“Yes, but?—”
“No buts. Do you love me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to be married to me? Before you answer, I want you to know that if you do, I’m taking you home with me and I’m never letting you go.”
Then I study him. Rumpled, exhausted, blood on his knuckles, desperation in his eyes. This man who runs half of Chicago, who makes grown men step aside, who I have never once seen rattled?—
He came for me.
He searched, hunted me down, picked the lock on a motel room door, and now he’s sitting on a stained comforter fighting for me with everything he has.
No one has ever fought for me before. Not once in my entire life.
“Yes. Yes, I want to be married to you, but what about your family? Your mother?—”
“She can accept you or lose me. Her choice.”
“The business?”
“Will survive. It always does.”
“Your brothers—” Something he said surfaces. “Wait. You said your brothers helped youfind me.”
“Declan thought to check the bus stations. Ronan tracked down security footage. Lorcan found this place.”
“They werealllooking?”
“Of course. You’re family now.” He says it like it’s simple. Like it’s obvious. “And that’s what family does.”
He pulls me to his chest and holds me so tightly I can barely breathe. “Don’t ever leave me again, Nora. Losing you will kill me. I’d rather die than lose you.”
I fold into him. He holds me like I’m the most valuable thing in the world, and everything I’ve been holding together all night—the long hours, the second-guessing, the grief of leaving—comes apart at once.
“I love you,” he says into my hair. “I love you so much it scares me.”
He kisses me. Soft at first, then desperate, then something between the two—a kiss that holds months of tension and hours of fear and all the things neither of us has ever said out loud. I kiss him back with everything I have. When we break apart, we’re both crying, and I don’t know whose tears are whose.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should have trusted you?—”
“I should have made you feel secure enough to trust me. We both made mistakes.” He wipes my tears with his thumbs. “But we’re going to fix it. Together. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“I need you to promise me that the next time you’re scared, or have doubts, you come to me. You don’t run. You don’t make decisions about our marriage alone.”
“I promise.”
“Say it again.”
“I promise I won’t run. I’ll talk to you.” I pull back enough to look at his face. “Can I ask you to promise something?”
“Anything.”
“Promise me you’ll tell me when I’m wrong. When I’m being scared and self-destructive and I’m about to blow up the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“I promise.” He holds my gaze. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out my wedding ring.
