Chapter 40 — Epilogue The Collection #2
He slid his hand from her face to her neck, and then to her shoulder, pulling her closer. His scent—that scent of power, cleanliness, and danger—enveloped her, blocking out the perfume of other people, blocking out the smell of wax and old wood from the gallery.
“Let’s go,” he said. “I made a reservation at Jules Verne. The view is good. And I want to get you out of this place, away from all these people staring at you.”
“You still get jealous?” she asked, laughing softly as he guided her toward the exit, his hand firm and heavy at the small of her back, claiming her with every step.
They stepped out onto the street. The rain had stopped, but the ground was wet, reflecting the city lights like a black mirror. The cold wind caught Maya's hair, but Ethan shielded her with his body, opening the door of the black Maybach waiting at the curb.
“Jealousy is for people who are afraid of losing,” he said, sliding into the car right behind her. The door closed, sealing them in the muffled silence of leather and bulletproof glass. “I'm not afraid. I'm certain. But I don't like sharing the view. I'm selfish, Maya. You know that.”
“I know,” she said, leaning back against the seat and resting her head on his shoulder.
The car began to glide through the streets of Paris. The City of Light drifted past the window, but Maya wasn't looking outside. She was looking at Ethan's hand, now resting on her thigh.
He draped his coat over her, wrapping her in warmth.
“How are you?” he asked. The shift in his tone was subtle but unmistakable—the arrogance gone, replaced by intense concern. “Tired?”
“A little,” she admitted. “The auction was... stimulating. But draining.”
Ethan looked at her belly. At the gentle curve beneath the black silk.
His expression softened in a way no one in the business world would ever believe possible. The man who destroyed companies, who had broken fingers and manipulated lives, looked at that small rise as if it were the center of the known universe.
He placed his large, warm hand on her belly.
“And how is our most important asset?” he asked, his voice husky.
Maya placed her hand over his.
“Restless,” she said. “I don't think he liked the impressionism. He kicked when I looked at a blurry blue painting. But he seemed to like the marble sculpture. He calmed down when I bought it.”
Ethan smiled.
“He has good taste. Likes structure. Solidity.”
“He's going to be stubborn,” Maya said. “Like his mother.”
“And possessive,” Ethan added. “Like his father.”
He kept his hand there, waiting. And then it happened. A subtle movement beneath his palm. A kick. Strong. Vital.
Ethan's eyes widened. He looked at Maya, wonder in his gaze.
“He's strong,” he whispered.
“He'll need to be,” Maya said. “To survive in this world we've built.”
Ethan looked up at her. The wonder gave way to something darker, more serious.
“He won't need to survive, Maya. He'll reign. I'll build walls so high around him that nothing ugly will ever touch him. He'll never know what fear is. He'll never know what hunger is. He'll never know what it means to sell your soul just to keep a roof over your head.”
There was a ferocity in his voice that made Maya shiver. She knew where it came from. It came from the twelve-year-old boy in a cheap motel room, watching his mother being dragged away by loan sharks. It came from the trauma that had forged the titan.
“Ethan,” she said softly, squeezing his hand. “We're not going to lock him in a tower.”
Ethan tensed.
“The world is dangerous.”
“I know. I've seen the danger. I felt the gun against my head.” She paused, remembering the night in the warehouse. The memory was still sharp, but it didn't hurt anymore. It was just a fact. “But locking him away isn't the answer. You tried to do that with me. Remember?”
Ethan looked away, guilt in his eyes.
“I remember.”
“And it didn't work. I had to break the window. I had to burn the curtain.”
She turned his face so he would look at her.
“We'll protect him, yes. But we'll teach him to fight. We'll teach him to see through the lies. We'll give him the tools you had to steal and I had to bleed to get.”
Ethan looked at her for a long moment. He saw the wisdom in her eyes. The wisdom he had helped create, but that now transcended his own.
“You're better than me,” he said. “You're the good part of all this.”
“I'm the part that balances you,” she corrected. “You're the structure. I'm the life inside it. Without you, I'd be adrift. Without me, you'd just be an empty, rich tomb.”
The car stopped at a red light. The Eiffel Tower glowed in the distance, a golden needle piercing the night sky, sweeping the city with its rotating beacon.
Ethan took her hand and kissed her knuckles, just above the yellow diamond.
“One year,” he said. “It feels like a lifetime.”
“It is a lifetime,” Maya replied. “The only one that matters. Life before you... feels like a bad dream. Gray. Blurry.”
“Do you regret it?” he asked.
It was the question he asked sometimes, in the darkness of the bedroom, after making love, when defenses were down. The insecurity of the monster who fears the princess will wake up one day and realize the castle is haunted.