Epilogue
Brie
Six Months Later
The yacht rocks gently beneath my feet, the Mediterranean stretching endless and blue beyond the rail. I’m standing exactly where I stood three and a half years ago, champagne flute forgotten in my hand, watching Monaco’s lights twinkle as dusk settles over the harbor.
Except this time, I’m not Sophie Dubois with a fake identity and an exit strategy. I’m just Brie. And I’m not alone.
“You’re thinking too hard.” Adrien’s voice comes from behind me, warm and familiar. His arms slide around my waist, pulling me back against his chest. “I can practically hear the gears turning.”
“I was just thinking about the last time we were here.” I lean into him, letting his warmth chase away the evening chill. “How different everything is now.”
“Better or worse?”
I turn in his arms to face him. He’s traded his usual suit for linen pants and a button-down with the sleeves rolled to his forearms—relaxed in a way he never was when we first reconnected.
“Infinitely better,” I say. “Though I do miss the thrill of a fling.”
He laughs, the sound rolling through his chest and into mine. “And I rather miss thinking you were an art consultant instead of a former CIA operative who could probably kill me seventeen different ways with a corkscrew.”
“Eighteen, actually. I learned a new technique last month.”
“Of course you did.” His lips brush my temple. “Should I be concerned that Hudson approved this vacation?”
“He practically insisted. Said I needed a holiday after the Foster case.” I grimace. That investigation had taken three months and involved more surveillance footage than I care to remember. “Though I suspect he wanted everyone to take a break so he and Quinn could have some time to regroup.”
“Have the two of them come out in the open?”
“Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time.”
We stand there for a moment, swaying with the yacht’s slow rhythm. The crew is somewhere below deck, giving us privacy as the sun sinks lower. The boat belongs to one of Adrien’s friends—a tech entrepreneur who owes him a favor and was more than happy to loan out his vessel for a week.
“I got a call from Margot today,” Adrien says, his tone shifting to something more serious. “She and Tommy are having dinner in Paris next week.”
I pull back slightly to look at him. “Another accidental meeting?”
“Third one this month.” He shakes his head, smiling. “I give them six months before one of them admits what’s happening.”
“Your sister and your best friend. Are you okay with that?”
“Are you kidding? I’m delighted. Tommy deserves someone who’ll actually challenge him. And Margot needs someone grounded.” He pauses. “Though I’m not looking forward to getting pulled into their disagreements.”
“Think they’ll be worse than ours?”
“My love, we rarely disagree. Those two…”
“Rarely? How long ago did we not see eye to eye on the need for The Sanctuary’s new security system?”
“That was a discussion. And your point of view was correct, as you love to remind me.”
“I was quite right about it.” I grin up at him. “Just like I was right about hiring Macon as your director of operations.”
“You do realize that I hired Macon, not you.”
“After I strongly suggested it.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” But he’s still smiling, his thumb tracing lazy circles on my hip.
The past six months have been a delicate dance of negotiation—figuring out where my work ends and our relationship begins, learning to trust each other with the messy, complicated parts of our lives.
It’s not always easy. There were nights when I came home from surveillance operations too wired to sleep, and days when Adrien’s family or business pulled him away for weeks at a time.
But we made it work. We’re still making it work.
“I saw the tarot cards,” I say quietly.
His expression shifts, something vulnerable flickering across his face. “Hmm.”
“You left them on the nightstand. I wasn’t snooping, I just…” I touch his jaw. “The Fool, the Lovers, and the World. That’s quite a reading.”
“I went to see Celeste last week. While you were finishing the Foster case.” He looks almost embarrassed. “I know it’s superstitious, but—”
“But you wanted to know what the cards said about us.”
“About our future, yes.” He captures my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. “The Fool for new beginnings, the Lovers for partnership and union, and the World for completion and achievement. Celeste said it’s the strongest positive reading she’s ever given me.”
My throat tightens, mainly because I hadn’t been sure what they meant, or why he was holding onto them. “And what do you think it means?”
“I think it means I should stop being afraid of what I want.” He releases my hand and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. “I think it means I should stop overanalyzing every possible outcome and just ask you.”
My heart stutters. “Adrien—”
“I know this isn’t a well-staged proposal.
No rose petals, no string quartet, no photographers for the society pages.
Margot will scold me.” He opens the box, revealing a ring that catches the fading sunlight—a sapphire surrounded by diamonds, elegant and understated.
“But this is where it started for us. Where I met a woman who made me want to be more than what everyone expected. Where I found something real in a world full of beautiful facades.”
I can’t speak. Can’t do anything but stare as the shoreline lights blur in my peripheral vision.
“Brie Anderson, former CIA operative, periodic pain in my ass, love of my life—will you marry me?”
The laugh that escapes me is half-sob, half-genuine amusement. “You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet.”
“Is that a yes?”
I grab his collar and pull him down to kiss me—hard and sure and full of every emotion I’m terrible at expressing with words. When we finally break apart, I’m breathless, and his eyes hold that heated promise that says we won’t be making it to dinner anytime soon.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Obviously yes.”
He slides the ring onto my finger—it fits perfectly, of course, because he’s Adrien, and he’s probably had my ring size since the third week we reconnected—and then kisses me again, slower this time, reverent.
He exhales a shaky laugh, still holding me. “You know what Celeste told me when I left her studio?”
“What?”
“She said to stop chasing what’s already mine—and to fill the empty space.”
I blink. “Meaning?”
He reaches into the pocket of his linen pants and pulls out a folded photograph—a vibrant abstract by Adam Ball, color and light exploding across the frame. “This. It’s finished. He shipped it to your building in New York this morning.”
It takes me a second to find my voice. “You commissioned a piece from Adam Ball? For me?”
“For that wall in your apartment that’s been empty since before we met. You once said you couldn’t find anything that felt like you.” He brushes a strand of hair from my cheek. “I wanted you to have something that does. Something that reminds you where this all began.”
Emotion catches in my throat, unexpected and sharp. “You remembered that?”
“I remember everything.” His smile softens. “And before you argue—yes, I know you love that apartment, and no, I’m not asking you to give it up. But maybe consider renting it out…or turning it into an office. Because as much as I admire your independence, I’d like you to live with me full-time.”
I huff a laugh. “You mean move in permanently, not just fill a drawer or two at your place?”
“Exactly that. Move in officially. Keep your space, your view of the park, whatever you need—but come home to me. Your fiancé. And one day, at the date of your choosing, your husband.”
There’s no manipulation in what he’s saying, just hope. Completely justifiable, and the thought of taking this next step together feels right.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, mostly to make him grin. It works—his mouth curves, slow and sure.
“Good,” he murmurs, kissing me again. “I love you.”
“Is that so?”
“It is. You’re the most lovely person I know.”
I feign a frown.
“And I mean lovely in all the important ways.” His palm flattens against my chest, warming the skin. “In here, my love.”
“You’re irresistible. I never stood a chance.”
“Of life without me?” He grins. “No, you didn’t.”
We stand there on the deck as night fully settles over the sea, the warm weight of the ring on my finger still unfamiliar but somehow exactly right.
Tomorrow we’ll call our families and deal with the inevitable chaos of announcing our engagement.
Eventually we’ll head back to New York—to our complicated jobs and the beautiful, messy life we’re building.
But for now, we’re just two people anchored offshore, choosing each other again and again, building something genuine in a world that too often settles for surface beauty.
Some unions don’t require tarot cards or mystical predictions. They require courage, commitment, and the willingness to be seen—really seen—by another person.
As he laces his fingers through mine, I squeeze once, deliberate.
“I love you,” I say, like a promise I intend to keep.
And as Adrien leads me below deck, his hand warm and certain in mine, I know I wouldn’t trade this reality for any fantasy the world could offer.
Not even close.
Next in the Sinful State series…
You met Alicia Morgan when everything was on the line.
She’s the strategist. The fixer. The woman who keeps scandals contained and reputations intact.
But even the best crisis manager can’t control everything.
And when control slips, the last person she expects to rely on is the man assigned to stand between her and whatever comes next.
Former Army Ranger Noah Bennett has protected powerful people before.
He’s never protected someone who refuses to be guarded.
Their story begins in Only the Lucky.
Start reading now.