Justin met her gaze, equally earnest, and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m in talks with a local production company about expanding. Doing the in-studio work here, filming locally. South Africa has incredible locations — there’s no reason to go beyond these borders to shoot. And when I do, you come with. Sound good?”
“Sounds perfect.”
After two marvelous weeks settling into their new home, they left for the month-long release tour ofA Soldier’s Echo. She now fully understood the need for private travel. Every seat on the jet was filled with the team accompanying them — security, his assistant, his publicist (she and Emily became fast friends), and even a stylist. Yes, she had a stylist. The woman was responsible for every wardrobe change, because apparently it simply would not do to repeat an outfit.
But watchingA Soldier’s Echohad only cemented her understanding that Justin could never simply walk away from his career. Powerful on its own, the film became something extraordinary through the emotion he poured into every frame — his finest performance to date. And she wasn’t alone in that belief. Reviewers were already calling it an Oscar-winning role.
She had also learned something else: he had written most of the screenplay himself, shaped from long conversations he’d had with the soldier whose story it was. And he hadn’t taken a cent for his role — not salary, not profit — choosing instead to donate every dollar to organisations that helped veterans get the care they so desperately deserved.
She was proud of him, impossibly so, and even prouder that he wanted her there with him. Instead of feeling small in his spotlight, she felt steadier, stronger … seen.
Chosen.
Once back in South Africa, they slipped into an easy routine. When she worked, he reviewed scripts, joined video-call meetings, or made the occasional trip to scout locations — always returning in time to slide into bed beside her.
“We’re ready!” Essie’s call jolted her back into the here and now.
She looked up just in time to see her daughter stutter to a halt, hands covering her mouth, eyes instantly filling with tears.
“Oh, Mom …”
“No crying,” Miem scolded, though her voice wavered dangerously.
“I can’t … help … it,” Essie stammered, blinking hard. “Mom looks … beautiful.”
Suzette rose to her feet with a helpless laugh, suddenly impatient and so damned ready to join Justin. “Will you two please stop with the tears? The man I love is waiting for me.”
She and Justin had agonized about how to keep their wedding low-key and, above all, a secret. It was Justin who suggested holding the ceremony on the Sunday before Christmas, folding it into the annual holiday party for the hotel staff. That way, all the important people in her life would already be gathered in one place. Arranging for their immediate family to fly out — ostensibly to celebrate Christmas with them — was easy enough to pull off.
Just before the close of the afternoon, she slipped away and stepped into her wedding dress. In dreamy shades of blue to match the pendant nestled between the curves of her breasts, the weightless layers of chiffon fluttering with every movement, she felt like Cinderella stepping out of a fairytale. And when shecaught sight of Justin waiting for her at the edge of the patio — her own prince charming, haloed by the sun lowering over the water — she felt the faint urge to pinch herself.
But it wasn’t a fairytale. It was real life.
And the love in his eyes, in the slow, reverent sweep of his gaze as he took her in, felt as real and solid and permanent as the great boulders on the beach below.
In that moment, with the sea murmuring below and his hand reaching for hers, she realized she’d finally found it — the place where she belonged.
Not a town, not a house … but a heart.
His.
*
Three months later, Los Angeles
The limousine eased to a stop at the edge of the red carpet, the world outside a frenzy of lights, cameras, and feverish cheering. Inside the quiet cocoon of the limo, Suzette’s fingers tightened around his, just enough for him to feel the nerves rippling through her.
He turned, drinking her in.
Red silk. God help him.
“You’re sensational,” he murmured.
She huffed a breath, nerves flickering in her eyes. “I’m going to trip on live television.”
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “You handled the entire release tour like a seasoned pro. Nine premieres, three morning shows — and you didn’t so much as wobble.” He leaned in, brushing a soft kiss against her temple. “You’ve got this.”
Outside, camera flashes strobed against the tinted windows, the energy simultaneously electric and chaotic. Anders opened their door, and a roar rose from the crowd as Justin stepped out,adjusting his tux, scanning the lines of fans pressed behind the barriers.
