Epilogue - Maeve #2
“I wouldn’t say she’s settled, but after hearing our father came to the house looking for her, she decided Boston was a better place to hide, and went back to give it another shot.” I swirled the ice in my glass. "But she's pregnant."
Presley stopped bouncing. "No way."
"Way."
"Does she have a pack? Who are the alphas?"
"She won't talk about it. Every time I bring it up, she changes the subject or hangs up."
Presley let out a dry laugh. "Like her sister. In denial."
"I wasn't in denial. I was running for my life."
"And Mary's not?" She raised an eyebrow. "She's been hiding in Boston for nearly three years. Who knows what she's tangled up in."
Ivan dropped into the chair beside me. "I spoke to her a few weeks ago. She has a boyfriend. A beta. British student at the university."
“She told me they split up.”
"And betas can't get omegas pregnant," Presley said.
We all looked at each other.
The silence that followed was the uncomfortable kind.
Mac shrieked near the fountain. Mila threw some of her croissant to some birds waiting at the edge of the garden. Presley’s alphas, Fritz and Etienne, were sitting on the edge of the water fountain with Presley's twins, all of them soaking wet.
"Did she tell you anything about her heats?" Presley asked. "How she managed them?"
"Nothing. She never mentioned them. I assumed she was on suppressants—" I stopped. "I assumed she'd tell me if something was wrong."
"Would she? You spent three years hiding from everyone who loved you. Mary spent her childhood learning the same lessons from the same father."
I set my glass down.
Mary was across an ocean, pregnant and silent.
My little sister, who'd put glitter nail polish on my toes and told me she was going to leave Ireland for good.
The same sister who'd taped motivational quotes to Petrov portraits and announced she was going to legally dismantle organized crime when I knew she’d prefer to paint.
Quiet didn't mean safe. I knew that better than anyone.
I stood up and walked to the edge of the terrace, where Artem was talking quietly with Presley’s other alpha, Hastings. Hastings was saying something about the vineyard and Artem was nodding, but his attention moved to me the moment I got close. It always did.
"Everything alright?"
"We need to go to Boston." I slipped my hand into his. "We need to bring Mary home."
"Now?"
"Now."
He didn't ask for an explanation. He didn't point out that we'd just arrived or that the children were finally settled or that the jet needed refueling. He looked at my face for approximately one second and then nodded.
"I'll call the pilot."
Ivan appeared with Mila eating another pastry. Gregor materialized with Mac on his shoulders and Fergus trotting at his heels. Mila reached for me, and I took her, settling her weight against my hip.
My pack formed around me on the sun-drenched terrace. “We’re going to Boston to bring Mary home.”
"Fergus needs his travel harness," Gregor said. "I'll retrieve it."
Artem was already on the phone with the pilot, his voice low and efficient.
"Mila needs a nappy change before we board," Ivan added. "I'll handle it. You talk to Presley."
None of them asked if I was sure. None of them suggested we wait until morning.
I looked up at Artem with his phone to his ear, Ivan holding Mila’s hand as they walked away, Gregor with our son still perched on his shoulders like a tiny general surveying his troops, and picked up Fergus, planting a kiss on his head. “We did good, didn’t we?”
Fergus nuzzled under my chin.
Three years ago, I'd been running on adrenaline and the love of my dog. Now I was standing in the sunlight surrounded by men who would cross an ocean because I asked them to.
"There is nothing in this world we wouldn't do for our omega," Artem said quietly, pocketing his phone.
He pressed a kiss to my temple, then to the claim mark that told the world exactly who I belonged to. "Then let's go get your sister."
"Thank you," I said. My voice came out thicker than I meant it to.
"Whatever you need, malen'kaya. Even if it means we're the people who leave a French villa before the cheese course."
"You hate French cheese."
"I hate the principle of leaving a party early. The cheese is incidental."
I laughed.
Presley appeared beside me with her baby still tucked against her chest and her twins now attached to Fritz like barnacles. "You're really leaving? You just got here."
"I know. I'm sorry." I hugged her carefully, mindful of the newborn and the dog between us. "But Mary's alone and she's scared and she's doing exactly what I did. She’s pretending everything's fine while it falls apart. I can't let her do it by herself."
Presley pulled back and looked at me with the same looks she'd worn since the caravan park. "You're a good sister."
"I'm a late one. But I'm trying."
"Late is better than never." She squeezed my arm. "Go. Bring her home. And then bring her here so I can meet the girl who survived Callum McCarthy and still had the energy to terrorize the Russian mafia with motivational Post-its."
"Deal."
"Ready?" Artem's hand found the small of my back.
"Ready," I said. "Let's go bring my sister home."
Ivan had Mila's nappy bag slung over one shoulder and the baby herself tucked against his chest. Gregor had Mac on his shoulders and Fergus gave a sharp, important bark, as if approving the mission.
I looked at my pack as we walked to the car as the Mediterranean sun beat on our shoulders.
I had my three alphas, two children, one terrier with a Napoleon complex, and a life I'd built from the wreckage of the old one.
At the car, I turned and waved. Presley and her pack waved from the fountain, and somewhere three thousand miles away, my sister was running from another problem.
This time, she wouldn't have to do it alone.
The End.