Page 101 of Sinful Beauty

He pulls out a barstool next to the kitchen island, sits and pulls me to stand between his legs. With both hands, he cups my cheeks, then brushes my hair back, and pulls me in for a soft, sweet kiss. He breaks it with a sigh.

“We need to talk.”

I tilt my head, uneasy about where this is headed.

“I wrapped my part of the case today. Others are taking over. I’m based out of London. I can theoretically live anywhere, but London is easier and more central. Move with me. I’ll help you find work. Whatever you want to do. Interpol is an option. Nothing dangerous but there’s office work. Interesting work.” His brow crinkles. “But if you want?—”

I stop him with two fingers over his lips.

“Why nothing dangerous?”

“Because I love you.”

“Is your work dangerous?”

He says nothing, but holds my fingers in place while he playfully bites.

“Double standard is your thing?”

“When it comes to my future wife, yes.”

“I haven’t decided.” Obviously, I’ve decided. I think I knew in my heart I’d move anywhere he asked me to, but everything has happened so fast and I’ve needed to weigh the decision carefully. To watch him, us, as we wrapped our heads around this unexpected event. A commitment. It’s one I’m ready for. A change I’m at a point in my life where I can make, and it’s a decision I believe would earn my mother’s approval.

“Doesn’t matter what you decide. It won’t change the fact I want a life with you. I didn’t have much of a life before you. If you want to stay in Geneva, I’ll make it work. I’ll just have more travel, but we’ll make do.”

“I’ll move.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” We’ve had so many decisions to make, this last one feels remarkably easy. Now. Maybe I needed to hear he was willing to adjust his life for me.

My fingers tousle his hair. He captures my wrist and presses his lips to the inside of my wrist.

And now it’s me kissing him. For the first time in so long, I feel like I’m home.

Epilogue

Tristan

18 months later

The security camera shows a black SUV passing through the gate. I study the face as he enters the code into the gate. It’s him.

I’m up, headed to the ATV parked in the front of the estate. The wheels grind over the gravel and dust spins behind me. It’s a telltale sign of an unusually dry spring, of course, with the weather these days, who’s to say what’s normal. As the father of a toddler, that’s the theme of my life.

The trail meanders through a wooded area and opens into a meadow halfway between the house and the village road.

The SUV stops. The engine cuts. The driver’s door opens, and Saint exits.

I sling a leg over the SUV and stride through the calf-high grass to greet him.

“I like this place,” he says, looking up to the tops of the trees as a hawk flies high overhead.

“Off the beaten path,” I say. “No lookiloos.”

“You get deliveries out here?”

“Not much to speak of.” I could tell him I picked this spot to meet and don’t have any ties to the land. It would be a version of truth.

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