He swiped his thumb across his nose and shook his head.
The room was quiet for a moment as he looked at me.
I walked to him. Put my hand flat against his chest.
“Thank you for telling me the truth.”
“I don’t plan on ever lying to you unless it’s to keep you safe. If you ask, I’ll tell you. Just be prepared for whatever you hear and stick to the code.”
“Okay,” I said barely above a whisper.
I looked at him for a long moment. This man, who had kicked in my door and upended my whole life and taken me to paradise and married me on a beach and cleared every threat to me without me ever having to ask. This man who loved me in the biggest and most dangerous ways I’d ever been loved.
He pulled me into him, and I let him, leaning into his embrace while the city carried on outside like nothing had happened because, as far as anyone knew, nothing had.
I was forever Mrs. Grimson.
His chosen wife.
Colecion
Six Months Later
The house in Vireaux Pointe was finally starting to feel like home.
I stood in the doorway of what used to be Lesley’s cold, empty living room, watching contractors put the finishing touches on the built-in shelving I’d designed. The space was transformed, with warm gray walls, cream furniture that invited you to sink in and stay awhile, and fresh flowers on every surface. It looked lived in. Loved.
“Mrs. Grimson?” The lead contractor approached with his clipboard. “We’re all set with the shelving. You want to do a final walkthrough?”
Mrs. Grimson. Six months later, and I still felt a little thrill every time someone said it. Not because of the name itself, but because of what it represented. Choice. Partnership. Lovethat had grown from something tangible instead of something required.
“Everything looks perfect,” I said, running my hand along the smooth wood. “Thank you.”
After they left, I walked through our home—and it was ours now, not just his—taking in all the changes we’d made together. The kitchen where we cooked breakfast every Sunday morning. The office space we’d carved out for my business, complete with the vision boards and client portfolios that had tripled since I’d become Mrs. Grimson.
Our master bedroom hadn’t changed with its blackout curtains and silk sheets, but also fresh flowers and throw pillows that softened the edges. Everything about our home was perfect to me.
My phone buzzed with a text from Rebecca:
Rebecca: Ekkk, the event emporium grand opening is next week! Still can’t believe you’re actually doing it.
I smiled, looking out the window, thinking about the property Lesley had surprised me with three months ago. A beautiful building on the outskirts of town, perfect for hosting everything from intimate dinner parties to elaborate weddings. My dream was actually happening, and not because I’d married well, but because I’d worked for it. Because my husband believed in me enough to invest in my vision while making it clear that the success would be mine alone.
The sound of his car in the driveway made my stomach flutter the way it had since our first real kiss. Some things never changed.
“Baby, I’m home,” his voice carried through the house, and that familiar warmth moved through me the second I heard him. “In the kitchen,” I called back.
He appeared in the doorway still wearing his suit from whatever meeting he’d left, but his tie was loose, and his sleeves were rolled up. This was my favorite version of him—powerful enough to run an empire but relaxed enough to let me see the man underneath.
“How was your day?” he asked, crossing the room to wrap his arms around me from behind.
“Good. The shelving’s finished, Yaslynn confirmed the catering for next week’s opening, and I booked three new clients.” I leaned back against his chest. “How was yours?”
“Better now.” He pressed a kiss to my neck. “You eat?”
“Waiting for you.”
“What we having?”
