Chapter 38
ALEX
Eva’s words crack something open inside me, but I don’t let it show. I could be misreading her meaning, jumping to conclusions, hearing what I want to hear…
“What kind of relationship are we talking about?” I ask.
She hesitates.
My tone clinical, I clarify, “Where would you place us on the scale from fuck buddies to public coupledom?”
“My darling,” she says, “I’m here to ask you to marry me.”
The words reverberate through the room.
For a moment I think I misheard. Two weeks ago, I proposed to her, and she refused without hesitation. She said she was done with marriage. It sounded carved in stone.
Has she changed her mind?
Or has she…?
The thought stalls as her earlier words finally sink in. Desire. Admiration. Respect. Trust.
You don’t stack those together unless…
Right?
When you feel all that for someone, chances are you—
“I love you,” she says.
“I love you, too,” I reply instantly.
“Ah.” She sinks against the sofa.
My confession should have startled me as much as it surprised her. But it doesn’t. I don’t feel like I just proved a theorem; I feel like I finally wrote down the proof.
Eva’s eyes connect with mine, her gaze a caress. “I was afraid it was only ever physical for you.”
“I may sound dense, but that’s what I’ve thought for the last sixteen years.”
She narrows her eyes. “Sixteen years? What do you mean?”
“You’ve been haunting me since I first saw you at your engagement party. I convinced myself I was just lusting after forbidden fruit.”
She smiles, dazzling me. “But then you tasted it. More than once.”
“And my hunger only grew.”
She glows at that. “So, is that a yes? I don’t want a prenup. No conditions. No safeguards. No strings.”
As I process that, she edges closer and lowers her voice, “My OB-GYN says everything’s in great shape. I can have more children if we decide to, despite the hemophilia risk.”
“I’d love to!” I exclaim, then add quickly, “Not because I won’t love Millie like my own—”
“I know you will,” she interrupts, eyes soft. “Millie would be thrilled to have a sibling again. And she wants you to be part of her life.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“She asked if you’d come to Rohinn for the parade or her anointment. She misses you.”
“You can tell her I plan to attend both,” I say.
“Great!” She tilts her head, watching me. “So? Alexandre Castellane, will you marry me and move back in?”
I sidestep the marriage part. “You’re asking me to share a home with Brigitte, the woman who helped cover up my father’s murder?”
“She moved to her own house after I told her I’d confessed everything to you.”
“But she hates that place,” I remind her.
“She does,” Eva concedes. “And I’m sure she’d be thrilled to return to Fort Vauclairt someday, if you forgive her.”
“Hmm.”
“And if your mother wants to come live with us, I’ll do everything to make her feel at home,” Eva adds.
“Maybe when she’s Brigitte’s age,” I say. “And even then… She hates Fort Vauclairt as much as Brigitte hates her house.”
Even as I speak, I wonder if I could forgive Brigitte one day.
Maybe. I don’t know.
What she did was morally wrong. But when I ask myself if my own mother would do the same for me, the answer is yes.
And Eva for her daughter?
Another yes.
And me, for my niece?
If Millie ever caused someone’s death in the heat of an argument, without premeditation, and I had the power to cover it up, would I?
Fuck me, I think I might.
An unexpected smile tugs at my lips. Eva shifts toward me. God knows all I want now is to kiss her. But there’s one more thing I need settled first.
I raise my hand. “Wait. Think about the implications. I make good money, yes, but you’re in a different league.”
Her eyes flash. “Thanks to you.”
“Eva,” I begin, holding her gaze, “are you sure this isn’t a gratitude proposal?”
She slides closer, her voice firm. “Listen to me carefully. I had controlling parents and a domineering husband.”
“A domineering scumbag husband,” I cut in.
“Yes,” she agrees. “The way I survived? I submitted. I endured. But now, for the first time in my life, I’ve tasted freedom. And I love it. I’m never enduring again, Alex. Not with you, not with anyone.”
“Not a gratitude proposal, then.” I lean back, mock businesslike. “Glad we cleared that up.”
She blows out her cheeks, exasperated. “Alex, please.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes widen. Her lips part.
And just like that, the mask of detachment I’ve been wearing crumbles to dust. “Yes,” I repeat. “I’ll marry you.”
This time, I pull her in. Not roughly but with the certainty of a man who knows what he wants. My mouth claims hers, hot and unyielding.
Her fingers fist in my shirt like she’s drowning and I’m the air she needs.
The kiss is messy.
The sex that follows is messier still.
And desperate.
And perfect.