Chapter 43
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Isla
“Wait.”
He goes still.
Not a muscle shifts, and he doesn’t breathe. His hand stays on the knob like it’s the only thing tethering him to the world. His shoulders are rigid.
With hope?
The moment stretches, heavy enough to bend the air between us.
My own heartbeat is too loud, crowding out the faint hum of traffic beyond the cracked door.
Slowly, he turns his head. Just enough that I catch the edge of his profile—the firm line of his mouth, the shadow of stubble that wasn’t there the last time I touched his face.
Then his eyes find mine.
In the depths, I don’t find the cool calculation I’m used to or a predator’s focus. This is something unguarded, almost dangerous in its honesty, like he’s deciding whether to come back to me or keep the safe distance he’s convinced himself I need.
“When you say my name like that”—his voice is so low that it barely crosses the space—”you make it impossible for me to go.”
Calypso vanishes deeper into the apartment, leaving my lap cold, my hands empty. It’s just him now, standing in the doorway with the night at his back, holding my gaze like he’s waiting for me to either close the space between us…or close the door on any future we might have.
“Isla.”
How I now ache to hear him call me little one. “I…”
He takes his hand off the knob. Lets it fall to his side.
That tiny movement punches the air out of me because it means he’s not leaving—not yet—and I’m the one holding him here.
“You can still tell me to go.” He turns to me. “And I will.”
His words are simple, and they mean the world to me.
My pulse hammers harder, so loud I swear he can see it beating in my throat. I don’t know what will come out if I open my mouth—something too much, or not enough—and the thought terrifies me.
So I just shake my head.
It’s barely a movement, more breath than gesture, but his eyes sharpen like he’s caught every bit of meaning in it. The kind of meaning I’m not ready to put into words.
Dorian closes the door and locks it, then turns to face me fully. Still, he doesn’t move forward. Instead, he waits, the quiet stretching between us until my insides are pulled so tight they feel as if they will snap.
Slowly, achingly slow, he moves toward me, stopping short.
He’s close enough that if I lift my hand, I’d brush the fabric of his shirt .
His gaze flickers over my face, searching for permission before taking that final step.
“Isla…”
My name on his lips is the final fracture in my resolve, and it splits me wide open.
My breath catches, sharp and shallow. My chest aches like it’s been forcing back a dam. And it can’t last a moment longer.
Heat blooms low in my belly, and I hate that my fingers twitch with the urge to reach for him. I feel stripped down to nothing but the truth I recognized when Margaux said it aloud. I love him with every part of my being. “Yes.”
And then he moves.
Not a rush, not a lunge—just that measured step forward that closes the last of the distance. His scent wraps around me, clean and warm with a layer of passion and something darker underneath. My body remembers it like an ache.
My knees go weak.
Gently he brushes my cheek with his fingertips. “I… Fuck.” His voice cracks. “Fuck, Isla. I need you more than air.”
“Dorian…” It’s a plea.
With a groan, he kisses me.
It’s not tentative, not testing—it’s a collision, the sharp inhale of relief and hunger meeting in the same breath.
My hands are on him before I think about it, clutching his shirt like I need him to stay right here. The taste of him hits me all at once—heat, salt, and a sensation of coming home after too long in the cold.
My world narrows to the press of his lips, the tilt of his head, the quiet sound he makes when I open to him. I’m falling—really falling—when?—
There’s a knock.
Demanding. Sharp. Too loud.
I jerk back, breathless, my hands still fisted in his shirt. He keeps one hand on my jaw, but his eyes cut toward the door, narrowing.
From the other side comes a voice I know almost as well as my own heartbeat.
“Isla!”
Brennan.
Now I’m certain that he called earlier. No doubt the security personnel informed him that Dorian was at my house.
The knock is sharp enough to pull me away from Dorian. I’m still holding his shirt, still breathing him in, when Brennan pounds again.
“Open this damn door!”
“I need…” I pull back from Dorian, but not far.
Dorian’s hand stays at my jaw, his thumb still resting lightly against my skin, as if letting go too soon would erase everything that just passed between us. His eyes flick toward the door, narrowing for just a second before they come back to mine.
“Open up!”
Dorian steps back, giving me space to respond to Brennan. It’s a small thing, but I feel it—the choice to let me control this moment.
I’m shaking, trying to drag my breath under control while I make my way across the small distance to the door.
When I unlock it, Brennan is standing there, his gaze moving over me first, then over my shoulder to Dorian. There’s no heat in his eyes, no fight. Just that steady watchfulness that’s as much a part of him as his heartbeat.
Within moments, he returns his focus to me. “You’re okay?”
“I am.” Filled with gratitude that he cares, that he’d ride to my rescue without me even asking, I smile. “Thank you.”
“That asshole?—”
“Has been respectful. ”
“Better fucking be before I make him regret the last month of his life.”
“Your timing could have been better.” Dorian shakes his head.
“You fucking deserve the interruption.”
Aware of the sudden awkwardness, I invite Brennan in.
Once we’re sealed off from the world around us, the three of us stand in my small living room, looking at each other.
The silence echoes with hurt, with distrust.
Dorian is the first to brave the tension. “She’s safe with me.” He meets his partner’s eyes. “With us.”
The us lands heavy in the air, but it’s not contested.
“You fixed your fuckup? Fell on your sword before I could run you through with it?”
“I hope so.” He lifts a shoulder and studies me. “But only Isla can answer that.”
I look at Brennan. “He told me about Lena. And…” I still can’t believe it, making it difficult to get the words out. “And that he loves me.”
Brennan’s reaction is immediate—an almost imperceptible shift in his stance, like the floor just tilted under him. His gaze flicks to Dorian, sharp with surprise, and maybe a hint of pride. “About damn time.”
And it’s time for me to admit what’s been in my heart that I can no longer keep secret. “I love you, Dorian.”
Dorian’s eyes flare—quick, sharp—as if my words have just stolen the air from his lungs.
For a moment, he doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink, like he’s replaying them in his head to make sure he didn’t imagine it.
Then his mouth curves, slow and unguarded, as if this is more than he ever dared hope. “You…?”
“Yes.” I look at him, not hiding, not hedging. “I love you. Totally.”
The admission costs me nothing and everything .
“Fuck me.”
My heart tumbles. “And I love you, too,” I say to Brennan. I look between the man I married, and the one I can’t imagine my future without. “Both of you.”
For a beat, there’s nothing but the weight of my truth. And theirs as well.
Both men are looking at me as if they’d burn down the world to make this moment last forever.
“You know I love you, Isla.” Brennan nods, the barest dip of his chin. “Have from the moment I saw your courage in walking down the aisle.”
For that long? Has he really?
“And now, asshole,” he says to Dorian, “maybe you can actually look at yourself in the mirror.”
Without seeing a ghost?
Then Dorian closes the space between us, and he cups the side of my neck like I’m something precious. “Tell me again.” His murmur is hoarse, a man starving for the words.
“I love you.” The simple statement hangs between us, a promise and a vow. “Like you, I tried not to. Then I tried not to admit it. But I do.”
Something inside him shatters at that, and I can see the pieces in his eyes—relief, hunger, maybe even hope.
For a beat, no one breathes.
Something in his expression fractures—sharp edges giving way to something raw and almost undone. “Christ, Isla…” He swallows hard, stroking my skin like he needs the contact to believe it’s real. “I’ve been walking around half-alive without you.”
Brennan steps in, his hand warm on my back. “Guess I’m not the only one who’s been losing my mind.”
My laugh is shaky. “You both drive me insane.”
Dorian straightens as he draws a breath .
His hand leaves my neck, and for a second, I think he’s stepping away. Instead, he reaches into his pocket.
My heart lurches. “What are you doing?”
Instead of answering, he pulls out a small black velvet box and holds it like it weighs more than it should.
Then he lowers himself to one knee, the movement slow and deliberate, as if the act itself is a vow.
Frowning, reeling, I look between the two men.
His gaze fastened on me, Dorian opens the lid.
My breath catches, and I press a hand to my throat.
Nestled inside is la Flamme Cachée, the opal I’d fallen in love with in New Orleans. The gem’s colors are alive—blue, green, gold shifting like it’s breathing.
“You lit up when you saw her. I was too busy chasing diamonds to pay attention.” His gaze flickers—an apology without the word. “I listened. So I went back.”
The words hit like a warm tide, stealing the air from my lungs.
My eyes burn, and I bite down on my lip to keep it from trembling.
I remember the exact moment I saw the stone, the way the light caught it and my heart inexplicably clenched.
And now—now he’s holding it out to me, probably the greatest gift I’ve ever received.
He turns the ring so I can see it. His thumb nudges the underside, reverent. “And there’s something hidden beneath the setting. You’ll know it’s there.”
Brennan’s palm finds the small of my back, steadying, saying without words that he’s with us.
I can’t help it—I reach. The metal is warm, or maybe that’s just his heat in it. The opal flares violet, then green, then a deep, impossible gold that makes my heart flutter.
“You had no choice about marrying me. I love you, Isla. And now, I’m here, asking you to do me the honor of being my wife”—his gaze takes in Brennan—”our wife, in all ways, emotionally, as well as legally. Forever. ”
The air goes thick in my chest, pressing against my ribs until it aches. I swallow hard, my vision blurring, because this man—this infuriating, impossible man—has offered his love, the only thing that matters to me.
My pulse thunders in my ears, and Brennan’s touch at my back is like a steel support that holds me upright.
“I’ve never proposed, little one. Never. Until you. You mean the world to me. Will you have me? Us?”
Something inside me breaks open—relief, joy, and that dangerous, dizzy kind of hope all rushing in at once. My throat is too tight, but I manage to look from Dorian to Brennan. Brennan’s nod is small but reassuring, offering his commitment.
The only answer I can give comes out on a trembling breath. “Yes.”
“May I?” Dorian asks.
He slides the ring onto my finger, slow, careful, as if he’s putting something back that was always mine. The bezel kisses my skin; the gallery’s delicate work glints, a tiny secret meant for me alone.
“It’s…” The moment is reverent. “Perfect.”
Dorian’s mouth is on mine before the last syllable leaves my lips.
Not tentative—hungry. The kind of kiss that takes without apology but somehow still gives back more than it steals.
His fingers are warm at my jaw, angling me exactly how he wants me, and I melt into it because I’ve wanted this— him —for far too long to pretend otherwise.
Then Brennan is there, behind me, sliding his palm over my hip, up my side, until his body is at my back, solid and certain.
He tips his head down, his breath brushing my ear before his mouth finds the curve of my neck.
The heat of his kiss sinks deep, anchoring me between them until I don’t know where one ends and the other begins.
The opal catches a shard of light as Dorian deepens the kiss, his tongue brushing mine, and Brennan’s hands roam with that steady confidence that makes my pulse trip.
I’m dizzy from the weight of them, from the certainty in every touch that I am theirs . And that I’m loved.
Dorian pulls back just far enough to breathe against my lips.
In that fractional space, Brennan is in front of me, his mouth claiming mine—slower, heavier, like he wants to memorize the taste of this moment. My knees go weak, but Dorian’s hand at my waist and Brennan’s arm around me keep me from falling.
By the time Brennan eases back, my breathing is wrecked. Dorian’s eyes are locked on mine, dark and sharp with intent. He dips his head, capturing the hem of my shirt between his fingers, the fabric curling in his grip like he’s already claimed the right to take it off.
And he’s right.
His voice is low, deliberate, and utterly certain. “Shall we seal our vow…? Make it official?”
My pulse turns thready. “What do you have in mind?”
With the way his eyes darken, I know exactly what he’s thinking.
“Let us show you.”