Chapter Thirteen Something Beautiful From the Pieces #3
When they opened again, he nodded.
“I will.”
Naomi ended the call.
Lucas remained where he was.
He did not rush toward her.
He let her decide what she needed.
Naomi stood.
Then walked straight into his arms.
Lucas held her.
“Isaiah,” she whispered.
He kissed the top of her head.
“Are you going to tell Adrian?”
“I’m going to ask whether he wants another piece of his past.”
Lucas nodded.
“And if he doesn't?”
“Then Adrian is enough.”
That evening, Naomi stood inside her studio alone.
The wedding gown hung before her.
Finished.
The silk caught the light like water.
Amara’s original sketch rested beneath it.
Evelyn’s handwritten alterations filled the margins.
Two mothers.
One dress.
Naomi walked closer.
She touched the beadwork.
Joseph would not be there.
But his words would.
Adrian would walk beside her.
Evelyn would begin the journey.
Amara would join.
Hudson and Olivia would watch their son marry a woman they had once never imagined entering their family.
Anthony and Catherine would be there.
Rose Winter had sent word that she intended to attend with Adrian Vale and Julian.
For once, she would enter through the front door.
No disguise.
No disappearing afterward.
Naomi smiled at that.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Lucas.
Come downstairs.
Naomi frowned.
She went down.
Lucas stood on the pavement.
No security convoy.
No formal suit.
Just dark trousers, rolled sleeves, and that smile that still did unfair things to her heartbeat.
“What are you doing?”
He held out his hand.
“Taking you somewhere.”
“Again?”
“Yes.”
“Is this another building?”
“No.”
“Secret archive?”
“No.”
“Underground monastery?”
“Never again.”
She took his hand.
They walked three blocks.
Then Naomi stopped.
Across the street stood the museum.
The museum.
Where everything had started.
Lucas looked at her.
“Thought we should visit before the wedding.”
Naomi smiled.
They entered.
The galleries were quiet near closing.
They walked until they reached the painting they had both been studying the first day they met.
Naomi stood before it.
“I thought you were arrogant.”
Lucas looked offended.
“I was charming.”
“You corrected me about the artist.”
“You were wrong.”
Naomi turned.
“I was not wrong.”
“You absolutely were.”
“You followed me into another gallery.”
“You were beautiful.”
That stopped her.
Lucas stepped closer.
“You were standing there pretending you didn't notice me.”
“I didn't notice you.”
“Liar.”
Naomi smiled.
Lucas reached for her hand.
“I had no idea that day what you were going to do to my life.”
“Improve it?”
“Destroy every comfortable lie in it.”
Naomi laughed softly.
“Sounds romantic.”
“It was.”
His thumb moved across her knuckles.
“You made me question things I had accepted since childhood.”
Naomi looked at him.
“You made me believe love didn't have to cost me myself.”
Lucas's expression softened.
They stood there surrounded by paintings older than either of their families' secrets.
Naomi rested her palm against his chest.
“Are you ready?”
“For the wedding?”
“For me.”
Lucas smiled.
“I've been trying to catch up with you since this room.”
Naomi shook her head.
“You don't have to catch me.”
“No?”
“No.”
She took his hand.
“Just walk with me.”
Lucas lowered his mouth to hers.
The kiss was tender at first.
Then fuller.
Deeper.
Naomi rose slightly onto her toes as his arm curved around her waist.
She could feel his heartbeat beneath her hand.
Strong.
Fast.
Real.
A museum attendant cleared his throat from several feet away.
“Sir.”
Lucas reluctantly lifted his head.
“Yes?”
“We are closing.”
Naomi buried her face against Lucas's chest, laughing.
Lucas looked toward the attendant.
“Of course.”
They started toward the exit.
Naomi glanced back once at the painting.
She had come to London believing her future depended on an internship.
She had entered this museum determined not to fall in love.
She had met a man whose family carried secrets capable of destroying them both.
And somehow, after betrayal, grief, bloodlines, hidden siblings, stolen art, gunfire, and enough family drama to last several lifetimes, they were walking out together.
Outside, rain had begun.
Lucas opened an umbrella.
Naomi stepped beneath it.
“Seven days,” he said.
She smiled.
“Seven days.”
He kissed her forehead.
Neither of them knew exactly what marriage would look like.
That was the beauty of it.
No old rule had written it for them.
No Taylor patriarch had designed it.
No Covenant Keeper could control it.
No father—loving, absent, guilty, biological, chosen, dead, or alive—could determine its shape.
They would have to create it themselves.
And Naomi James had always known what to do with a blank page.
She reached for Lucas's hand.
Together, they disappeared into the London rain.
The next time they stood before everyone they loved, Naomi would be wearing the gown two mothers had made for her.
Her brother would be beside her.
Joseph's words would be close to her heart.
And Lucas Taylor would be waiting at the end of the aisle.
Not to rescue her.
Not to claim her.
But to become her husband.