Page 180 of Rebel Hawke

“I had something more important to do.” He tilts my chin up, ensuring my eyes lock with his. “You’re always going to come first, Little Bird. You and the baby.”

“What about the rest of the Hawkes?”

His back stiffens slightly, and he presses his forehead to mine. “You know I’ll always do anything I can to protect them. I can’tnotdo that. But I won’t risk losing you again…”

“Even if it means doing something that pisses them off?”

Atlas chuckles and brushes his lips across mine sweetly. “It certainly won’t be the first time.”

I grin against his mouth. “You always were a rebel.”

“I know, Little Bird. And I plan to keep it that way.”

EPILOGUE

ONE WEEK LATER

ATLAS

Ihave to hand it to Kennedy…

As skeptical—and annoyed—as I was about her design choices for the wedding—especiallythese fucking tuxes—the result of her heavy-handedness and bridezilla behavior is nothing short of breathtaking.

I’ve never been one to be taken in or impressed by the opulence of any of the Hawke events. Maybe because I’ve always been surrounded by it. The charity galas. The fundraisers. The openings of Hawke Enterprises’ various businesses. None of them compared tothis.

Not even last week’s extravaganza can.

Kennedy wentallout.

Scanning the massive ballroom, with its elegant art deco styling and décor to match, watching everyone enjoy the reception, I can see now why Dad and Uncle Savage put her in charge of the hotel—and why they’re leaving the company to her when they finally decide to retire.

Or drop dead.

The latter is far more likely than the former.

Her type-A personality and keen eye are on display everywhere, from the full orchestra playing on the dais next to the dance floor to the perfectly timed waitstaff floating through the crowd with small bites to enjoy post-dinner to the stunning three-foot high centerpieces featuring massive stargazer lilies that perfectly match the color of the bridesmaids’ dresses.

The gauzy, ethereal material makes Wren look even more stunning—which I didn’t know was possible until I saw her in it. One moment, I was chatting with Pope, waiting for the girls to emerge, and the next, my breath was stolen the moment Wren walked out.

Mine.

It was the only word that filled my head in that moment.

A savage, feral possessiveness I will never stop feeling for that woman.

Leaning against the bar, waiting for my drink, I check over my shoulder and find the object of my obsession deep in conversation with Mom and Astrid, and my lips quirk up as the bartender pushes a rocks glass toward me.

I take it and start wading through the throngs of attendees, downing a sip of the smoky Islay scotch.

Liquid courage.

The nerves only came in the last few minutes as we grow closer to the single most important moment of my life. Because it wasn’t the fight. It wasn’t winning that belt. It all comes down to one very important question I plan to ask Wren tonight.

I sidle up behind her and wrap my arm around her waist, pressing my lips to the back of her head, where her thick, dark hair is coiled tightly, save for one single curled strand that trails over her left cheek.

She stops mid-sentence and glances at me. “Where did you come from?”

Holding up my drink, I incline it back the way I came. “The bar.”

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