26. Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Six
On My Own Terms
Luca
I could take her again.
Again and again until my mind, body, and soul understand nothing except the feeling of Simone beneath me, wrapped around me, accepting everything I have to give.
But I’m not in love with her because of her body.
Or because she feels better than every fantasy I ever denied having.
I’m in love with what it means to be Simone.
Her sharp mind.
Her relentless determination.
The way she reaches for everything she wants with both hands, even when the world tells her she shouldn’t.
The way she hides softness beneath arrogance and fear beneath humor.
The way she wants me without apology.
Her bedroom is quiet except for our uneven breathing and the soft sounds of our mouths meeting.
We haven’t stopped kissing since our bodies finally went still.
Slow kisses.
Messy ones.
Soft, lingering touches followed by desperate mouths and wandering hands.
Sometimes she kisses me as if we have all the time in the world.
Sometimes she kisses me as though someone might separate us if she loosens her grip.
I understand both.
I’m addicted to her.
Simone straddles my hips, her hair spilling over her shoulders and forming a curtain around us.
Our clothes remain rumpled from sex.
Her sapphire gown is twisted around her waist. My shirt hangs open, and my trousers are still pushed low enough to make getting distracted again dangerously easy.
She bites my lower lip and pulls gently before releasing it.
A groan leaves me.
Her smile is pure satisfaction.
“I missed you.”
She lowers herself against my chest and rests her chin over her folded hands.
I wind one strand of her hair around my finger.
“How much?”
She bites her lip.
“I touched myself every night.”
Heat immediately returns to my blood.
“Thinking about me?”
“No. The gardener.”
I tighten my hand around her hip.
“Careful.”
Her smile widens.
“Yes, thinking about you.”
Her voice softens.
“Wishing you were there to do it for me.”
My cock responds despite the fact that she has already wrung two orgasms out of me.
I drag my thumb over one dark eyebrow, careful not to smear the makeup around her eyes.
“Was it good?”
“Yes.”
She presses one kiss to the center of my chest.
“But not nearly as good as you.”
“I didn’t know you were a romantic.”
“I’m not.”
“You just confessed that you missed my touch while lying naked on top of me.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Don’t ruin it.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“You’re lucky. I don’t usually say things like that.”
“I know.”
I stroke my hand down her back.
“I’m the luckiest man alive.”
It sounds sentimental.
I don’t care.
I get to love her.
More importantly, she loves me back.
Simone kisses me again.
This one is slow.
Unhurried.
Our lips move together as though we could remain in this room indefinitely, untouched by the party downstairs or the consequences waiting beyond the door.
When she pulls back, her breathing has deepened.
Her hair frames her face.
“What you said downstairs,” I begin. “About loving someone else.”
“I meant you.”
“I know.”
“I should hope so. I said your name.”
The corner of my mouth lifts.
“You didn’t hesitate.”
“No.”
Her fingers drum lightly against my chest.
“There’s no reason I should marry Adrien when I’m in love with you.”
I don’t enjoy hearing another man’s name while she’s straddling me, even knowing the truth about their relationship.
Simone notices.
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Thinking violent thoughts about Adrien.”
“I’m not.”
“Your eye twitched.”
“It did not.”
She laughs.
“Adrien was as shocked as I was. Apparently, his parents decided his fake girlfriend becoming his real fiancée would be excellent for the family image.”
“What does he plan to do?”
“Tell them no.”
“Publicly?”
“If necessary.”
I study her.
“And you?”
“I already told Dad.”
“You did more than that.”
Her expression turns serious.
“I meant every word.”
My hand settles at the nape of her neck.
“So did I.”
Silence stretches between us.
Not awkward.
Full.
“I want to be with you,” I say.
The sudden light in her eyes makes my chest ache.
“You are with me.”
“I mean after tonight.”
I lift myself slightly against the headboard.
“After the headlines. After Francis tries to convince you this is trauma attachment and Bran interrogates me like a hostile witness.”
“He’ll threaten you first.”
“He already did.”
“That sounds like Bran.”
“I want all of it.”
Her smile fades into something vulnerable.
“You’re sure?”
“I’ve never been more certain.”
I tighten my arm around her waist.
“I want to date you openly. I want to take you somewhere without pretending I’m only there to protect you.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere you want.”
“That’s a dangerous offer.”
“I know.”
“You may end up in Paris.”
“I speak French.”
“Maldives?”
“I can swim.”
“Another deserted island?”
“No.”
Her laugh warms the room.
I continue before fear can make either of us retreat.
“I want mornings with you when no one is shooting at us.”
Her eyes soften.
“I want to hear you complain about coffee and watch you work in the studio.”
“You’ll become obsessed with my music.”
“I already am.”
Her eyebrows rise.
“You’ve listened?”
“I may have downloaded several albums.”
“Several?”
“All of them.”
The delight on her face is worth the confession.
“You’re a fan.”
“I appreciate your work.”
“Fan.”
“I’m reconsidering this relationship.”
She kisses me before I can pretend to mean it.
“I want you too,” she whispers.
Her forehead rests against mine.
“When we’re home. When Dad is furious. When Bran behaves like an overprotective lunatic.”
She smiles.
“Even when you become unbearable.”
“I’m never unbearable.”
“You’re currently lying.”
I kiss her.
Then she settles beneath my chin.
“You’re really leaving Dad’s company.”
“Yes.”
“I’m proud of you.”
The words reach deeper than she knows.
“Thank you.”
“What will you do?”
I stare toward the ceiling.
For years, the answer was obvious.
Whatever Francis required.
For the first time, the future is open.
It frightens me.
It also feels like freedom.
“I still want to protect people.”
Simone lifts her head.
“That part of the work was never the problem.”
“No.”
I move my fingers slowly along her spine while organizing thoughts I’ve only recently allowed myself to consider.
“I know executive protection. Threat assessment. Surveillance. Extraction planning.”
“And catching fish with a stick.”
“A highly marketable skill.”
“Obviously.”
“I’ve spent years protecting people with enough money and power to build their own armies.”
My voice becomes quieter.
“But there are other people who need help.”
“People like performers being stalked?”
“Yes.”
“Women escaping dangerous men?”
“Yes.”
“Families receiving threats. Witnesses. People whose security teams failed them.”
Simone studies my face.
“I’m thinking about starting my own firm.”
Her expression brightens.
“Your own protection company?”
“Protection and threat assessment.”
I hear the shape of it as I say it aloud.
“Small. Specialized. Discreet.”
“Independent.”
“Completely.”
The word feels good.
“I could choose the clients. Build my own team. Protect people without answering to Francis or anyone else’s political agenda.”
Simone pushes herself upright.
“I love that.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s perfect.”
Her hands cup my face.
“You’d be incredible.”
“I’d have to start from nothing.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
Her expression becomes fierce.
“You have experience. Training. Contacts. A reputation.”
“And no office.”
“Offices can be rented.”
“No staff.”
“People can be hired.”
“No company name.”
She thinks for half a second.
“Something dangerous.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“Something protective.”
My thumb brushes her waist.
“Subtle.”
“Fine. Dangerously protective.”
I look at her.
She grins.
“Too much?”
“Probably.”
“But memorable.”
“Unfortunately.”
Her smile softens.
“You would be building something that belongs to you.”
That is the part that matters.
Not merely leaving Francis.
Creating a life instead of waiting for someone else to assign one.
“I’d still worry,” she admits.
“About what?”
“You getting hurt.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“That’s what people say before getting shot.”
“You were the one who got shot.”
“Grazed.”
I smile.
“I’ll build a team. I won’t take every field assignment myself.”
“You’d better not.”
“Is that an order?”
“Yes.”
“I no longer follow Rochefort orders.”
She narrows her eyes.
“You’ll follow mine.”
“We’ll negotiate.”
Her fingers slide beneath my shirt and trace my stomach.
“A very sexy private-security expert.”
I catch her hand before it moves lower.
“You’re distracting me.”
“I’m supporting your career.”
“That isn’t what you’re supporting.”
She laughs.
I pull her closer.
“I love you.”
Her expression changes every time I say it.
The surprise is fading.
The happiness isn’t.
“Again,” she whispers.
My hand tightens at her neck.
“I love you.”
She nods with exaggerated satisfaction.
“Of course you do. I’m Simone Rochefort. Everyone loves me.”
I roll us over.
She squeals as her back hits the mattress.
“Arrogant.”
“Accurate.”
I lower my mouth toward hers.
A swell of applause from downstairs reminds us the party still exists.
Simone’s smile disappears.
“We should go back.”
“Do you want to?”
“No.”
“Then we don’t have to.”
She looks toward the bedroom door.
“I don’t want to hide up here either.”
“We aren’t hiding.”
“It will look like we are.”
I understand.
Her father announced that she belongs to another man.
We disappeared together immediately afterward.
If we remain upstairs, Francis controls whatever story replaces the engagement.
“What do you want to do?”
Simone sits up and pulls her gown back into place.
“I want to walk downstairs with you.”
My pulse changes.
“Together?”
“Yes.”
She finds her torn underwear and holds it up.
“You owe me for these.”
“I remember.”
She tosses them toward the wastebasket.
Then she smooths her dress over her hips.
“I told Dad I choose you.”
Her gaze meets mine.
“Now I want everyone else to understand that too.”
I sit on the edge of the bed and fasten my trousers.
“You don’t owe the guests an explanation.”
“I know.”
She straightens the sheer scarf at her throat.
“This isn’t for them.”
“For Francis?”
“For us.”
I stand.
Simone reaches for my shirt and begins fastening the buttons herself.
Her fingers pause at my chest.
“I’m not asking for his approval.”
“I know.”
“I don’t need permission to love you.”
“No.”
“But I’m done allowing him to publicly define my life while I correct him in private.”
Pride moves through me.
The girl who once used scandal to demand attention is now prepared to claim her own truth in front of the same people.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
She finishes the final button and smooths both palms over my chest.
“We go downstairs. We speak to Adrien. Then we decide together what happens next.”
Together.
The word settles into me.
I offer her my hand.
“Let’s do it, baby.”
She slips her fingers through mine.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I raise her hand and kiss her knuckles.
“No more hiding.”
Simone opens the bedroom door.
Still holding my hand, she leads me toward the staircase and the world waiting below.