Everything was oddly quiet after everyone had left. Ophelia stood alone in the middle of the room, while Sullivan stood with his hands braced on the back of a sofa watching her. It was as if now that they were alone, after everything that had happened, they didn't know where to begin.

"Do you like my house Ophelia," Sullivan asked. His deep was gentle, as if he was frightened that he would scare her away.

"No, not particularly," she responded honestly.

Then Sullivan smiled, and the tension broke.

"I don't much care for it either." He walked around the couch to join her. He didn't touch her, only looked down at her from his towering height. He was so close that Ophelia had to lean her head back to look up at him.

"Then why do you live here?" She frowned in confusion.

"Because it reminds me of something I should have forgotten a long time ago." He turned to look at the room around him. "Would you like to go upstairs?"

"No!" Ophelia was not ready for that. Although, she did want to know why he was reminding himself of something he should have forgotten. It was an odd choice of phrasing.

"Let me begin again," Sullivan said with a tender smile. "I have a study upstairs that is much more comfortable. Would you like to go there to talk? I promise there is not a bed or couch insight. Only a few comfortable armchairs and a large desk."

"Alright, can we take Polly?" Ophelia looked down at the dog who was curled up by the door.

"I think she would prefer it there," Sullivan agreed. Then he turned and led the two of them up that stairs and down a hall. The study was dramatically different from the rest of the house.

It was wood-paneled and dark, with lamps giving the room a comforting glow. There were indeed two deep green plush armchairs in front of a dormant fireplace. Most of the walls were covered in bookshelves, and there was a large desk sitting in the middle of the room.

"Is this where you wrote your screenplay?" Ophelia asked as she walked to an armchair and sunk into it.

"In part. I wrote most of it in L.A. after I would spend time with you," he admitted as he walked to a long table that held glasses and decanters. "Would you like something?" he asked.

Ophelia shook her head. "Why, after spending time with me?"

"Because you were the inspiration for it." Sullivan had his back to her as he poured himself a glass amber liquid.

"How?" Ophelia was perplexed.

"The story is a satire of the political world today, but the romance in it is all you. It's about a girl who is torn between two brothers, after having been brought into their mother's house."

Ophelia frowned, still not able to make the connection. "But I was never torn between two brothers. I only ever loved you." She spoke her thoughts aloud, not thinking about how they would sound, and she bit her lip once she realized what she had said.

Sullivan stilled for a moment before he finished what he was doing and then turned to face her. "I know that now, but I didn't then. I was always jealous when I saw how easy you and Sawyer were with each other. You were always touching and hugging, and I wondered if that was because there was something there." He moved to sit across from her. "I didn't really think you cared one way or another about me until I returned from South America. The concern you showed at my weight loss gave me hope. Then when I was helping you out of your predicament with the fence, you showed concern again. Although, even though I hoped, I was unable to understand it as such at the time."

Ophelia remembered the moment well. He had held her close when they had the wind knocked out of them. "I thought you had hurt yourself," she softly said.

"No, your nearness and the way you placed your hand on my chest made me more breathless than the fall. You really did wiggle a lot, you know." Sullivan smiled as he took a sip of his drink.

Ophelia finally got what he meant and blushed.

"It was the first time I saw you with your hair down." He leaned forward and removed the combs from her hair. "You have such beautiful hair. I enjoyed watching you put it up at the hotel. Tell me, did your college boyfriend used to watch you do your hair as I did?" He touched a strand of it before settling back in his chair.

"No, I had short hair then." She swallowed hard, looking at Sullivan's drink. She should have taken him up on his offer of one.

"I wanted to touch you more after that but didn't have an excuse until Thanksgiving when we held hands during the prayer."

"You linked your fingers through mine," Ophelia recalled. "Then you called me a fool."

"I was upset that you had hurt yourself, and there was nothing I could do. I felt helpless, and I lashed out. It was an automatic response. I'm well-practiced at hiding it, but I have a bit of a temper."

"My father would always tell me I was foolish for the littlest thing. I never liked that word." Ophelia felt she owed him an explanation about why she had taken it so bad.

Sullivan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I didn't know that."

Ophelia nodded her acceptance of his apology. She had forgiven him long ago.

"I feel very protective of you. I felt it again at the hotel while I watched you sleep in my bed, and then again when I saw you, looking so small and frightened in that oversized bathrobe, get pushed across the room." She watched Sullivan's hand tighten on the armrest of the chair in response. "I meant it when I said that I would pull the production."

"No one has ever stood up for me like that before." Ophelia felt her voice break and stood to pour herself a drink. "I'm certainly not worth losing millions of dollars over." She poured a drink with a shaking hand.

"Yes, you are, and not only to me. You are this family's confidant. We rely on you to keep us close and grounded." He paused. "No, this is about us, not them." Ophelia heard him take a deep breath as if what he was about to say was hard. "It frightens me the way you know how to call me on something before I do it. Like that time with Shay when you sensed I was about to say the wrong thing, and you stopped me with a question about Polly. How do you do that?"

Ophelia could feel his eyes boring into the back of her.

"I love you," she shrugged. "It the same way I knew that during our group hug tonight, that you felt just as emotional even though you didn't join us." Ophelia turned to face him. "You always stand apart from everyone. Why?"

Sullivan took a deep breath and motioned for her to join him.

"As I've told you, I've built a protective wall around myself over the years."

"I understand, but why?" Ophelia tried again.

"This is something that I have never shared with anyone." He took a sip of his drink as he stared into the vacant fireplace. "Miranda Stewart," he said. It was the name of a famous actress in Hollywood. She had been very much in demand twenty-years earlier, but now that she was in her early 50s, that demand had waned, especially since she wasn't a strong actress, and her talent was based on looks.

"I know of her. We see her around regularly in L.A. She seems overly fond of your mother." Ophelia had never liked her, and she had a feeling she was about to like her less.

"I got my first movie role when I was nineteen. I had a minor part, and she got top billing. Miranda has always hated my mother. She saw Momma as the ultimate competition, even when it came to Pops." Sullivan rolled his shoulders as she stood and walked towards the fireplace. "I knew nothing of this. All I saw was a beautiful woman in her prime. When she started to show me some attention, I was flattered. I was young and immature and was easily led, and boy did she lead me. I thought I was in love. That I needed her, she was married at the time, but we started an affair. I thought I was invincible."

Sullivan turned to look at Ophelia, who watched him closely, sitting as still as a statue.

"It is one of the biggest regrets of my life. Not just because of the affair, but because she messed with my mind. I am ashamed to admit the total control she had over me. She wanted me to buy this house even though I couldn't afford it, and I did. It just about ruined me, but I wanted to make her happy. Miranda was a manipulative narcissist, and she wasn't even sorry when I finally caught on and called her on it." Sullivan turned, lifted his hands to the mantel, and resting his wrists against it, flexing and un-flexing his hands as a way to expend his anger.

"She actually laughed at me and admitted...she admitted that she couldn't have my father and she hated my mother, and I seemed like a good way to get back at both of them."

Ophelia stood and walked toward him in the tense silence that followed, wrapping her arms around his waist and rested her head on his back. He lowered his hand and squeezed her hand.

"Do you think she ever told them?" Ophelia whispered while thinking that he still had to see her regularly at Hollywood events. The horror of that thought was quickly followed by knowing exactly why he had to build walls around himself.

"I have no idea, and it's not a question I can really ask, is it?" He took a deep breath, and Ophelia heard it.

"I regret buying this damn house. I regret the affair. I regret playing her game for so long. I regret letting my feelings show. I hang on to this house to remind me of my biggest mistake when I let my heart rule my head. I promised myself never again." Sullivan turned and wrapped his arms around her, resting his head on hers.

"Then I met you, and I refused to see it as love, only as attraction, but I began to see the mistake I made in keeping this house. I never forgave myself or allowed myself to move forward." He squeezed her tight. "Then I lost you, and I knew."

They stood there, holding each other for a moment. "So, I ask you to forgive me if I've had a few doubts along the way about what real love feels like."

Ophelia squeezed him back in response.

"Now," he stepped back and took a deep breath. "I think this is enough for one night. "I'll take you home."

She nodded. "Is it alright if I take a cab?" She had a lot to think about.

"Sure, will you take Polly?" His voice was rough as she asked the question.

"Yes." She nodded as she linked her arms around his neck. "I don't think less of you or love you less because of your story." Then she sealed her words with a gentle kiss. It was the first one she had ever given him, and his hands cupped her face.

It was a simple, loving kiss, and there was nothing sexual about it.

"Will you take a road trip with me tomorrow?" Sullivan asked as she pulled away.

"Alright, where?" Ophelia asked.

"To Oak Island." Sullivan watched her flinch at his words.

"I don't think-"

"Trust me, Ophelia. I know I haven't earned it, but you need this. We both need this."

Ophelia looked at Sullivan and knew it was important to him. She would do anything for him.

"Alright," she agreed again. "What time?"

"Early, about five in the morning."

Ophelia nodded and called for Polly. It was not how she expected the night to go, and Sullivan had given her plenty to think about.

"We still have a lot to figure out, Ophelia."

"We do, but I trust that we will." She reached out and squeezed his hand.

Sullivan put her in a taxi with the promise that he would pick her up in the morning.

Ophelia knew he had a plan. She just wished she knew what it was, but she trusted him, and this was the best way to show him that she did. She felt that her trust was something he desperately needed after revealing the most tortured part of his soul to her.