But as Elio's arms tighten around me, as his hand comes to rest on my still-flat stomach where our baby is growing, I let myself hope.
For Elio, for our baby, for our future together.
For everything that comes next, now that we finally have each other.
EPILOGUE
ELIO
The ring burns a hole in my pocket through the entire drive to Ronan's estate.
I've carried it with me for three days now, waiting for the right moment. Waiting for the courage to actually go through with this. Which is ridiculous, considering Annie and I are already married. Considering she's been carrying my child for three months, and that we’ve lived together practically since that night she came running to me for help.
But this is different. This isn't a marriage of convenience born out of desperation and the need to protect her from Desmond's psychotic plan. This is me asking her to choose me, truly and completely, in front of her family. In front of Ronan.
This is me asking for his blessing to keep the thing I want most in this world.
"You're doing that thing again," Annie says from beside me, her hand coming to rest on my thigh. Even that simple touch is enough to calm some of the nervous energy thrumming through my veins.
"What thing?" I ask, though I know exactly what she means.
"That brooding, overthinking thing where you stare straight ahead and clench your jaw like you're preparing for battle." She squeezes my leg gently. "Elio, it's just dinner. We've had dinner with Ronan and Leila twice already since—" She pauses, and I know she's thinking about that night in the warehouse. The night I thought I might lose everything. Where I thought Ronan was going to take her from me for good.
I glance at her, taking in the soft blue dress she's wearing, the way her dark hair falls over her shoulders, the way she’s glowing like everyone always says pregnant women do. She's never looked more beautiful. And in a few hours, if everything goes according to plan, I'm going to ask her to marry me. Again. Properly this time.
"It’s not that. You'll see," I tell her, refusing to elaborate further.
Her eyes narrow suspiciously, but before she can press further, Diego is pulling up to the gates of Ronan's estate. The massive wrought-iron barriers swing open, and we drive up to the main house.
It's strange being here, still, under these circumstances. Not all that long ago, Ronan was interrogating me about Annie's whereabouts, threatening to put a bullet in my head if I didn't tell him the truth. Now I'm here for Sunday dinner like we're a normal family. Like I didn't betray his trust and marry his sister in secret.
Like he hasn't spent the past three months watching me like a hawk, waiting for me to fuck up so he has an excuse to follow through on his threats.
Not that I can blame him. I'd be the same way if someone had done to me what I did to him. The fact that he's even allowing me near Annie is a testament to his love for her, not any forgiveness toward me.
The ring feels heavier in my pocket as we climb out of the car.
"Ready?" Annie asks, lacing her fingers through mine.
No. "Yes."
She laughs, seeing right through me, and pulls me toward the front door. Before we can knock, it swings open to reveal Leila, Ronan's wife, her face bright with welcome, several months more pregnant than Annie is, her bump visible against the silk dress she’s wearing.
"You're here!" She immediately pulls Annie into a hug, then surprises me by doing the same. Leila has been our unexpected ally these past months, running interference with Ronan when his temper flares, reminding him that Annie is happy and safe, and that's what matters. Reminding him of how their own relationship played out. "Come in, come in. Ronan's in the dining room pretending he's not watching the door."
Annie giggles, and the sound makes my chest tight. She's been doing that more lately—laughing and smiling, and slowly letting go of what happened with Desmond. She still has nightmares sometimes, wakes up gasping and reaching for me in the dark. But they're getting less frequent. I don’t know how long it will take for her to fully heal, if she ever really will. But I’ll be there through it, no matter what.
Ronan is sitting at the head of the dining room table when we enter, a glass of wine in his hand. Our eyes meet, and for a moment I see it all flash across his face: the anger, the betrayal, the surge of emotion that I see every time we’re in the same room. But then his gaze shifts to Annie, and his expression softens.
"Annie." He gets up and crosses to her, pulling her into an embrace that she returns. "How are you feeling?"
"Good," she says, pulling back to smile at him. "The morning sickness is finally starting to ease up."
"Good." His hand lingers on her shoulder for a moment before he releases her and turns to me. The warmth drains from his expression. "Elio."
"Ronan." I extend my hand, and after a beat, he shakes it. His grip is firm—a reminder that he could break every bone in my hand if he wanted to. That he probably still wants to.
"Drink?" he offers.
