I look at our joined hands, her skin against mine. The ring binding her to me.
"I won't let this one down," I vow.
"I know," she says.
Later,the fire crackles in the Great Room, casting long shadows across the floor.
We’re on the couch. A movie plays on the television—some Christmas movie Blair picked—but neither of us is watching.
She’s tucked into my side, her head on my chest, my arm wrapped around her. The Christmas tree glows in the corner, and with the firelight and her warmth, it doesn't feel quite so cold tonight.
This is peaceful. Everything I never thought I could have.
It’s a rare commodity in my life. Usually, my mind is racing, calculating the next move, the next acquisition.
But tonight, with Thornton crumbling and Ryder next on the list, there’s only quiet.
I run my hand up and down her arm, feeling the heat of her skin through the sweater.
In a few days, this peace will shatter. The gala will be a bloodbath, metaphorically but maybe literally, too, depending on how things go. Reputations will die. My son will be destroyed.
But for tonight, we just exist, absorbing as much of each other as we can.
"Gabriel?" she murmurs, sleepy.
"Hmm?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For dicking me down in that club."
I huff out a laugh and I feel her grin against my skin. "Anytime, baby. Anytime."
She snuggles closer, and her breathing evens out as sleep takes her, but I stay awake long after she drifts off.
I feel the rise and fall of her breathing, watch how much she trusts me when her body is fully relaxed into mine as she sleeps.
Ryder tried to stop this. He tried to snuff out this light because he couldn’t stand to be in her shadow.
The dossier Cohen sent me earlier sits on my desk in the other room. It contains the police report from the accident. The photos of Blair’s car, crumpled against the guardrail. The lack of skid marks showing Ryder didn't even tap his brakes.
He tried to kill her.
He tried to kill my wife and my unborn child.
And for what? Because he didn’t hurt her enough when he publicly humiliated her? Or when he stole from her and tried to ruin her business? I don’t understand his motivation, but at this point, it doesn’t matter.
There is no redemption for what he’s done. There is no exile, no disinheritance, no prison sentence that balances that scale.
I look at the fire, watching a log slowly crumble into ash.
I kiss the top of Blair’s head, breathing her in as I keep watch.
Let them sleep. Let them dream.
Because when they wake up, the nightmare begins for everyone else.
