Westman lay on the cobblestones on his back, dark blood pooling from the side of his head. I hoped the bullet he’d just taken to the skull had been painful, but he probably never knew what hit him. Too bad I can’t thank the person who’d delivered it.

“You okay, baby?”

“Yes!”

It was enough. I took Brynne with me as I scrambled away and out of the courtyard. I just ran with her, not bothering to wonder how it was possible I wasn’t hit or why my body still worked. I was fairly confident I had just dodged a bullet and narrowly missed the arrow shot from Ivan’s bow. But where had the bullet come from? Did the Secret Service just take Westman out in an undercover hit? Now was not the time to speculate—that could come later, and I knew my lads would find out anything there was to know. I had precious cargo in my arms and she was all I cared about.

I ran us to my car, put Brynne in the back and got in after her. My dad was there ready and waiting for us, thank God. No, thank Mum. I told Dad to drive us out and get us home.

I looked her over in the backseat. I checked her neck, gripping her face in my two hands, and saw no blood.

“You’re okay . . . you really are okay, aren’t you?” I babbled like an idiot, and made little sense, probably. I wanted to stare at her forever and never let go of her eyes. Her eyes told me she was alive. Brynne was alive!

She nodded with my hands still cupping her cheeks, her eyes wet with glassy beautiful tears looking up at me. “You f-f-found me,” she stuttered, “I’m okay, Ethan . . .”

“I told you I would always find you . . . and tonight you made it possible,” I whispered against her lips. “You did it.”

I thanked my angel up in heaven first, and then I crushed Brynne to me and held her against my heart. Her heart and my heart both beating together, in the backseat of my Rover, the very same place where we’d started, on the night we’d met at the beginning of May when I convinced her to let me give her a ride. And what a ride the last months had been. Very bumpy and full of unexpected twists and turns, but in the end, worth it because of this moment—and where we were going right now—forward into a future together.

I held on to her the entire drive home. My greatest love, and my greatest potential loss, was safe in my arms and I just couldn’t let her go.

I didn’t speak much during the ride. When Dad drove into the lot of the building, I thanked him for his help and said I’d ring him later. I carried Brynne up through the garage lift entrance.

“I can walk,” she said against my chest.

“I know.” I kissed the top of her head and told her, “But I need to carry you right now.”

“I know you do,” she whispered, and then rubbed her cheek against me and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. She was breathing me in. I understood her need for that too.

The part about holding her, holding me up, still held true. I would have to do this for her always—for as long as my body would allow me the strength to lift her. Holding Brynne to my heart was necessary for me to . . . exist. Talk about needing another person. It didn’t get any stronger for me. If things had been different, if outcomes had turned tragic, then my time in this life would be at an end . . . and other things wouldn’t matter anymore. And I wouldn’t want it any other way. With Brynne it was my truth. Wherever she went, I needed to be right there with her.

We still hadn’t spoken much, but it didn’t bother either of us a bit. I carried her into the bathroom and turned on the shower. I set her up on the counter and removed her shoes first, and then her shirt, and then piece by piece until she was perfectly and beautifully naked. I looked her over carefully and saw nothing but her perfect skin, gratefully unmarred by signs of abuse. Then I did the same with my clothes, and carried her into the shower.

We just stood under the spray and held on to each other . . . and let the water wash us clean.

24

Four weeks later . . .

"So I hear that congratulations are in order for the two of you.” Dr. Burnsley looked up from between Brynne’s legs, where he was using the banana probe on her again. I realized I was definitely jealous of the probe. That f**king thing was seeing more action than my c**k lately. Brynne wanted to keep things chaste in the bedroom for the previous couple of weeks to make our wedding night a little more special. The most goddamn ridiculous notion I’d ever heard of, but hell, I just did what I was told. Mostly.

“That’s right. By our next visit she’ll be Miss Bennett no more. It’ll be Mrs. Blackstone from here on out.” I gave Brynne a slow wink.

She mouthed the words Love you.

I love you too, my beauty. I thought my words.

“Lovely news, then,” Dr. Burnsley said, now looking at the monitor as he found the black blob on the white blob with the beating heart, except our blob had grown considerably and didn’t look even remotely blob-ish anymore. My eyes were transfixed—I could see arms, legs, hands, and feet, moving all over the place. Our baby was in there becoming a little person. “Everything looks to be progressing very well. Baby is growing strong and about the size of a—”

“—peach,” I informed the good doctor.

He turned his head in disbelief and surprise.

Brynne laughed softly but kept her eyes on the screen, watching all the gymnastics our little one was performing so brilliantly for us.

“Yeah, weighs around eight ounces and already growing teeth and vocal chords.” I grinned at the doc. “And Brynne is one-third through the pregnancy now and officially in her second trimester.”

“Someone has been reading,” Dr. B said with a bemused gray eyebrow quirk.

“Bump dot com, doctor—brilliant resource.” I winked at him too, but I don’t think he liked that too much.

Three hours later . . .

We were officially on vacation.

Bags packed and loaded? Check.

Rover crammed to the roof with everything we could possibly need for our wedding trip up to Hallborough, and then some? Check.

Bride? Check—most f**king definitely.

My girl looked as mouthwatering as always in her flowery purple dress and her hair pinned up in a messy knot. I liked when she wore it like that because it made me think about taking it down and dragging my hands through it when we were naked in bed together. Soon . . .

“So, are you ready to go get shackled, Miss Bennett? Last chance to ditch this celebrity bash and elope with me,” I teased, dragging her up against my chest and tucking a wisp of hair behind her ear.