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“You clearly want to die too,” I sigh, willing Otto to pick up his feet, which he eventually does. I tug James along, watching as Esther catches up to Otto and nudges him with her shoulder. He nudges her right back. But no touching. No handholding. I know Esther’s history. I know she deserves happiness and freedom from her guilt. I just question whether Otto—a man renowned for being a frequent visitor of strip clubs—is the man to give her that.
“Do you think they’re...” I pout. “You know.”
“Fucking?”
I flinch on Danny’s behalf. “Esther doesn’t look like the kind of woman to fuck.”
“And that’s all Otto does, so if you’re asking me if they’re going to work out, the answer is no.”
Another flinch, but this time for Esther. “Perhaps you should have a bit more faith.” I look at him. “I bet a million people would vote against us working out.”
His scowl is instant as he looks down at me. “I couldn’t give a fuck what a million people think. Only you.” He stops us walking, takes my purse, and sets it on the wall with the bottle of wine and my shoes. He turns into me. “So, what do you think, Beau Hayley?” His eyes scan mine as I half smile, his palms cupping my cheeks.
“I think,” I say, scanning his glorious face, “I love you.”
“Youthink?”
“I know.”
He nods, the pad of his thumb dragging across my bottom lip, wiping away the gloss. And he lowers his face to mine slowly, making me wait for his kiss. I inhale, bracing myself, taking hold of his wrists, my eyes closing. I feel when his mouth is level with mine, his breath warming my skin, and I whimper, begging him to indulge me, and yet he makes me wait some more. Makes me burn more. Makes my heart boom more.
And suddenly, the heat dies.
His hands fall away from my cheeks.
I lose my hold of his wrists.
And I stumble forward a fraction from the loss of support before he quickly catches and steadies me.
I open my eyes and find him on his knees. His gaze soft. His mouth straight. His eyes glowing.
His hand held up.
And on his pinky finger, halfway down, sits a diamond ring.
I breathe out and find his eyes. “James,” I whisper. “I—”
“I’ll always catch you, Beau.”
I melt at my very own hard assassin being so romantic and soft, and lower to my knees, joining him. “That’s all I need.”
“Are you saying no again?”
My eyes pass between James and the ring. “Why do you want to get married?” I ask.
He considers that for a few moments as he regards me closely. “My mother was my father’s light,” he says quietly, an edge of sadness in his deep voice. “And he always followed the light.” His eyes become glazed, and my heart splits. “You are my light, Beau. And I would follow you to the ends of the earth.” He takes my right hand and slips the ring onto my finger. “It can stay there until you see the light,” he says, smiling down at my hand.
“Was this your mother’s ring, James?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer. He just takes my nape and pulls me onto his mouth, kissing me hard and meaningfully. His sentiment is beautiful. Except I don’t think darkness is avoidable in our world. And as we’ve both learned, and how we were both drawn to each other, darkness entices darkness. “Stay in the light with me, Beau,” he begs, kissing my lids, my nose, my cheeks, my forehead. “It’s all I ask.”
I can only try. “We’ll be late,” I whisper, pulling away and running my fingers through his hair. James nods and stands, pulling me up with him. He gets my purse and hands it to me, and my cell inside starts ringing. I know who it’ll be, and I can’t avoid him forever, but I’ve done a good job since that painfully uncomfortable day Dad got caught up in our world. The explosion. His funny turn. His girlfriend, Amber, showing up at the mansion. I’ll never forget Rose’s face when we walked into the TV room and found her on my father’s arm. Or my dad’s face when he finally comprehended not only my unwavering decision to be with James, but also the fact that his girlfriend was a gold-digging whore who used toserviceDanny and his men. I flinch on my friend’s behalf. And, oddly, my father’s.
I answer as James collects my shoes. “Dad,” I say on an exhale I’m sure he will detect.
“Beau, it’s been weeks.”
Weeks. There was a time when months would pass without seeing or hearing from my father. James crouches before me and puts one of my sandals at my feet, and I hold his shoulder as he brushes the sand off before letting me slip my foot in. “How are you?” I ask. I took no pleasure in how embarrassed he was. How foolish he had been. I love my father, but he’s hardly God’s gift. A little overweight, a lot arrogant, but he’s loaded and that appeals to women of a certain variety. He was always going to be a target. A part of me wonders if he regrets betraying Mom. If he wished he’d never been so blinkered and left her for a younger model. I hope he does. I fear my hope is in vain.
