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Epilogue
SHE STRETCHED AND WOULD have fallen off the narrow single bed if a strong arm hadn’t banded around her waist and pulled her back, right into a wall of naked flesh. She smiled as shards of memories speared her into waking, and she spun, quickly, as excited as a little girl on Christmas morning.
“You’re here.”
His eyes held hers, and his expression was cautious. “And you’re happy about that?”
She lifted a hand to his cheek, moving closer so their noses brushed. “Yep.”
“No regrets?”
“Nope.”
He made a soft sound of relief and then kissed her. “Thank God.”
“Do you have plans today?”
“That depends on you.”
“It’s my weekend,” she said.
“So I can have you for forty eight hours?”
She blinked, the words lighting fires in her soul. Before she could answer, he moved even closer, so their bodies were completely melded.
“Or possibly longer?”
“How long are you thinking?”
“A lifetime, at least.”
Her heart jumped about wildly, and she dropped her gaze, not sure if she was understanding him.
“I love you. I am always going to love you. And one day, when you’re ready, I want to stand in front of the world and make that official.”
Tears, happy tears, filled her eyes, as she blinked up at him. “Is that a proposal?”
“Would you accept?”
She laughed. “Hedging your bets?”
“What can I say? I like to win.”
“I think you’ve won.”
He sobered, stroking her back so shivered, desire stirring anew. “I really have. And I’ll never forget it, nor how close I came to losing.”
“But you didn’t. I’m right here.”
Cora weaved amongst the well-heeled guests, and felt something tighten in the center of her chest. How was it possible she felt lonely in the midst of family?
Because she was alone, she thought wistfully, looking down at her empty ring finger, frowning. Divorce was hard, but marriage had been harder. She was free, and she was glad for that, but that didn’t mean there weren’t times when she regretted, when she wished…but she’d never make that mistake again. Her marriage had been a disaster, just as her parents and cousins had warned it would be. Who met their life’s partner at seventeen? In a typical rush of spontaneity and over-confidence, she’d married in haste, on her eighteenth birthday, the enormous party at Ibiza a deliberate snub to her family and an invitation to the world.
She groaned softly, forcing her attention back to the room, her eyes landing quite naturally on Anastasios and Phoebe. Their backs were to her, as they spoke to one of Greece’s most well-known politicians, but their hands were clasped behind her back, and even from this angle, their love was palpable. Cora turned away quickly, shocked by the tears that stung her eyes.
Her marriage had not been like their relationship. The mutual support and affection had been missing from the start, and whatever physical attraction had been there at the beginning had begun to wane until the dislike overtook everything else. It was a miracle she’d managed to keep it together for as long as she had.
She jostled through the room, needing fresh air, needing to be able to breathe properly, and as she cut through the room, not looking, not concentrating, her shoulder connected with something so hard and firm that she almost spun out of control. A hand reached out, curving around her upper arm, steadying her and holding her, so she blinked up into a face that was vaguely familiar and completely overpowering for how compelling handsome it was.
