Page 43 of Born To Be Bad

“On it,” says Lucky.

“What about Ariana?” I ask.

“She’ll be safe at rehab,” says Henderson. “She’s still deceased according to official records, and we booked her into the clinic under a false name.”

Alistair turns to me with such an intense expression that the rest of the world fades away. He takes my free hand, my other arm still supporting Alex. Everything around us is a nebulous blur, but his face is crystal clear. It’s probably adrenaline, but he’s giving me tunnel vision.

“We seem to do things in a topsy-turvy way, you and I.”

I frown at him. I have no idea what he’s talking about. I keep picturing wilting lilies, congealed caviar, and empty coffins. An overdressed and confused Russian priest in a cloud of frankincense smoke.

Despite the desperate situation, the peril, Alistair smiles warmly at me. “We shacked up before we dated. We moved in together before we really even knew each other. We had a baby without trying for one. Within weeks we both went from being single to suddenly having a partner and a family.”

“Yes,” I say, still not knowing where he was going with this, but feeling the gravitas in his voice. Something was happening between us.

“I hope you won’t be alarmed then—” he begins.

I gulp. “I wasn’t. Until you said the word ‘alarmed’.”

“Ivy Mickelson, you are everything to me.”

“I feel the same way,” I whisper.

“Will you go on honeymoon with me?”

I guffaw. It comes out of nowhere, out of shock from the car chase and surprised amusement at what he’s saying.

“Yes,” I say. “Yes, please.”

“Excellent,” he replies. “Dream destination?”

“Er…” I had never been the type to dream of weddings or honeymoons.

“Anywhere at all,” he nudges. “You name the place.”

I’ve always wanted to do yoga in India. Eat traditional paella in Spain. Wine tasting in France. See the olive groves in Italy. Walk the Camino! There was just too much to choose from.

“Thailand?” I suggest. I expect a discussion—as honeymoon-destinations chats usually go—but instead, he nods and gives Lucky the go-ahead to arrange it.

“Really?” I say.

He gives me a quick squeeze. I open the jacket just enough to check on Alex, and see he’s fast asleep.

“Brumilde,” he says, “please say you’ll come with us?”

She laughs. “You’re inviting your nanny on your honeymoon?”

“Of course I am. You’re as much of a Raven as I am. And this is the way the new Ravens do things.”

“It’s because we love you,” I say.

Brumilde guffaws. “It’s because you don’t want to change diapers.”

“Well,” I say. “That, too.”

Henderson is terse on the phone, bursting our thin and very temporary bubble. We all look at him, needing to know what has happened. Henderson rarely shows his emotions. My anxiety flares. Is it Ariana? The baby?

I can’t help it. “Ariana?” I blurt out.

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