Embrace Me Forever (Hartley Brothers #3)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

Chiltern Hills, England – two years ago

“How does it feel to be unemployed?” my boyfriend, Sebastian, banters as I set a grocery bag on the kitchen bench.

“Weird, but liberating,” I reply, juggling a couple of unruly apples that threaten to escape. “I’m just glad I’m done with Bertram.”

Last week, I finally resigned from the insurance giant. My sister had warned me about insurance companies, calling them ‘soul-sucking leviathans from the depths of corporate hell.’ But the money was too good to pass up, and after having lived on funds thinner than a shoestring, I was desperate.

Sebastian steps behind me, his chin nestling on my shoulder. “I should follow suit,” he murmurs.

“They’re evil,” I conclude, and he hums in agreement. He’s tried to find a new job, but every interview ends the same—rejection. It’s like Bertram has blacklisted him.

Tonight, we’re at our usual hideaway. It’s far more secure than any secret treehouse—and treehouses don’t come with Wi-Fi and a fully stocked mini-fridge.

This one-bedroom cottage, a refuge away from his London city apartment, used to be where he escaped into his games. Just over a year ago, I had arrived in England from my home in Georgia, searching for a new adventure. Those nights when we only knew each other through our avatars and usernames seem so distant now. Back then, we were just voices in each other’s headphones, laughing and strategizing through virtual battles.

“Well, I may need to mooch off you for…money.” I raise a brow, a small smile playing on my lips.

He strides over to my side, chuckling. “Blimey. As long as you don’t expect a hefty allowance.”

My mouth twists as I unpack the dinner ingredients. “You know I’m pretty low maintenance,” I answer his challenge.

“I know, babe. That’s why I stick around.”

I bump my hip against his as I lay out the pot, pan, and other gadgets on the kitchen bench. The neat arrangement earns an approving smile from him. People would probably call us OCD, but we enjoy order, even in the smallest things. We often joke that our relationship is built on a foundation of binary code and mathematical theorems.

He takes over the onions and lets me handle the tomatoes instead. As he starts chopping, he asks, “So, girl who knows the future, what do you see for us?”

“Please don’t call me that.” I sigh. My boss coined that nickname, and I didn’t protest because I wanted to keep my job.

Actuarial science, a skill I picked up while working at Bertram, uses math and statistics to evaluate risk in insurance and finance. It’s all about probability. Algorithms help us crunch massive amounts of data to predict everything from car accidents to life expectancies. I loved the challenge and precision of it all, but there was a darker side.

I planned to stay at Bertram for a couple of years, build up my savings, then quit and travel around Europe. At twenty-two, fresh out of college, I made a rookie mistake, thinking my work would lead to a change for good. But my sister was right to call them soul-sucking. Bertram was using my actuarial predictions to manipulate premiums and claims.

The algorithms I designed were intended to create a fairer, more transparent system. Instead, Bertram exploited them. The final straw came when I discovered they were targeting vulnerable customers, those least likely to challenge unfair decisions.

Seeing my tense face, Sebastian apologizes. “Sorry. Not the most tactful way to ask how you see our future together.”

“Are you sick of us keeping a low profile?” My voice strains against the rhythmic chopping of the tomatoes.

He puts down his knife, wiping away onion tears. Turning to me, he makes me pause as well. “If I’m being straight with you, yeah, I am. But more than that, I can’t stand seeing you swamped with guilt. That program’s been eating you alive.”

“Quitting is the first step, right?” I say with a half-smile. “How about we kick off this milestone by enjoying my lazy days?”

Sebastian wraps his arms around me, giving my backside a squeeze. “Sure, nothing says love like watching your sexy arse move while you rustle up something delicious.”

I hum. There’s something almost poetic about the way he says arse, especially when his hands glide to that exact spot on my body. Next, he leans into me, lifting my breasts with his chest.

I let out a whimper, and immediately, Sebastian loosens his grip. “Hey, sorry, did I hurt you?”

It does hurt—but it’s me, not him. I place my hand on his cheek as I contemplate whether to tell him right now or stick with my surprise plot.

“Babe, what is it?” Worry pushes his brows to knit together. While his concern grows, I feel as jittery as a rabbit in a carrot patch.

To hell with my plot! “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, he just stares at me, eyes wide with shock. Then, slowly, a grin spreads across his face. “You’re…you’re not having me on, are you?”

“No,” I whisper, my eyes welling up.

With a tight hug around my hips—careful of my tender chest—he lifts me off the ground and spins us around, his laughter bubbling up like a child’s. “Looks like our love algorithm just got an upgrade!”

I laugh through my joy, unable to speak. The hands on my waist make me squirm under his touch.

“Baby on board, still wriggling about like a tickle convention!” Sebastian dips his fingers into my sides with deliberate, loving tickles.

I giggle, bordering on a squeal, as I twist in his arms. Finally, he sets me down and cups my face in his hands, his eyes brimming with happiness.

As we stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, I feel his body tense. He winces, his hand going to his chest.

“Sebastian, what’s wrong?” I ask, panic creeping into my voice.

“Nothing.” He tries to wave it off with a weak smile. “The battery in my pacemaker may be on the blink. I’ll have it sorted tomorrow.”

“Are you sure? Why don’t we go now?”

He gives me a reassuring smile. “Nothing’s going to ruin this moment, okay?” He presses a kiss to my forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment. “I promise I’m fine. Let’s just enjoy this.”

Sebastian invites me to sit on the couch, abandoning dinner for a moment. With his arm around me, I rest my head on his shoulder, although my concern hasn’t faded.

“Sebastian Langford,” I murmur.

“Yes, Mary O’Connor?”

I cringe. He catches it, knowing how much I despise my own name. I have no issue with the name ‘Mary’ itself, but I’ve grown to detest it as my own—all because of my mother. She was there but never really there. Honestly, I’d rather she hadn’t been there at all. Her presence brought nothing but pain, and she had the audacity to name me after herself.

“Should we get married?” I blurt.

“Are you proposing to me?” He raises one eyebrow in that distinct, endearing way that always makes me smile.

“If it’s not for love, at least see the marriage as your gift to grant me a new name.”

He cradles my face, his thumb brushing my temple. “You’re the smartest person I know, but right now, you’re being daft. Of course I’ll marry you. I love you. And yes, I want you to be happy with your own name.”

“How about…Georgia-May Langford?”

Sebastian’s smile widens. “That was fast.”

I shrug, trying to seem nonchalant, though the truth is, I’ve thought about it a lot. “Guess I’m just bold. I asked you like I was jumping off a cliff without a parachute.”

“You’re not just smart. You’ve got guts. Honestly, I had a plan. But screw the plan! I’ve never been prouder to be proposed to by you.” He pauses to appraise me, then asks, “So why Georgia-May?”

“Well, Georgia holds special memories for me. Dad used to take me to Providence Canyon State Park—‘Georgia’s Little Grand Canyon.’ And May is my grandmother’s middle name, a woman I always wished could’ve been my mother.”

“The name suits you, Mrs. Langford-to-be,” he replies. Then, as if inspired by my candor, he drops a bombshell. “Why don’t we tie the knot—like, tomorrow?”

I’m speechless, completely floored by how over the moon he is about the baby. I knew he’d be happy, but this…this is beyond my wildest dreams!

He adds, “We leave as husband and wife. And I don’t just mean leaving the registry office—I mean leaving the country.” His words make me study his intense gaze as he continues, “How about your home? America? Your sister is still in Santa Fe, right?”

“Nope,” I reply, still mulling it over. “She just got divorced again and moved to Colorado. She’ll be thrilled to have us with her until we find our own place.”

Sebastian tilts his head, his thinking mode. “You go first, and I’ll join you later,” he suggests.

“What happened to leaving together, as husband and wife?”

“Bertram can’t know about us.”

My eyes close for a moment as my hands instinctively find his. “Sebastian, we can leave together and still keep it under wraps.”

“We’ll go our separate ways for now. I need to come up with a good reason to resign without arousing suspicion. Then I’ll come for you.”

I frown, shaking my head. “But?—”

“Everything will be fine. Soon, we’ll put Bertram far behind us.” The clarity in his eyes unnerves me more than his words.

My gut churns. He’s definitely holding something back. “Sebastian?”

Suddenly, a rustling from outside suspends our conversation. It’s too deliberate and forceful to be just the wind. No one knows about this place. Whoever has found us, they’re not here to be friendly.

“They’re coming for you!” Sebastian hisses, shoving me toward the bedroom. “Pack now. Have you got your passport?”

“Sebastian, what aren’t you telling me?”

“Have you got your passport?” The insistence in his voice nearly makes me stumble.

“No,” I stammer. “It’s at my apartment.”

“Georgia-May…” He calls my chosen name with a familiarity that feels as if he’s known me by it forever. He then thrusts his phone into my hand. “The passcode is the same as my Xbox code, followed by 16 at the end. Call Cristo.”

“Cristo?” My voice trembles. “You mean?—”

“Yes. Him.”

The Cristo who often annihilated us in StarCraft II ?

Sebastian’s explanation comes in a hurried whisper. “He’s more than a gamer. I trust him. He’ll get you a new identity, whatever you need.”

The weight of his words sinks in, and my pulse quickens as the footsteps draw nearer.

“Sebastian, you’ve got to come with me!” I plead, my heart breaking at the thought of leaving him behind.

“Go, now!” Sebastian instructs as he flings aside a rug, revealing a trapdoor. “I love you, Georgia-May.” His lips meet mine in a desperate kiss before he guides me into the hidden escape.

We call the cottage our sanctuary for a reason. It’s secluded, and behind us is a large park, the perfect cover for an escape. But this secret door was unknown to me until now.

Men’s voices carry through the cottage just as Sebastian seals the trapdoor above, leaving me in shadowed silence. I scuttle along the earthen tunnel. Above, the muffled stomps and voices of the searching men grow louder. Sebastian is out there, somewhere, sacrificing precious moments for me. But I know, with a sinking feeling, that time is running out.

The tunnel is a mere few yards, but when I emerge from the dirt-caked exit beneath another trapdoor, I find myself at the park’s center. The shadows of the trees shroud me, their darkness both comforting and foreboding. I force myself to stay calm and think clearly, occasionally glancing back, hoping for a glimpse of Sebastian.

Just as I push further into the underbrush, the crack of a gunshot pierces the silence. I halt, breath snagged in fear. Another shot follows. Panic claws at my senses, and I dart behind the nearest tree, melding with the dark. From my scant cover, I risk a cautious glance and spot two figures hauling a body toward the cottage’s rear.

Sebastian…

Tears sting my eyes, and the overwhelming desire to see him one last time roots me to the spot. Did I even say ‘I love you’ before we parted? He was my first everything, the only person who truly understood me.

Suddenly, three other men burst from the cottage, their steps aiming toward me. Five of them, for me?

“Search the area! If she’s around, she won’t be far,” barks one, his torchlight carving through the darkness.

Their attention shifts toward the outbuilding behind the cottage. There’s no time for hesitation. I spin on my heel and bolt, my legs fueled by sheer desperation. I can’t look back—not for anything. For him, and for the precious life growing inside me, I have to keep moving.

I sprint through the park, the trees blurring into a dark mass around me. My lungs burn, but stopping isn’t an option. An open road gives me a brief chance to gain speed, but I slip back into the cover of the trees at the slightest hint of headlights.

Exhausted, I finally emerge at the edge of town just as a bus rolls to a stop. I board, breathless and shaking.

The bus takes me to the city, where I finally feel a moment of relative safety. Finding a quiet corner, I pull out Sebastian’s phone, my hands shaking as I dial Cristo’s number.

“Say nothing,” a gruff, distorted voice orders before I can even greet him.

Sebastian always joked that he was as rich as the Count of Monte Cristo—his chosen gamer tag. I’d laughed then, but now, I’m not sure it was just a joke.

“Hang up and answer my video call,” he continues.

I follow his instructions.

While he can see me at the other end, my screen remains dark as his next command comes through. “State your desired name.”

“Georgia-May—” I pause, letting go of the notion of taking Sebastian’s surname for my own safety. “Georgia-May Williams.” Saying it aloud cements the new reality I’m stepping into.

“Trafalgar Square. Day after tomorrow. Noon, sharp.” His words are crisp and unyielding. “Destroy this phone. I’ll find you.”

Desperation forces me to trust the voice behind a name I once knew from carefree gaming sessions. Those joyful days are gone. Now, my thoughts cling to Sebastian. Whatever it takes, I have to honor his sacrifice and forge a new path for our unborn child.