Asking never seemed necessary.
Knowing doesn't matter.
He’s a ghost now. A cautionary tale about what happens when you cross Gabriel Hollis.
"You okay?" Gabriel asks, his thumb rubbing circles on my hip.
"I'm perfect," I say. And I mean it.
The party winds down around midnight.
Harper leaves last, giving me a long hug and whispering something about meeting her mystery man for a late drink. The caterers clean up and take off.
And the twins are asleep. Finally.
Waddling into the living room from the kitchen feels like a marathon. The fire is dying down, casting long shadows across the floor. The tree glows in the corner, and it’s so warm and makes this place even more homey. I wish we could leave it up all year.
I let out a loud groan as I lower myself onto the sofa. My ankles are swollen. My back hurts. But I’ve never been happier.
Gabriel comes in a moment later, two mugs of cocoa in his hands, mine with extra marshmallows. He’s discarded his jacket and tie, his sleeves rolled up to reveal the tattoos he usually keeps hidden.
He hands me a mug and sits next to me, pulling my legs into his lap to rub my feet.
"You survived," he says.
"Barely. If Rumi eats one more non-food item, I’m getting her a muzzle."
He chuckles, his thumbs working a knot out of my arch as I groan again. "She’s curious."
"She’s feral. She gets it from you."
We sit in the quiet for a while, just listening to the wind blow through the trees outside.
"I need to tell you something," Gabriel says.
His hands stop moving on my feet.
The tone of his voice shifts. It’s not the playful husband or the commanding father. It’s not the ruthless CEO. It’s the voice from the beginning. It’s dark and serious.
Sitting up straighter requires effort, but I manage it, setting my cocoa on the table.
"What?"
He doesn't look at me. He looks at the fire.
"I never told you the full extent of what I did," he says. "In the beginning."
"The beginning? Two years ago?"
"Before the gala. Before you came to me at Red Rum." He turns his head, the gray eyes I know better than my own locking onto mine. They’re intense, burning with a vulnerability I rarely see. "I told you I knew things. I told you I tracked you."
"I know."
"You don't know how long," he says. "It wasn't just a few months. I bought your apartment building the week after I met you."
My breath catches.
"You did?"
