Chapter Fifty-Four
“O kay, am I gonna be the one to say it out loud?” Dylan looked up from her burrito bowl, sucking the straw of her skinny margarita.
“Gia, you have no business looking this good three days after you woke up from a freaking coma after being kidnapped by Hottie McBadson and almost thrown off a cliff.”
Snorting, I covered my mouth to prevent myself from shooting refried beans directly into her lap.
“Did you just call my captor handsome?”
“What? I didn’t say he was nice or anything.” Dylan pouted. “And I’ve a feeling the Ferrantes are going to punish him. But objectively speaking , yes, Tiernan Callaghan is not a chore to look at.”
We were sitting at a small Mexican place in the Bronx, and it was the first time in a long time I didn’t have bodyguards hovering over my head. I could say whatever I wanted without feeling embarrassed. The feeling was almost akin to being reborn. I could totally be myself again.
When I insisted on meeting Cal and Dyl for brunch in public and without security, Tate had objected but later relented when I told him I was desperate to get my life back to normal.
“Normal went out the window the moment you married America’s most loathed human.” He had gestured at himself as I fastened my Tiffany earrings—my hospital discharge gift—after slipping into a lemon-patterned summer dress.
“Please, love. You’re not even in the top five.” I had rolled my eyes, smiling. “President Keaton? Cillian Fitzpatrick? Baron Spencer?” I named just a few of America’s favorite corporate and political villains.
“That makes me fourth. I’m definitely in the top five.
And I don’t think Keaton is doing that bad.
Forty-eight percent approval rating is better than most.” He made a scandalized face, alarmed at the prospect of not being positively loathed by the better half of this continent.
“That’s top four for you. I earned that hatred fair and square.
I might not be drilling every inch of the world for oil and fracking away entire ecosystems, but I’ll have you know I’ve fucked over plenty of hardworking fellas. ”
I’d won that argument, and here I was with my friends, sipping cocktails, eating too many tortilla chips, and it all felt almost… normal . Like the good old days.
With the exception that during the good old days, I didn’t sport a 1.2-million-dollar diamond ring on my finger and didn’t have particularly exciting news to share that’d change my whole life.
“So…” Cal licked the rim of her skinny margarita, collecting coarse salt. “What did you want to tell us?”
“Please don’t let it be a surprise pregnancy.” Dylan held her hand up. “There are only so many tropes you can cram into your life these days, and villain-gets-the-girl is a hard act to follow.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying you won’t be happy for me if I’m pregnant?”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’d be thrilled ,” she amended. “I’ll support you and be happy for you no matter what, but you have to admit this relationship progressed superfast.”
“I’m not pregnant.” I rolled my eyes, suppressing a smile.
Dyl was right. It was too soon for a baby.
I hadn’t even had a chance to properly enjoy my husband.
At the same time, I was oddly comfortable with the idea of having children with Tate considering the fact that our marriage almost cost me my life.
Oh, and that we both had committed murder. In his case, plural .
“Thank God. I still need to catch up on episodes: Gia Almost Got Killed, Gia Got Kidnapped, and Tate Gives Great Oral.” Dylan wiped invisible sweat from her forehead.
“I gave you all the CliffsNotes.” I laughed.
I didn’t share what Tate had done to land himself in a Mafia war. Just explained that he screwed Tiernan over on a business deal. This was ridiculously easy for Cal and Dylan to believe, since both their husbands had been fucked over financially by Tate.
“ Hardly .” Dylan made a face, mounting guac on her tortilla chip and tossing it into her mouth. “You left so much information out.”
“Such as?”
“Is Tiernan Callaghan as hot up close as he is in the pictures?”
“This is your second strike,” Cal gasped. “Stop salivating over this asshole.”
“Don’t pretend.” Dylan gave Cal a playful shove. “You were there with me when I conducted the, um, my research on him.”
“He is ruggedly handsome,” I admitted. “That whole mass murderer bit, though, takes him down from a ten to a seven.”
“Twelve in my books.” Dylan tossed her hair back. “Anyway, you were saying?”
“I was saying…” I lowered my fork and sat back, looking between my two friends with a huge grin on my face. “We’re moving.”
“On from this episode?” Dylan asked hopefully.
“No, physically, from the city.”
“Moving where?” Cal took another mouthful of her burrito bowl.
“England.”
She proceeded to choke on her bite, coughing uncontrollably and reaching for her glass of water.
“ New England?” Cal cleared her throat.
“No. Old England. The one with the castles and king and real football.”
“I’m sorry.” Dylan raised a hand. “It might be the accent. I think you pronounced ‘Westchester’ wrong.”
“No, Dyl.” I offered her a rueful smile. “We’re moving to England. Permanently. I asked Tate before I got discharged.”
“But…why?” Dylan grumbled. “Cal’ll have you because she splits her time between NYC and London, but what about me ?”
“I’ll come visit often, and of course, you’re always welcome to stay over with your family as much as you’d like!
” I assured her. Although if I were completely honest, I wasn’t entirely sure my husband was a fan of guests.
Or small children. Or…humans in general.
“We decided to start over somewhere new, with a slower pace of life. We’re moving to the country. Kent, more specifically.”
Moving back home was important to me. I wanted to start somewhere fresh, putting our pasts, our anguish, and our animosity behind us.
New York was drenched in trauma. The city reminded me of hectic mornings picking up strewn thongs from Tate’s desk and clearing his schedule on a whim because he decided to go ruin someone’s small business.
Not to mention now, New York reminded me of my mother’s death.
Of the Callaghans and the Ferrantes and the most frightening time in my life.
I’d been a caregiver my entire life. An assistant. A daughter. A fake wife. A real wife. It was time I started doing things for myself, even if it meant others needed to adjust their lives around me. It was a process, and one I was working with alongside a virtual therapist I started to see weekly.
I needed this. We needed this to heal.
“And Tate is going along with it?” Cal’s eyebrows flew to her forehead, her jaw going slack. “To living in Kent?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Row said he oftentimes looks down at anywhere in America that isn’t New York City and compares living in the suburbs to having a voluntary lobotomy.”
I cringed. My husband really was an acquired taste, wasn’t he? “Tate is very fond of New York, but he’s willing to compromise.”
But he wasn’t compromising. He was going right along with everything I wanted.
And perhaps it was selfish of me, but I needed at least a year to recuperate from the first few weeks of our marriage.
Who knew? Maybe after I put time and space between myself and everything that had happened, I’d want to come back to New York.
All I knew was that I’d spent my entire adult life doing whatever Tate Blackthorn wanted me to do. It was time I made decisions for myself too.
“It’s the end of an era.” The corners of Dylan’s mouth pulled down in sadness. “You were there when I needed you the most. When Grav got kidnapped by Tucker. When Rhyland and I started out and I needed someone to help me make sense of everything.”
“I’ll still be there,” I assured her. “I will always be there for you. Through thick and thin. Promise.”
So this was my story then. Imperfect, messy, and filled with way too much bloodshed for my liking. But this happy ending was completely mine. And at the end of it, I found something beautiful.
I found a family that loved me by choice, not by blood.
A man who would pluck all the stars from the sky just to make my life brighter.
A partner who chose me every day, even through hardship.
And that wasn’t just enough.
It was everything .