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Griffin lifted his head. “That’s just it, you don’t have to. I don’t have to give everything up.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Yeah, my job is important to me, but I don’t have to let it define me any longer. Not when I can be so much more with you.”
A warm flush of happiness spread over Marin’s skin. “Are you sure?”
“There are lots of jobs out there where I can protect people, Marin,” he said. “But my first priority will always be protecting you.”
She kissed him then. His mouth felt and tasted like home. And new beginnings.
“You were wrong about something else, too,” he said when they came up for air.
Marin arched an eyebrow at him. “I don’t think I’ve ever been wrong twice.”
Griffin didn’t let her quip get by without another searing kiss.
“You were wrong when you said I didn’t have to love you back,” he said against her lips. “Because I do have to love you, Marin Chevalier. I can’tnotlove you.”
EPILOGUE
The three Bohemian cut-glass chandeliers hanging from the ceiling of the White House’s East Room shimmered above tuxedoed butlers carrying silver trays of champagne flutes through the crowd. Standing at attention next to Gilbert Stuart’s iconic painting of George Washington, Griffin tried to appear inconspicuous as he kept watch over the event.
“You do realize that you are a guest in the House this evening, Agent Keller,” Admiral Sedgewick said when he joined Griffin along the wall. “You don’t have to keep watch over the president. You are allowed to mingle.”
Griffin hadn’t laid eyes on the president the entire evening. Or the First Lady. He’d only had eyes for one person. A statuesque blonde in a stunning red gown who seemed to be floating around the room.
The admiral followed Griffin’s gaze. The man’s mouth turned up at the corners when he, too, spied Marin. “This was an amazing thing she did. Wes would be humbled by the collection the chef pulled together in his honor.”
The late curator would be just one of many who were in awe of Marin’s talents. In the absence of a permanent White House curator, Marin had been doing double duty as both executive pastry chef and steward of the mansion’s vast inventory of artwork. Tonight’s black-tie reception was the culmination of months of work.
She wanted to do something to recognize Wes’s contributions to the White House. But this evening was about more than that. All he had to do was glance around the room and see the proud smiles worn by the family of Arnold, the Dupont’s late doorman, as they mingled with the famous dignitaries in attendance. Or Seth’s parents as they shook hands with President Manning. Tonight was primarily about Marin casting away much of the faultless guilt she carried around.
“She’s got a big decision to make,” the admiral murmured.
Griffin’s head snapped around at his words. He stared incredulously at the man standing beside him. How did the admiral know? Griffin’s fingers slid over the small blue pouch tucked inside his suit jacket. Griffin had only told one person about his plans. And that little imp had proven herself very reliable at keeping secrets. She had a room full of stuffed animals to prove it.
“The White House Historical Society would love for Chef Marin to take the job as the full-time curator.” The admiral looked at him quizzically. “What did you think I was talking about?”
He was relieved when his parents joined them, so he didn’t have to respond to the admiral.
“Oh, Griffin, what an amazing night,” his mother said, her smile beaming. “I can’t believe I’m actually here. I have to keep pinching myself.”
“I’m glad you could come,” he said as he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “You look beautiful.”
“You should see our suite at the Chevalier,” his father added. “Not too shabby. We may never leave. And to top it off, the president gave me a private tour of the presidential putting green. I can’t wait until the guys at the club see the pictures.”
“Don’t forget to show the guys at the club the pictures of the White House pastry kitchen,” Marin teased as she slipped into their circle. “I hope you tell them seeing it was your favorite part of the trip.”
Griffin’s father wrapped an arm around Marin just as his mother tucked her arm through Marin’s on her other side. His chest squeezed at the sight of the most important person in his life enveloped by the two people he’d foolishly believed he would always love the most.
“That apple turnover was my favorite part of the trip,” his father said with a wink. “I’m still trying to figure out how to get one to go.”
“Oh, I think your son might be able to negotiate a sweet deal for you. Rumor has it, he’s on very good terms with the executive pastry chef.” Marin grinned at Griffin mischievously.
His mouth went dry just looking at her. She was positively glowing tonight. In six months, the physical wounds had healed. But the emotional scars were still lurking beneath the surface. There had been many nights when he had been awakened by her nightmares. But he was always there to protect her, to comfort her, holding her in her sleep. And if things went his way tonight, he always would be.
“Mr. and Mrs. Keller,” the admiral said. “I don’t believe you’ve had a tour of the West Wing. Would you be interested in seeing the Oval Office?”
Griffin’s parents tried to appear cool about the admiral’s offer, but he knew them well enough to know they were thrilled. His mom could barely contain her glee.
“We’ll see you two later,” she said with a wave as they followed the admiral out of the room.
