"Threats can come from anywhere?—"
"The only threat in that bathroom was me drowning in exasperation." She stepped closer, jasmine and steel flooding my senses. Her fingers drummed against her thighs—a tell that meant she was fighting for patience. "I love that you want to protect me, but I'm going mad. I’m not helpless."
I stood, reaching for her instinctively. She didn't pull away when my hands found her waist. "You were unconscious for three days. You nearly…" I let my voice trail away, unable to say the word.
Her expression softened, palms pressing against my chest where my heart hammered. "But I didn't die. I'm here." She tilted her head, studying my face. "Driving you to an early grave with my existence, it seems."
“It’s not that,” I insisted.
“It’s precisely that. You can’t let go. You can’t understand that I’m perfectly fine!”
He frowned. “I do know that.”
"Then prove it. Let me help with wedding preparations. Let me go to the village." Her chin lifted in challenge. "Let me exist without a six-foot-three shadow."
My jaw clenched at the thought. "The village isn't secure. Too many variables?—"
"What variables? Militant florists with pruning shears? Beatrice is dead." She stepped back, crossing her arms, eyebrow arched in disbelief. "This is ridiculous."
"Watch me try."
She muttered something in Irish, shaking her head. I caught enough to know she'd compared my intelligence unfavourably to livestock.
"Right." She threw her hands up in mock surrender. "Since I'm under house arrest, what thrilling activity have you planned? Counting imaginary sheep? Monitoring my pulse?"
Despite myself, I grinned. When she was angry like this—cheeks flushed, eyes sparking—she was magnificent. "Actually, I do have something planned."
Suspicion replaced irritation, her head tilting slightly. "What sort of something?"
"A surprise. Get your jacket."
An hour later, I led her down the familiar path, her hand warm in mine. She'd stopped asking questions, but I felt her curious glances as we approached where the hunting lodge had once stood.
"Our house," she murmured, stopping short when the new structure came into view. Her free hand pressed to her chest. "I still can't believe Ronan did this."
"Guilt's powerful motivation." I produced the key, noting how her fingers tightened around mine. "He blames himself for Beatrice."
Inside, her sharp intake of breath told me she'd spotted my handiwork. Sunlight streamed through large windows, illuminating vases of white roses in every corner. In the centre, a massive inflatable mattress covered with soft blankets and scattered rose petals. A picnic basket sat beside champagne chilling in ice.
"Alexander." She turned to me, wonder replacing wariness in those emerald eyes, one hand covering her mouth. "This is..."
Before I could explain, she rushed to the picnic basket like a child on Christmas morning, lifting the wicker lid with eager hands. "Oh my God." Her voice went soft, reverent. "Smoked salmon, those tiny quiches I love, chocolate-covered strawberries..." She looked up at me, tears gathering. "You remembered everything."
"I know we haven't furnished it properly. And I know I've been overprotective." I rubbed the back of my neck, suddenly nervous. "I thought we could christen our new home. Just us."
She launched herself into my arms with such force I staggered backward, her lips finding mine in a kiss that tasted of both joy and tears. When we broke apart, both breathless, she rested her forehead against mine, fingers curled in my shirt.
"I love you. Even when you're being a complete arse."
"I love you, too." I brushed a strand of hair from her face. "More than my own life."
We settled on the makeshift bed, her body curving against mine. I popped the champagne cork, the sound echoing cheerfully. The Dom Pérignon fizzed as I poured it into crystal flutes.
"To new beginnings," I said, raising my glass.
"To surviving each other..." Her smile was wicked as she clinked her glass against mine.
The champagne was crisp and perfect. Aoife immediately reached for a salmon canapé, closing her eyes in bliss as she tasted it, a soft moan escaping her lips.
