Page 168 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 1-4

“I love you. I admire you. I like you.” He punctuates each statement with a kiss to my forehead, my cheeks, my lips. “I enjoy spending time with you. Your writing is phenomenal. I hope to God that what happened between us hasn’t derailed your plans for your career, because I know, Juliette, you’re going to make a difference.”

A tear slips down my face, but not one of sadness or heartbreak. One of hope. He cups my face.

“I never thought I was capable of letting myself love again. Perhaps it was seeing you dance with Dessie at our wedding, or realizing how much you overcame to get where you are today. Maybe it was seeing your face as you looked through the pictures you took, or watching how much you enjoyed the things I took for granted, like a limo ride in Paris. Or maybe,” he says with a smile so beautiful it makes my chest ache, “it was everything. Everything that made me love you.” Pain darkens his eyes. “And then I pushed you away.”

I shake my head. “I should have told you. I let my doubts get in the way. I didn’t want to be wrong again.”

“You did the right thing. You told me about how I hurt you before. That you deserved better. Don’t do yourself the disservice now of thinking you deserve any less.”

I smile through my tears. “You did hurt me. But I hurt you too, and I’m sorry.”

“We both have work to do.” One thumb wipes away a fresh tear. “But I’d like to do that work together.”

“Together sounds wonderful.” I loop my arms around his neck. “Especially because I love you, too.”

He smiles then, a real smile that lights up his face.

“I can’t pinpoint the moment it started. But I know by the time it hit me I was so deeply in love with you the thought of getting divorced nearly tore me apart.”

I cup his face with one hand. “No divorce. Not now, not ever.”

He grabs my hand and pulls it away, looking down at my bare ring finger. “That’s a shame.”

I wince. “It’s back at the house. I can put it back on—”

“I have something better in mind.”

He pulls out another ring box. My heart speeds up as he flips the lid open. Inside is a silver band with an emerald in the center and two small diamonds on either side. It’s simple, elegant, a far cry from the ring he slipped on my finger at almost this very spot six weeks ago.

“I bought the first ring to make a statement to the world. When I bought this one, I bought it for you.”

He shifts to his knees. My heart thunders in my chest.

“The first time I proposed, I didn’t have the words I do now. I love you, Juliette. I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life showing you just how much you mean to me. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

I smile through hot tears. “I’m already your wife.”

“In name. But I’m asking you now, Juliette, will you be my wife in the ways that count the most? Will you stay with me, create a family with me?”

“Yes. Yes, Gavriil.”

He swoops me into his arms and spins me around. I throw my head back and laugh moments before he seals his proposal and the beginning of our new life together with a kiss.

EPILOGUE

Juliette

One year later

THEVIBRANTBLUESand bright yellows of van Gogh’sThe Starry Nightlight up the wall in front of me. It is a stunning sight, one I’m finally glad we were able to see. Gavriil surprised me with a re-creation of our honeymoon for our first anniversary. We celebrated that first night in Paris by tossing the contract I’d signed into the fireplace.

The rest of it has been a blur of good food, exploring the sites and long nights spent losing ourselves in each other. The few times I’ve managed to tear myself away from him, I’ve been out wandering, snapping photos, jotting down ideas.

I smile. In the next town over, I’ll be sitting down for an interview later today with a survivor of the French Resistance from World War II. My human-interest stories have been well received this past year. I’m open to taking on an occasional investigative story in the future. But these interviews, bringing attention to not only the survivors of trauma like the women rescued in Texas, but the average person one passes on the street, has brought me a sense of fulfillment my investigative work never did.

My hand slides down to my still-flat belly. My new line of work is also far less stressful. Something I’ve been grateful for the past ten weeks as exhaustion has settled in, along with severe bouts of nausea at night. I always thought morning sickness occurred in the morning. However, as I learned the hard way, it can happen at any time. It didn’t stop Gavriil from insisting I go to the doctor to get checked out and make sure everything was well. The one positive was that we got to hear our baby’s heartbeat again.

Our baby. It still doesn’t seem real. I’m married to a man I love and who loves me deeply. I’m doing a job I love. Dessie, who’s now going on almost a year with no relapse, is thrilled that she’s going to be a grandmother. That Gavriil and I have been splitting our time equally between Malibu and Washington has also made her very happy.

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