sophie asked, head bowed.
“Don’t sulk. What can we do? There’s no sea here. Soph, I don’t want you to feel obligated to wait. Training’s long, then I’ll be at sea—voyages lasting half a year or more. You can’t imagine how hard that waiting is.”
“Don’t decide for me,” Sophie snapped, lifting her chin.
“You’ll be at uni too. Plenty of lads there—”
“Fine, just go!” she shouted, turning on her heel.
“Soph!” Daniel started after her but stopped. He lingered a moment, then trudged home alone.
How thrilled Sophie had been when he came back for the Christmas holidays. They went to the cinema, took long walks. Daniel spoke of Portsmouth, his studies, the sea, his friends—while Sophie listened, wishing he’d kiss her.
But he only pecked her frost-chilled cheek before leaving. The next day, he returned to the academy.
Yes, there were plenty of boys at uni. They noticed her, flirted. But none mattered. Daniel called rarely, asking after her studies like a friend. The moment she admitted missing him, he changed the subject.
That spring, her father’s aunt passed away. Her husband had died five years prior. He’d been a civil servant, always in high office. They’d had no children. The aunt had kept distant from relatives, likely fearing they’d beg for money or favors.
So her father was stunned when the will revealed she’d left her spacious central London flat to Sophie. They’d barely met; he’d assumed it a mistake at first. Then came the delight.
“It’s huge, right in the city center. Doesn’t even need renovating. Once you marry, you and your husband can live there,” her mother mused.
Sophie resolved to keep the flat a secret at uni. Why invite envy? But word slipped out. Some resented her; others called her arrogant. The class rep even asked if they could host parties there.
Early in her second year, she met Oliver Saville, an upperclassman. He sat with her in the canteen one day, and they struck up a friendship that soon turned romantic. Daniel was far away, had asked nothing of her, promised nothing. Were there no girls in Portsmouth? Surely he wasn’t living like a monk.
“Saville… Not the assistant mayor’s son, is he?” her father once asked.
“Dunno,” Sophie shrugged.
“Well, ask him. Seems a decent lad—good match.”
She took it as a joke but humored him.
“Yeah, that’s me. Didn’t tell anyone. How’d you guess?”
“Wasn’t me—Dad. He likes you.”
“Your dad’s all right. Mine’s insufferable. Can’t wait to graduate and get away. Thinking of renting a place, moving out.”
That evening, Sophie asked her father about letting the aunt’s flat.
When he heard to whom, he agreed at once.
“Let him live there. Charge him a fair bit—not like he’s skint. Pocket money for you,” he chuckled.
Oliver was overjoyed. He swept Sophie off her feet, spun her around, rained kisses on her.
“You’re a true friend, Soph. Dunno what I’d do without you. Just gotta talk to the parents now. Don’t worry—I’m a grown man. Mum’s been nagging me to marry anyway.” He hugged her tight.
Their relationship accelerated wildly. If Sophie stayed over at Oliver’s, her parents scolded halfheartedly. They already pictured her wed to the assistant mayor’s son—perhaps his successor.
She liked Oliver, but his secrecy about his family unsettled her. He dodged questions, changed the subject. It felt off.
After graduation, Oliver took a mundane office job, claiming it was to spite his father. Soon after, he proposed. Sophie refused.
“What’s the rush? Let me finish uni first…”
Time flew. Before she knew it, Christmas loomed. A friend invited her to a holiday party at her cottage.
“Bring that posh fiancé of yours. Lots of people coming—proper celebration.”
“How’d you know about Oliver?” Sophie frowned.
“Ran into your mum at the shops. You’re sly—marrying into the Savilles and not a word to me. Better not forget your mates.”
“I’m not marrying anyone,” Sophie muttered.
They arrived early; guests trickled in. Soon, cars lined the road.
“Where’s everyone sleeping? The place is packed,” Sophie said.
“You came here to *sleep*? We’re up all night!” her friend laughed.
The table was set, the tree twinkled, snow fell outside. The lads braved the cold to grill. Oliver joined them, drinking to stay warm. When the food was ready, they feasted, toasted early—no one waited for midnight. Then came dancing. Her friend pulled Sophie aside to help wash up.
“Wait,” Oliver caught her arm. “New Year, fresh start. You’ve nearly finished uni. I’m not rushing you, but you know how I feel. Here—” He fished in his pocket.
“Everyone, this is Daniel Marlow—my oldSophie and Daniel built a life by the sea, their love weathering every storm, while the echoes of that bitter winter faded into distant memory.
