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Brent Wilson backs away, his head shaking in wonder. ‘You crazy arsehole.’
‘Maybe,’ Becker counters, holding up my hand. ‘But that lump of stone can’t make me feel as good as she can.’
Brent laughs in disbelief. ‘Have a good life, Hunt.’ He turns and jogs away, looking back every now and then, obviously worried Becker is going to change his mind and chase him down. But my saint remains by my side, watching as what he’s searched for his entire life disappears in the hands of the person he hates most in the world. I’m dumbfounded.
‘I fucking will,’ Becker breathes, looking down at my bewildered face.
‘That’s it?’ I ask.
‘That’s it.’
‘But . . . how . . . why . . .’ I trip and stagger all over my words, scepticism rampant. ‘But I don’t want him to have it,’ I whine, feeling more disappointed than relieved that this horrid saga is all over. Then something comes to me, and I jump back, holding Becker in place with mistrusting eyes. ‘It is done, right?’ I ask. ‘Promise me this isn’t just another chapter in the story, because if you think I’m going to sit by and worry about you plotting a heist on Wilson to get it back, then you have another think coming, Hunt.’
He laughs hard, throwing his head back. ‘I’m done, princess. I promise.’
I snort my thoughts on that. ‘You’ve promised before.’
His face straightens in an instant and he takes my hand, dipping and kissing his grandmother’s ring. ‘On my parents’ honour, Eleanor. I will never see Wilson ever again. Come here, my gorgeous, corrupt little witch.’ He opens his arms and I dive into them, letting him carry me across the piazza. The rain hammers down, soaking us to the bone, not that Becker seems in the least bit fazed. He puts me on my feet when we reach the fountain and takes my hands.
‘So what do we do now?’ I ask.
‘Now, we dance.’ He circles my shoulders with his arms and starts turning us slowly, and I smile, bemused. He wants to dance?
Our feet shift lazily, our bodies stuck together, as we rock gently in the pouring rain. ‘Shall we go get married?’ Becker asks quietly, holding the back of my head, pushing me into his shoulder so I can’t escape his clinch.
‘Okay,’ I agree easily, turning my face into his neck and smiling against his skin, hoping he feels it.
‘Super.’ He breaks away from me and tucks me into his side, starting to walk us as casual as can be out of the square. ‘We’ll have babies, too,’ he says quietly. ‘Two or three. And maybe we should get a girlfriend for Winston.’
I peek up at my gorgeous saint, seeing a peace so strong it’s visible. He’s soft against me, not one muscle tense, and his face is serene, making him even more handsome. ‘Okay,’ I agree again, and he peeks down at me, pulling his rain-splashed glasses away from his face so I can see directly into his beautiful eyes.
‘Ready to do life with me, princess?’ He scoops me up and cradles me in his arms, and I smile, resting my head on his shoulder, as he carries me across the piazza.
‘I’m never ready for you, Hunt.’EpilogueThree years later
Becker
From the moment I set my eyes on Eleanor Cole, she triggered a confusing bombardment of feelings – both emotional and physical. It was a mystery to me for some time, and, honestly, it drove me to depths of insanity that I’d never experienced before. Not even during my epic quest to find Head of a Faun. I never gave fate much thought before she bowled into my life. My mind was trained on one thing. The sculpture. Two things if you include the women. I was prepared to give up both for her. Turns out I only had to give up the latter. The former, ironically, Eleanor found for me. The madness of it all makes me smile to this day, and I know it will for the rest of my life.
Peace. She found that for me, too. I’ve never felt more settled. I’ve never had so much purpose filling me. She taught me more than she’ll ever know. I was meant to find Eleanor. My quest took me all over the world, to some truly beautiful places, but the place Eleanor has taken me to will never be rivalled. She’s taken me to the most beautiful place of all. She’s taken me into her heart. All of my quirks, my obsessions, and all of my faults. And most surprisingly of all, she understands them. She understands the need in me that’ll never die. She accepts it.
So, yes, she is my Fate. I’m disregarding the teeny-tiny fact that Eleanor getting the job at my company was because I manipulated the entire process. When Dorothy told me about a girl the agency had on their books – a girl from out of town with no formal qualifications or experience working in the art world – I laughed. But then I read her CV, and I was instantly drawn in by her obvious passion for all things old. I needed to know who this woman was. So I found out all there was to know about Eleanor Cole. Then I found her. I watched her in the library, lost in endless books. I watched her roam the rooms of endless museums. I knew Dorothy needed the help, but I didn’t trust anyone in the art world to work for me. This woman, though, was unknown in the industry. She hadn’t worked in it, experienced it, seen the rivalry. She was perfect for the position, but I knew Parsonson’s would snap her up in an instant, especially if Simon Timms was heading up the interview process, the slimy piece of shit. Eleanor Cole wasn’t just notably knowledgeable, but beautiful, too. And sassy. And sexy. And intelligent. And passionate. And don’t get me started on that arse of hers. Yes, I knew she would be good for Dorothy, but I can’t deny I was also thinking with my dick.
