Page 117 of Ballrooms & Blackmail

“You should be,” he rasps, his fingers flexing on my skin.

I hold tighter.

“I was horrified for what you had to endure. Growing up like that, finding those kids, having to raise a gun to someone you obviously cared about. Not to mention Sergio coming back into your life and bringing all of those memories up again.”

He closes his eyes, and this time and it’s my turn to wipe away a tear.

“You loved her.”

A shudder. “Yes.”

“Oh, honey.” I turn my head, press my lips to his palm. “I can’t imagine the strength it took to survive that.”

“You looked at me like I was a monster.” He swallows. “I am a monster.”

Quiet, heartbreaking words.

Quiet, heartbreaking words that piss me off.

“You’re not a fucking monster,” I snap. “You’re a man who survived a nightmare. You’re a man who built a business that helps people. You’re a man who buys gourmet salmon treats and makes sure I have my books and who treads so damned carefully when a broken woman is scared it heals something in her.”

“You’re not broken.”

“I am,” I tell him. “And so are you.”

His breath catches.

“But the beautiful thing is that when we’re together our pieces form one whole.”

Another tear slips free as he exhales and rests his forehead against mine. “What did I possibly do to deserve you?”

“Nothing,” I whisper. “Because you’ve never had to earn my love.” A beat. “And you never will.”

His arms convulse around me. “Little hen,” he whispers.

“No more running. No more hiding. No more than being anything but exactly who you are.” I lean back enough to meet his eyes. “Because that’s the man I love.”

“Christ, sweetheart.” He slants his mouth over mine, kisses me for one breathless moment. “I convinced myself it was all to protect you. But I was wrong. I was fucking scared.”

“Oh, honey. Don’t you know that we’ve both spent most of our lives just trying to survive?” I kiss him. “But now we’re going to put all the fears aside and fucking live.”

For a second, he just stares at me in wonder.

Then he shakes his head with a soft laugh before his eyes grow serious. “I promise you I will spend the rest of my life making up for these weeks I made us spend apart.”

I touch his jaw. “How about we just focus on making the coming weeks and months and years the best they can be?”

Gentle green eyes. A soft smile.

Then he nods. “Sounds like a plan, little hen.” A tilt of his head and I realize the orchestra has begun playing a soft ballad. “Dance with me?”

“Always,” I murmur, my heart so damned full it feels like it’ll overflow.

He takes my hand, draws me to the dance floor and I don’t miss that there are eyes on us—Brooks and Briar, Rome and Chrissy, King and Rory, Jace and Marie, Tiff and Jean-Michel and—I squint—even Pascal is smiling as he disappears through the double doors.

My friends.

My family.