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When we pull apart, both our cheeks are wet. We laugh together. “I have to go talk with Ilarion.”
She nods. “Go on. Get.”
I squeeze her hand and turn to go. “How about we do dinner tonight, just the two of us?” I suggest at the door before I leave.
She gives me a self-conscious smile. “That’s a great idea. But do you think we could do it tomorrow?”
“Of course, if you have plans.”
“I do have plans, actually.” She blushes again. “With Ashton.”
“Oh, is that so?” I can’t help or hide my impish grin.
She laughs and swats me. “Get outta here,” she reprimands before turning to Adam. “Adam, let’s do something, just you and me.”
“Puzzle?” he suggests.
“Perfect.”
I leave the two of them to it and go downstairs towards Ilarion’s den. I pass by the gardens where Mila and Dima are still sitting out in chairs on the grass, basking in the cool weather. I find Ilarion at his desk. But he’s not deep in work like I expect. He’s just sitting there, leaning back, with his face aimed at the ceiling.
He straightens when I enter, a worried frown etched across his brow. “Taylor. Is everything okay?”
I walk right up to him and climb onto his lap. “I found something. From my dad.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Oh?”
“He wrote me a letter. He hid it in my closet the day of Celine’s ball.”
“Son of a bitch,” he breathes with a chuckle. “What was in it?”
“Things that a dying man says to his children. Things he hopes they’ll pass down to their children. He knew he was going to die, Ilarion. At least, he knew there was a good possibility of it. He was prepared. I’d say a good part of him was even hoping for it.”
He brushes his hand across my cheek. “You look…happier.”
I nod. “I did believe you,” I whisper. “But it’s still nice to have proof.” I curl into his chest and breathe in his earthy masculine scent. “I’m gonna miss him. But he was ready to go, just like Mom was.”
“Very few people get to say they’re ready.”
I nod. “I hope I can meet my death the same way.”
“Hopefully. But not for a very, very,verylong time.”
I smile and cup his face with my hands. “You’d miss me—is that what you’re trying to say?”
He shrugs. “I’m never going to know what it’s like to miss you again,tigrionok,” he says confidently. “I don’t plan on being without you.”
I press a finger to his lips. “You might not always have that kind of control. What if, after decades together, dozens of kids and grandkids later, I die first?”
I’m only teasing, but his brow irons out with seriousness. “Then I’ll raise you from the dead until I’m ready to go, too.”
“You know, I honestly believe you could.”
He presses his lips to my neck. “Watch me.”
EPILOGUE: ILARION
THREE MONTHS LATER
