Epilogue
Milo
I don’t even park the car.
The engine is still running when I’m out, slamming the door shut and sprinting toward the steps of our house.
Fire engines crowd the drive inside the estate, red and blue lights flash across the façade, straight into my skull.
My heart is in my fucking throat.
I feel like I’m dying.
I shove past the first responder and burst inside.
The kitchen is wrecked, but not destroyed. The oven is blown, the wall blackened with smoke. It’s replaceable.
All of it is replaceable.
I don’t bloody care.
The house could have burned to the ground, and I wouldn’t have cared so long as she was safe.
“Where is she?” I snarl at Adriano.
Before he can answer, one of the firefighters points toward the living room.
I’m already moving.
She’s sitting on the sofa, hands folded in her lap, soot is smudged faintly on her sleeve.
But she’s breathing.
Damn it.
My lungs finally work.
I shut the door behind us and drop to my knees in front of her.
“Are you okay?” I ask roughly. “Did you hurt yourself?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
The firefighter excuses himself and steps away.
She rolls her eyes. “It wasn’t that big of a deal. I had it under control.”
“How the fuck did you have it under control?” I growl. “You never try to put out a fire, gorgeous. If you see one, you run in the opposite direction.”
“Fuck,” I say, dropping my head into her lap as her fingers slide into my hair. “If you’d been hurt… I can’t…”
“I wasn’t,” she says softly. “I just wanted to make some damn cookies.”
I lift my head and stare at her.
“But they burned,” she adds.
“Good riddance,” Adriano mutters as he steps inside.
