Fallon once told me dirt made her feel special. She could take dirt, a few seeds, and grow anything. And she did the same with me. Grew me into the kind of man she needed and wanted.
Now she’s built an empire out of her magic.Don’t tell Griffin we call it that.
The line outside the bookstore curls around the corner. A snake of people clutch her debut novel:Rooted with Love: The Garden, The Messy Mind, and Finding Prince Charming In Between by Fallon Nova
It’s aNew York TimesBestseller. And she dedicated it to Basil.
I don’t mind that she publishes under the name Nova. It was the only smart and kind thing Elias Black did for his daughter. It keeps her safe. And that keeps me sane.
“Mummy’s coloring!” Patrick shifts against my shoulder, his tiny hand curling into the collar of my shirt.
“She’s signing her name, lad,” I say, shifting my son to my other hip.
He’s heavy now at nearly three. I sometimes can’t stop staring at him. How utterly perfect he is, coming from a monster like me. Fallon had to be extra gentle, extra soft, extra fragile, or we’d be breeding little dragons.
I love that he calls Fallon mummy, and I love the two of them more than I ever could have imagined loving anyone.
“Your mum is beautiful, aye?” I murmur, rocking him lightly while he stretches toward her, just like her plants stretch to the light. I get it now. “Did you know Mummy is the reason all these people are smiling today? Can youimagine that? All these strangers standing in line just to meet her. Thank her for understanding them.”
Saving them, maybe. At least to not feel so alone. She has me, but not everyone has an assassin husband.
Thank God for that, really.
Patrick blinks up at me with Fallon’s hazel eyes wide and soft, and I press my lips to his temple. “And she’s not just your mum. She’s the reason I know what peace feels like.”
The empire doesn’t look the same these days. But every day, I chose my family first.
Kai Powers wrestled Black’s estate from grubby Roxy. But my Fallon refused a cent of her father’s money. She donated every penny to the city’s gardens. She wanted something good to grow out of his evil.
Her name isn’t plastered on every plaque from Battery Park to Queens. But if you look carefully, all the new benches have an inscription:Nova Foundation for Urban Renewal.
Has a nice ring to it.
Fallon is in her element, wearing a green dress the color of spring leaves and her gardening boots. That’s her signature look. If I didn’t give her a once-over before we got here, she’d have dirt under her nails. Ironically, she made that her brand.
I swear to God, I fall in love with her more and more every day.
Against floor-to-ceiling shelves filled withherdebut, my Fallon sits, signing book after book. Smiling for photo after photo. We’re off to Los Angeles after this. And then Dublin. Fuck, I can’t wait to go home.
I have a surprise for my wife. That old cabin in Wicklow is now a brand-new two-story home. I also bought all the land around it. Fortified it. No one is getting near my family.
“We’ve got a plane to catch that afternoon.” My mum, now Fallon’s agent — God help us all — is buzzing around on the phone, sealing deals and double-booking Fallon’s calendar that would send my wife spiraling if it was on a whiteboard. “If she’s not your first guest, I’ll find a morning show that will make her their headliner. One with better snacks in the green room. I’d hate for you to look foolish, lass.” She leans in and whispers, “Shea-Lynne taught me to ask for that.”
Mum then goes on to mention the documentary that’s in the works.
I glance down at Patrick. “That’s your Mimi,” I whisper. “She thinks she’s the boss. Don’t tell her she’s not.”
Patrick giggles, and I press a kiss to the crown of his head. My son. My little legacy. My duty to the Patrick Quinlan line. Fulfilled.
My dad is here, too with Uncle Finn of all people. He’s working for me as extra security. He may be an ex-con, but he’s still a Quinlan. With Uncle Aiden gone, I’m happy Dad has his other brother back in his life.
Right now, Uncle Finn is guarding Patrick’s toys and a plate of his favorite cookies. Ginger, of course. Grown from the garden.
Fallon catches my eye across the store, and everything inside me slows. Her hair is as wild as ever, little braids with ribbons threaded through. It’s one of her calming techniques.
A rustle in the line of waiting readers gets my attention. A woman drops to her knees beside a little girl who’s maybe eight years old. The lass is trembling, hands fluttering, breath coming in shallow gasps. She’s rocking and moaning.
She’s having an episode.
