Page 104 of Taming Achilles

He didn’t hesitate. The selector clicked from safe to fire, and his meaty, gloved finger pulled gently on the trigger. The bullet fired, loud, but dulled among the tapestries and overstuffed upholstery of the old room. Victor’s temple exploded in a spray of red, and he fell to the side, his arms splayed off the armrest.

The fire continued to crackle and pop. Geo took my father’s limp hand and placed it on the gun we had acquired from my father’s desk earlier that morning. With the backing of Caledonia Security, we had undone my father’s cameras and alarms and walked about the secret passages of my childhood home. A home that I had helped pull from foreclosure by putting on pretty clothes and walking a straight line down a stage.

An occupation that my father, and Geo, had felt was beneath me.

Now, this house belonged to me. All mine.

No, not mine. Ours. Geo put the gun in my father’s hand, letting it rest on his lap.

“They’ll find him and rule it a suicide in the morning,” Geo’s voice was sweet, like he expected me to shatter at any moment.

I stared at my father’s lifeless body, as his face went from a healthy pale, to a sallow, exsanguinated yellow. He’d be as white as a sheet in the morning, the blood pooling on the Afghan rug.

“Do you want to live here?” I turned my head to my fiancé. “With little Georgia and Philip?”

He blinked. “I-I hadn’t thought about it.”

“It’s a good home. Near some good schools, if we don’t want to send them to St. Michael’s,” I said. “There’s some nice farms nearby. They can learn horseback riding. We’re far enough out of London, but within an easy drive.”

I don’t know why I was trying to convince him of this. It’s not like this home held much for me except for disappointment. A little girl’s broken dreams. But now that Geo was in here, I wondered if that could all be swept away with the life he always brought into a room. Could he sweep away the cobwebs and bring light to this shabby old estate?

Instead of dingy brown, this place could be polished gold again.

“Aye, if you like,” he said with a smirk forming on his lip. “But maybe after they clear out your father’s corpse.”

I blinked, looking at my father’s open mouthed, empty stare.

“Right.” I put my Rugger into the holster on my belt. “We should get out of here.”

Geo wrapped a hand around my waist and pulled me into his side.

“I do like to talk about our future.” He leaned down to kiss me. “But you’ll need to convince Chloe to let us get married first.”

Epilogue

Geordie

Later that year in Venice, Italy

It snowed in Venice on Christmas Eve. The water had a light, crystal sheen, almost like a layer of sugar, easy to break through for the gondolas that still operated all year long.

I waited on the bridge, my bare knees protesting the cold.

“The kilts were easier to wear at my wedding,” grumbled Callum. He looked quite dashing in his Prince Charles ensemble, which he topped with a pin made of the Caledonia Security symbol. He blew out a hot breath which turned to white steam in front of his red beard.

I was pacing the bridge, too occupied to feel anything but my nerves.

“She’s not coming,” I said, running my hand through my hair.

“Steady on, man,” Callum laughed. “It’s not even time yet. She’s got fifteen minutes.”

I couldn’t help the sinking feeling in my chest. It was lower than the ground. Lower than the very pits of hell.

She wasn’t coming. I knew it. Chloe had said something. Or maybe she got cold feet. This was absolutely insane. She was not going to marry some Scottish nobody when there were half a dozen lords coming around all the time to see if she was available for a marriage contract. Hell, she could even hitch her star to the wagon of a real celebrity.

She wasn’t going to settle for some glorified bodyguard.

The guys had insisted that we spend last night apart, yanking me from Pippa’s bed so that we could have a stag party. My head was minced, and my stomach roiled. From nerves, maybe. Or from the two and a half bottles of Macallan.

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