"She was brave to come forward." He stared into his glass. "She has kids. She risked everything."
"Isobel was so calm. Like this was just another Tuesday."
"That's Isobel. She once negotiated a contract while someone was actively trying to break into the conference room." He took another drink. "But her hands were shaking when we got in the SUV. I saw it."
We fell quiet. Outside, I could hear the city—distant traffic, a siren, life continuing like we hadn't just survived an assassination attempt.
"I keep thinking about the first shooter," I said. "The one I—" My voice caught. "The one I shot."
Quentin's hand found mine. "You did what you had to do."
"I know." And I did know. “But I’ve decided I don’t like shooting people. So I guess that means I’m a failure."
He chuckled. "Good." His thumb traced circles on my palm. "The day you like it is the day you've become someone you don't want to be."
I looked at him—really looked at him. This man who'd jumped in front of bullets for me. Who'd held me while I shook in the SUV. Who was sitting here bruised and probably concussed, more worried about my emotional state than his cracked rib.
"The wedding," I said suddenly.
His gaze met mine. "What about it?"
"When Isobel first suggested it—the strategic marriage for legal protection—I thought it was crazy."
"Itiscrazy."
"But tonight, when those men came through the door, when I thought—" I had to swallow past the lump in my throat. "All I could think was that I hadn't told you. That we'd been pretending this was just strategy and I'd never actually said—"
"Julia." His voice was soft. Careful.
"I want it to be real." The words tumbled out. "Not just paperwork. Not just spousal privilege. Real. I want to marry you because I—" Why was this so hard? "Because I love you. Because tonight made me realize life's too short to pretend this is just an arrangement."
Quentin set down his glass. Turned to face me fully.
"I proposed to you in my office because my lawyer suggested it," he said. "I stood there explaining legal protections and immunity while my heart was screaming something completely different."
"What was it screaming?"
"That I wanted you. That watching you walk into danger every day was killing me. That the thought of you testifying against me wasn't about legal exposure—it was about losing you." He took my face in his hands. "I love you, Julia Russo. I loved you before I knew your real name. I loved you when I found out you'd lied. I loved you when your brother threatened to kill me. And I loved you tonight when I thought I might die."
My vision blurred. "That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me."
"The bar was clearly low."
"Shut up and kiss me."
He did.
This kiss was different from the desperate one in the bathroom. Slower. Deeper. A promise instead of a reaction.
When we finally broke apart, I was crying. Not sad tears—something else. Relief. Joy. The overwhelming feeling ofrightness.
"So we're doing this?" I asked. "For real?"
"For real." He wiped my tears with his thumbs. "We'll still need the legal protection. Still need to prove your aunt ordered the hit. Still need to survive whatever comes next."
"But we'll be married because we want to be. Not because we have to be."
"Exactly." He pulled me against his chest, careful of his ribs. "We should probably tell Stone in the morning."
