Chapter 12
JULIAN
Fir Hollows smells like wet pavement and pine trees. The last part is fitting because of the name. It’s so small, downtown lasts only for a few blocks. The buildings have hanging flower baskets even though it’s barely spring, and the air is so crisp and clean my chest hurts.
I’ve survived riots, ambushes, and interrogations, but this place scares me more than all of those. I’m terrified because I need Iris to forgive me, but I’m not sure how to make that happen.
Standing across the street from a coffee shop named Brewed Awakening, I watch her through the wide front windows like a coward.
She’s sitting at a small round table near the window, hands wrapped around a mug. Her hair is pulled back in a loose knot that exposes the graceful line of her neck. She’s wearing a soft-looking sweater and jeans. She looks real and safe and so beautiful that my heart skips a beat.
It’s been two months since I let her walk away thinking I didn’t want her.
Since I stood in Lucien’s courtyard, watching the helicopter lift her out of my life, my mouth full of words I didn’t know how to say but now desperately need her to know.
It took me this long to extradite myself from the agency and finally be free to claim the love of my life. To claim my wife.
I take a breath and rehearse the speech I’ve prepared to convince her to give me a second chance.
And then I see a man walk up to Iris.
He slides into the chair across from her, leaning forward like he knows her. Worse, he puts his hand on her arm like he has the right to touch her.
She stiffens and leas back.
My body reacts before my mind finishes processing, and I cross the street without thinking, jaw clenched, speech forgotten.
The bell over the door jingles when I step inside the coffee shop. Warm air wraps around me as the smell of espresso and baked goods hits my senses. I focus on Iris.
Always, my Iris.
She hasn’t noticed me yet.
The man across from her keeps talking. I catch fragments as I approach.
“I just think people should be allowed to make mistakes,” he says. “I wasn’t ready then, but I am now.”
I stop three feet away.
Iris’s shoulders tense. “Having an affair and getting engaged to another woman behind my back, is more than a mistake, Dave. It’s a choice.”
The guy smiles, a practiced plastic smile, lacking sincerity. “But I’ve changed. When you disappeared like that, it made me realize what I lost.”
My hands curl into fists. She didn’t disappear. She survived a fucking coup.
I step forward. “She’s not interested.”
Both of them look up.
Iris’s eyes meet mine and the world tilts.
Shock, disbelief, and hurt flash across her face, and I feel each one like a slap.
The guy frowns. “Excuse me?”
I don’t take my eyes off Iris. “I said,” I repeat calmly, “she’s not interested.”
Iris stands abruptly. “Julian, what are you doing here?”
The guy looks between us. “You know this guy?”
I turn my gaze to him then. “Yes, I say. She knows me. And it’s time for you to leave.”
The guy bristles. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
I smile at him. It’s not friendly. “Her husband,” I exclaim.
Iris gasps, but the rest of the coffee shop goes dead silent. You could hear milk foam collapsing.
Iris’s face drains of color. “What the fuck, Julian.”
The guy at her table laughs, short and disbelieving. “That’s not funny.”
“It wasn’t meant to be,” I say evenly and step closer to Iris, close enough to feel the heat of her, close enough to remind myself she’s real. I rest my hand on the small of her back, and by some miracle she lets me keep it there. “She’s my wife,” I continue. “And you’re bothering her.”
Iris shakes her head. “Julian—”
The guy stands, nostrils flaring in anger. “You can’t just walk in here and—”
I lean in, voice low enough so only he can hear. “Leave. Now.”
There’s something in my eyes that makes him reconsider. He glances at Iris, then back at me, clearly reassessing his odds. “Fine,” he mutters. “But if this is some kind of—”
“Out,” I say.
He grabs his jacket and stalks toward the door, shooting Iris a last confused look. The bell jingles as he stomps out.
Iris stares at me. Her chest rises and falls quickly. Her hands are shaking. “What the hell did you just do?” she demands.
I open my mouth. Nothing coherent comes out.
Because suddenly, painfully, I realize I’ve just claimed her in front of an entire town without explaining a single damn thing.
“Iris,” I start carefully, “we are married.”
Her laugh is sharp, humorless. “You don’t get to use that like a weapon.”
She steps away from me, crossing her arms. The physical distance feels like punishment.
“Not as a weapon,” I say. “As the truth.”
She shakes her head. “You don’t get to show up after months of silence and—”
“I know,” I interrupt quietly. “I know I don’t.”
She blinks, thrown by the lack of defensiveness.
I take a breath. “I came here to grovel.”
That gets a reaction. “Grovel,” she repeats flatly.
“Yes.” I glance around. Everyone is staring.
“You’re not doing a very good job of it,” Iris says tightly.
“Got that right,” an older lady a few tables away shouts. Someone shushes her, and she mutters something in return, but nobody pays attention. Everyone’s eyes are on us.
I stand there, unsure if sitting would irritate Iris. Irritate her more, that is. Because she’s angry already.
Iris stays standing, arms still crossed, eyes bright with restrained emotion. “You don’t get to claim me,” she says quietly. “Not after you showed how much you hated being married to me.”
“I never hated marrying you,” I say instantly.
“Then why did you react like you did?”
There’s the question that’s been haunting me since she walked away from me.
Because I was afraid doesn’t feel like enough.
Because I loved you the moment I saw you feels too raw.
But it’s the truth.
I drag a hand through my hair. “Because I thought being with me was dangerous for you.”
Her breath catches.
“I’ve spent my entire adult life believing attachment is a liability,” I continue. “That caring too much gets people killed. That if I loved you the way I did…I do…I’d either destroy you or lose you.”
She swallows. “So you chose to lose me.”
“Yes.” The word tastes like ash.
Her eyes glisten. “You don’t get points for honesty after the fact.”
“I’m not asking for points,” I say. “I’m asking for the chance to earn forgiveness.”
She laughs softly, broken. “You declared me your wife in front of my ex and half the town.”
“I panicked.”
That earns a startled huff of laughter.
“You?” she says incredulously. “Panicked?”
“Yes,” I admit. “Because another man was trying to take you from me and it short-circuited my brain.”
She looks away, pressing her lips together.
“I fell in love with you the first night,” I whisper. “At the embassy. Before the sex. Before the chaos. When you saw right through my rehearsed lines and called me out on them.”
She turns back sharply. “Then why didn’t you say anything when I left the villa?”
“Because I didn’t know how to love you without ruining everything.”
Silence stretches between us, but our audience shuffles feet and mumbles among themselves.
Iris glares at them, and they settle down. “You hurt me,” she says.
“I know.”
“I thought you were ashamed of me.”
I step closer, stopping when she doesn’t retreat. “Never,” I say fiercely. “I was terrified of how much I wanted you. But being with me painted a target on your back and I couldn’t risk losing you. So I pushed you away to keep you safe.”
Her voice drops. “You don’t get to decide how I live my life and who I’m with.”
“You’re right,” I say. “And I was wrong. About all of it.”
She studies my face, searching for lies. “All this time,” she says slowly, “I’ve been trying to forget you.”
“I hope you. haven’t,” I say softly.
Her eyes fill.
I reach for her hand, stopping inches away. “May I?”
She hesitates, but then nods.
Her fingers are warm when they curl around mine. “I came here prepared to beg,” I tell her. “To stay in this town as long as it takes. To earn back every ounce of trust I burned.”
She exhales shakily. “And if I say no?”
“Then I’ll respect it,” I say. “And spend the rest of my life knowing I let the best thing that ever happened to me walk away.”
Her grip tightens. “I hated you,” she whispers.
The past tense gives me hope. “I deserve that.”
“But I never stopped loving you.”
The words undo me, and I pull her into my arms. She presses her face into my chest, fingers clutching my jacket.
“I’m here,” I murmur. “I’m never leaving you.”
She looks up at me, eyes wet but fierce. “You better not.”
I smile, “Okay, Mrs. Cross.”
She snorts through tears. “Don’t push it.”
I kiss her, and she sighs as she sinks into my embrace.
The coffee shop erupts in cheers.
Iris breaks the kiss. “Shut up,” she says, but they ignore her.
I pull her close and kiss her again. My love, the keeper of my heart.
My wife.