Page 135 of Feral King

“Not right now. Laura is a coward. She’s running because it’s the only thing she knows how to do. She can either come back and face the music or live the rest of her life looking over her shoulder.”

“It’s generous of you to let her have her freedom.”

“It’s dismissive. There’s a difference.” He leans in and kisses my temple. “Come. There’s something I need to do tonight, but not here.”

He leads me up the winding staircase to the mezzanine. The wrought-iron balcony overlooks the ballroom from above—hundreds of people in motion, the quartet playing something slow and sentimental, the chandeliers casting everything in a gorgeous glow.

He turns me to face him.

"Lyra."

"Julian."

"A week ago, I told you the words I should have said in New Orleans. In my penthouse. In a dozen places before that." His gray eyes are warm and eager. "Tonight, I need to say something else. And I believe that for once, I have the timing right.”

He drops to one knee.

My heart stops.

"Julian—"

He produces a small velvet box from inside his jacket and opens it. The diamond is emerald-cut and set in platinum. It’s beautifully vintage.

"This was my mother's. My father told me that the only woman who would ever wear it next was the one I decided I couldn't live without." He looks up at me. "I've waited forty-eight years to take it out of the vault.”

I gasp. There are no words.

"Marry me. Marry me, because I am going to love you until I die and beyond that.”

"Yes. Yes! A thousand times yes."

When he slides the ring onto my finger, it fits like it was meant to be there.

I drop to my knees and kiss him, slow and deep, on a mezzanine thirty feet above a ballroom full of people who have no idea that something incredible just happened above their heads.

We stay like that for a while, the quartet playing below us.

And for the first time in my life, I let myself believe in a future that doesn't have to be smaller than I deserve.

CHAPTER 48

LYRA

The elevator doors at Julian’s place—ourplace—have barely closed before his mouth claims mine.

I laugh against his lips. My right hand is braced on the hard plane of his chest. “Can we get upstairs first?”

He smiles against my lips as his palm slides down to rest possessively over the small curve of my belly. “My wife-to-be, carrying my child. Mine.”

The wordwifesends a shiver racing through me. The ring on my finger feels perfect.

I still can’t believe it’s real.

The doors open and we stumble into the penthouse, half kissing, half laughing, the lights of the city glittering beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. Julian turns me and gently pushes me up against the wall. He’s always so careful with me.

“God, Lyra,” he breathes, his forehead resting against mine. “You said yes.”

“I did. And I’ll say it a thousand times more.” I reach up and weave my fingers through his hair. “I’d say it again right now if you asked.”