The mission—missions, really—were finally over.
VP Hampton was arrested three days after fleeing. For reasons know only to him, he didn’t leave the country. The FBI and his own Secret Service detail found him at his ranch in Wyoming.
Salim and Idris Mahmoud were both arrested in Tunisia. Interpol and Tunisian law enforcement coordinated the investigation. The evidence was overwhelming—financial records, written communications, and testimony from Hanna, as well as Cal and double agent Anissa Sabban, both of whom were angling for deals in Canada.
Poppy continued her European tour, having successfully kept Canada out of the direct line of fire. Samuel Ayari was extradited from Tunisia to Canada, and the Ayari family’s assets were frozen. Brad Hampton checked himself into a Swiss rehab facility, reportedly devastated by his father’s betrayal.
And in her first act as a truly independent woman after Leilah broke the sound barrier to get her to safety, Hanna reached out to Luc and offered him a deal: in exchange for room and board, she’d manage L’Auberge Arbousier. This enabled Luc to split his time between the village and Paris, where he was slowing easing back into the fashion scene.
Cal McCloud was facing a fifteen-year sentence in federal prison in the United States. Before he was transferred from Calgary, he’d asked to speak to his son. Jackson refused his call.
Diana Marsh received a posthumous medal for her service, which didn’t change anything. She was still dead, and they still didn’t know whether she was trying to stop or facilitate the coups in Tunisia and their own country.
“You’re thinking too much,” Omar murmured against Marielle’s hair as she ran through her mental checklist.
“I’m always thinking too much.”
“I know. It’s one of the things I love about you.”
She turned in his arms to face him. “What are the other things?”
“Too many to count.” He kissed her forehead. “Your brilliant mind. Your terrible sense of humor. The way you speak French when you’re frustrated. Your sweet tooth. How you always push your glasses up when you’re concentrating even though you don’t actually need to?—”
She kissed him to shut him up.
When they finally broke apart, both breathless, she said, “I love you too. All of you. Even the parts that drive me crazy.”
“Like my headaches?”
“Like the fact that you refuse to take a break when you’re stressed. Or that you think you can solve every problem yourself. And especially that you let us waste years in the friend zone playing video games instead of?—”
It was his turn to kiss her to shut her up.
Then he whispered against her cheek. “That last one was both our faults.”
“Fair point.”
She leaned her back against his chest, he wrapped his arms around her, and they watched the sky deepen from gold to purple to indigo.
Finally, Omar said, “I have something for you.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.
Marielle’s heart pounded.
“Wait,” she said. “Before you—I have something for you too.”
She disappeared into the room and returned with an even smaller box.
They stared at each other.
“Did we—” Omar began.
“I think we did,” Marielle said, starting to laugh.
“On three?” he suggested.
“No, you first.”
