"Good." He slid into the seat beside me, close enough that our arms brushed, close enough that his scent enveloped me—pine, smoke, and that dark musk that my body now recognized ashome. "Eat."
I picked up my fork, but my mind was spinning with questions.
The music had faded to a soft background hum, and in the quiet, I could hear the ocean again—that constant, rolling rhythm that seemed to match my heartbeat.
"Where are we, Rook?"
He took a bite of bacon, chewing slowly, and his eyes never left mine. "We’re onourprivate island."
"Private island? I didn't know you had a private island."
"There's a great deal you don't know about me yet, Beloved." His smile was sharp and fond all at once. "We have a lifetime to remedy that."
"But where is this island? What ocean? What country?"
"None." He reached over and tucked a braid behind my ear, and then his fingers lingered against my cheek. "This island doesn't exist on any map. It has no coordinates that any government recognizes. No flight paths cross overhead. No shipping lanes pass within a hundred miles."
I stared at him. "How is that possible?"
"Money," He said the word simply, as if it explained everything. And perhaps it did. "Enough money can erase anything from existence. Can make a thirty-acre paradise simply. . .disappear."
"The police—"
"Will never find us." His thumb stroked my cheekbone, and I leaned into the touch without thinking. "The FBI, Interpol, every agency in the world—they're searching for ghosts, Beloved. Following trails that lead nowhere. We are absolutely safe here."
Safe.
The word settled into my bones.
"How long will we be here?"
He held my gaze. "Forever."
"Forever?" The word came out breathless.
"I have everything I need." He gestured broadly at the kitchen, at the mansion beyond, at the paradise outside the windows. "I have my pack. I have a garden I'll show you later—you'll love it, Beloved. Fresh fruit and vegetables as well as orchids, roses, and jasmine that bloom year-round." His hand dropped to my thigh, warm through the satin. "I have you. And soon. . .you'll give me children."
“Children. . .” The word unlocked something in my chest—an image so vivid it stole my breath.
A baby in my arms.
Small.
Warm.
Perfect.
Rook's dark green eyes looking up at me from a tiny face. Fingers like flower petals curling around my thumb.
I would rock that baby in a chair overlooking the ocean. Would sing lullabies while the waves crashed below. Would watch Rook hold our child against his tattooed chest, his massive hands impossibly gentle, his murderer's fingers tracing patterns on soft skin.
He would kill for that child. Would burn the world down to keep them safe. Just like he would for me.
"Why would I ever want to leave?" Rook's voice pulled me back. "And if you want to continue practicing psychology. . ."
I quirked my brows.
His smile turned knowing. "Surely the Broken Court could provide you with patients."
