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“He’s an asshole, then,” Ronan says.
“He wasn’t right for me. I see that now. But I was afraid of love after that. That’s why I played only at the club. But then I met you, and…” I shake my head. “It seems so silly, us only knowing each other for a little more than a week.”
“When you know, you know,” he says. “That’s what Mémé says.”
I think about the talisman still in my purse. “She’s a wise woman.”
“She always has been. Wise and loving. She hasn’t had the easiest life, but she’s always made the best of it. And I…” He trails off, choking a bit.
“That’s enough. No more talking for you.”
He nods.
“I love you,” I say, more and more weight lifting off me. “I love you so much. Go to sleep. I’ll send your father in. I know he wants to see you.”
Ronan nods again, closing his eyes.
And I walk out of the room, floating on a cloud.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Mary
Six months later…
Ronan had his first CAT scan, which came out clean—no more pancreatic cancer—and Brenda and Dalton are headed toward their honeymoon in Jamaica.
Ronan ended up only spending two months in Las Vegas. Two months was too long being away from me, he decided—even though he flew home every weekend—and he found someone who would put up with his long-distance micromanaging to finish the yearlong project.
I gave my notice to Trish a month ago.
Next week, Ronan and I are moving to New Orleans. New Orleans, where I gave an offering to Madame Laveau along with a wish.
I wished for guidance, to find where I’m supposed to be. My place in this world.
I’ve found it.
Ronan and I aren’t engaged yet, but we’ve committed to each other. He’ll continue to head up O’Connor Enterprises, which will soon be headquartered in the Big Easy.
I’ll begin my new part-time position at Odette’s Botanica while I take classes at the local university.
More importantly, I’ll begin to learn the practice of Voodoo from Mémé, as I now call her.
Ronan and I stop at Black Rose Underground for the last time after Brenda and Dalton’s wedding reception.
We head straight to a private suite that he reserved.
“Kneel,” he says, once I’m naked.
I kneel before him, my gaze pointed toward the ground.
“I’m going to bind your wrists.”
“Yes, sir.”
He binds my wrists, this time with fur-lined handcuffs.
Then he pulls me to my feet, gazes deeply into my eyes.
