Wildflowers sway in the breeze, blue and gold and violet beneath the watchful eye of the sun. Layla gasps, eyes wide with wonder.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispers, her hand tightening in mine.
“This is the first time I can breathe in a long time,” I say, my voice rough. “I hunted for you. Prayed for you. Wore a thousand miles off my bike tracking you down.”
She steps closer, her gaze bright with unshed tears. “And you never gave up.”
“How could I?” I brush my thumb along her jaw, savoring the feel of her skin. “You needed someone on your side, and I wanted to be that someone. I spent five months digging into your life. It felt like I knew you before I even met you.”
Layla laughs, a light sound full of relief and joy. “I prayed for someone to help me, and you rode in and pushed a gun into my hand.”
I chuckle, pulling her close. “You saved me, Layla. You gave me something to fight for besides revenge.”
She shakes her head, cupping my face in her small, strong hands. “No, you saved me.”
I take her hands in mine, press kisses to each palm, feeling my heart pound out a new rhythm meant only for her. “You saved me,” I say again, softer this time. I walk her deeper into the meadow until we are in the center of all the wildflowers. She stands on her toes, wraps her arms around my neck, and kisses me, slow and sweet and deep.
She pulls back, wearing a radiant smile on her lips. “I would do it again. Every time.”
Emotion clogs my throat, fierce and unexpected. I cup the back of her head, rest my forehead to hers. “I love you, Layla. More than I ever thought I could love another person.”
Joy bursts across her face, and she laughs, tears sparkling in her eyes. “And I love you. Beast. I didn’t know I wanted love. Books were always the center of my world. Until you. Until us.”
I dig in my pocket, my fingers trembling. The ring is old gold, warm in my hand, the princess cut diamond catching the sunlight. “This was my grandmother’s. It’s the only thing I havefrom my past that ever meant something good.” I hold it up clutched between my thumb and forefinger. The glittering light catches every finely cut facet and reflects in Layla’s beautiful eyes.
“Will you complete my life, fill my future with happiness and love? Will you marry me and let me be the man who gets to love you for all time?”
I slip to one knee and hope for the best.
Layla’s eyes widen. She falls to her knees in the flowers, throws her arms around my neck, tears streaming down her cheeks as she laughs and cries all at once. “Yes! God, yes. There’s nothing I want more.”
Her tears fall hot against my skin, and I make a silent vow that she will never shed another tear in her life that isn’t from pure joy.
The brush behind us rustles. Suddenly, Arabella’s voice rings out, wicked and triumphant. “Looks like we have another wedding to plan, ladies!”
The rest of the crew spills into the clearing, laughter and cheers following them. Charli waves her phone, snapping photos. Harlow whoops and Everly claps, while Reaper just shakes his head with a rare, crooked smile. For a moment, the world is nothing but joy, laughter, and the promise of forever.
Layla curls into me, holding on tight, her smile brighter than the sun overhead as I slip my ring onto her finger.
She tips her head up, her voice soft and a little awed. “Where do we go from here?”
I press a kiss to her temple, cradling her close as I pull us both to our feet. “How about you come home with me? Let’s start there.”
I look at her. The bruises are fading from her skin. I hope the love and hope burning in her eyes never fades.
I never wanted love. Never thought I’d deserve it. But now, with Layla in my arms and the future stretching out before us, I can’t imagine wanting anything else.
I hold her close and promise myself and to us that this is just the beginning.
EPILOGUE
LAYLA, ONE YEAR LATER
The sun melts across the city, pouring amber light through the Spanish moss outside my classroom window. I erase equations from the chalkboard, the soft, clean scent of fresh erasers mixing with the faint trace of honeysuckle wafting in from the quad. Most days, I still have to remind myself this is my life now. This classroom, these eager faces, the sound of Beast’s motorcycle rumbling in the distance as the last bell rings.
I stack my lesson plans and slip my favorite battered mug into my bag. It is pink with a faded “#1 Teacher” sticker on the front. My students file out, their laughter echoing down the hall, the energy bright and hopeful. I linger a moment, my hand pressed to the old wooden desk, remembering a time when I never thought I’d feel safe, much less content. The scars from that time have faded into something softer. I am not the same woman I was a year ago, and I’m thankful for it.
My phone buzzes with an incoming photo from Beast. It’s of my man and his wild, sun-streaked hair. He’s holding up a single pink rose with a grin so proud it could break hearts.
