"I am happy." She squeezes back, then releases me to fuss with the dish towel draped over her shoulder. "The new apartment is lovely. Gemma's doing well in school. And you..." She pauses, her gaze dropping to the ring on my left hand. "You're glowing, Katriana. You've been glowing for months."
The diamond catches the light, scattering tiny rainbows across the kitchen wall. I still have not gotten used to its weight on my finger, the way it announces to the world that I belong to someone. That someone belongs to me.
Drake proposed three months ago, on a night when snow fell soft and silent over the city and he got down on one knee in the middle of his library.
Our library, now. He gave it to me officially, along with everything else. His heart. His future. His promise that I would never face anything alone again.
"I am happy." The words feel strange in my mouth, unfamiliar after so many years of survival being the highest aspiration I allowed myself. "Genuinely, terrifyingly, almost unbearably happy."
"Good." My mother pulls me into a hug that smells like lavender and the sugar cookies she baked this morning. Her arms are stronger than they used to be, her embrace firm and certain. "You deserve it. After everything you sacrificed for this family, you deserve every good thing that comes your way."
I hold her for a long moment, breathing in the comfort of her presence, letting the warmth of reconciliation settle deeper into my bones. The secret that festered between us for years has been lanced and drained. Only honesty exists between us now.
She knows everything now. The debt. The payments. Victor's threats and Drake's rescue and the love that grew from the ashes of my desperation. She knows I signed a contract to be his in exchange for freedom, and she knows I would sign it again in a heartbeat.
Some cages turn out to be homes. Some transactions turn out to be love stories.
"When does Drake arrive?" She pulls back and smooths an invisible wrinkle from my blouse, a maternal gesture that makes my throat tight with gratitude.
"Any minute." I check my phone and find a text waiting.
On my way. Prepare to have your mind blown, little rose.
The message sends warmth flooding through my chest and that emoji slays me. Six months, and his words still affect me like this. Hell, I still catch my breath when he walks into a room.
I suspect I always will.
The sound of tires on gravel draws me back to the window. Drake's car pulls into the driveway, sleek and black and absurdly expensive, looking wildly out of place against my mother's modest New York bungalow. He steps out, and longing twists through my belly at the sight of him.
He is wearing the charcoal suit I love, the one that makes his silver hair gleam and his gray eyes smolder. Six months of loving him, and I still want to climb him like a tree every time I see him.
Gemma abandons her pursuit of Mr. Jingles and launches herself at Drake with a shriek of greeting that probably alerts the entire neighborhood to his arrival. He catches her easily, lifting her off her feet in a hug that makes my heart ache with tenderness.
My sister adores him. It took time, after the basement. Time and patience and Drake's particular brand of gruff kindness that reveals itself in small moments. He helped her with a college application essay. Sent her a first edition of her favorite book for her birthday. Showed up at her apartment when her roommate bailed on rent, checkbook in hand, refusing to take no for an answer.
He won her over the same way he won me. One gesture at a time. One moment of unexpected gentleness after another, until resistance felt foolish and gratitude felt like the only reasonable response.
I meet him at the front door, and his arms wrap around me before I can speak. The scent of cedar and bourbon fills my lungs, familiar and intoxicating. His lips find mine in a kiss that starts soft and threatens to turn into something inappropriate for my mother's front porch.
"Hi." I pull back just far enough to meet his eyes, my palms flat against his chest where his heart beats steady and strong beneath the expensive fabric.
"Hi yourself." His thumb traces my cheekbone, the gesture tender and possessive at once. "Ready for your surprise?"
"You've been teasing me about this surprise for a week." I narrow my eyes at him. "If it's another car, I'm going to be annoyed. I don’t even drive." Not that I can't, but this man insists on having armed guards take me everywhere. Persia promises it will never change given Rafael does the same with her.
"It's not a car." His smile holds secrets, the same smile that makes me want to drag him into dark corners and do unspeakable things. "But you're going to need to come with me to see it."
We say goodbye to my mother and Gemma with promises to return for Sunday dinner. Drake helps me into the car with the old-fashioned courtesy he brings to everything involving me, his hand warm on my lower back as I settle into the leather seat.
The drive back to Chicago takes two hours, but the time passes quickly. Drake tells me about the latest developments with the Syndicate. I tell him about Gemma's classes and my mother's progress in therapy. We talk about everything and nothing, the easy conversation of two people who have run out of secrets to keep.
Almost.
There is one thing we have not discussed in months. One clause in a contract that we agreed to table until I was ready.
The Moses heir.
I think about it sometimes. Late at night, when Drake is asleep beside me and his hand rests heavy on my hip. I imagine what it would feel like to carry his child. The thought no longer terrifies me the way it once did. Now it fills me with a yearning that catches me off guard. I never expected to have this desire for something I never let myself want.
