Page 152 of Kingmakers, Year Four

“Likewise,” I reply, and I can’t help laughing. Ares laughs with me, understanding at once what I mean.

Rafe looks chagrined. “Wondering which one of us you actually fell in love with?” he says to me.

I slip my hand in his and kiss him on the corner of his mouth, where his stubble rasps against my lips.

“Don’t worry,” I say. “You were yourself all along.”

We climb back in the car. I try to let Ares sit up front with Rafe, but he absolutely refuses, holding the door open for me until I return to the front seat.

“I could never take shotgun from a lady,” he says.

His voice is softer than Rafe’s, his manners unassuming. It makes me realize how much Rafe was acting at Kingmakers. How much he inhabited a character. Since we’ve come home to Oregon together, I’ve seen the full extent of his confidence, his boisterousness. How he throws himself into the Petrov business. How much energy he has when he’s not weighed down by stress and sorrow.

My happiness blooms with his.

I love living with the Petrovs.

You would think so many big personalities in one house would be overwhelming, but in fact, it’s invigorating. I love the noise and the energy. The sprawling mansion currently houses Ivan, Sloane, Freya, Rafe, me, Timo, Zima, and now Ares, as well as four overgrown Ovcharkas and two pups.

Dominik, Lara, Kade, and Adrik were here up until last week, and Sabrina Gallo came to visit on her way back to school, though neither she nor Adrik would admit that they purposefully came at the same time to see each other. This despite the evidence of disappearing for long periods of time, then returning in a distinctly rumpled state.

Leo visited us earlier in the summer. He left before the other Petrovs arrived, probably intimating that Adrik still hasn’t forgiven him for knocking him off the pedestal ofQuartum Bellumchampions. Sabrina and Kade may not have forgiven him, either.

I haven’t been lonely for a minute in America, even when Rafe is working. Freya and I go for long walks along the beach early in the morning. She’s incredibly well-read, and likes to make Mount Rushmore lists for the best fictional villains of all time, the best surprise endings, and the best science-fiction predictions.

Ivan has been teaching me how to train the Ovcharkas. We kept horses in Kyiv, but no dogs or cats, because my father was allergic. As soon as Kira birthed her two puppies, Ivan gave me the pick of the pair. I chose the rowdiest of the two, the one who wouldn’t stop chewing on his brother’s ear, and named him Okeanu. Ivan teases me that I’ll have to perfect my Russian because that’s the only language the dogs understand.

Much as I love Rafe’s father and sister, to my surprise it’s Sloane I bond with most.

We go shooting together. I’ve never seen a more terrifying marksman.

“My father taught me,” Sloane told me, carefully cleaning her Beretta before packing it away in its case. “He was CIA. Special Activities Division—covert ops, paramilitary operations, that sort of thing. Brilliant. Incredibly talented. Until he lost his fucking mind.”

“Really?” I asked, instantly curious.

“Yes. He ruthlessly trained me from a young age. Took me all over the world, constantly on the run from the countless enemies trying to hunt us down. It took me much longer than it should have to realize that most of those enemies existed only in his head.”

“Oh . . .” I said, my stomach sinking like an elevator.

Sloane looked at me, her eyes very like Freya’s for a moment.

“When I met Marko, he reminded me of my father. And when I met you . . . you reminded me of me. Determined. Tenacious.”

My cheeks flushed.

“I couldn’t ask for a better compliment,” I said.

“Our fathers shape us,” Sloane said, zipping her case. “But it’s our husbands who determine what we truly become. And us them. A couple is the sum of both of you together—as strong as you are together. As happy as you are together.”

“I’ve never seen a couple as powerful as you and Ivan,” I said.

“I hope you and Rafe will surpass us,” Sloane said. “In your own way and your own time.”

I think of that now, as Rafe drives Ares and me the ninety minutes back to Cannon Beach, to the mansion on the cliff that I’ve already come to know and love so well.

I look at Rafe’s profile, the set of his jaw and the stormy green-blue of his eyes, and I think I could never choose a better partner, even if I had a thousand years to search.

When we pull up to the house, Freya is sitting on the porch swing reading a book. Her straight, dark hair is brushed to a glossy sheen, and I notice that she’s wearing a particularly lovely summer dress with puffed sleeves and a peasant bodice, her bare feet tucked up under her on the padded swing.

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