Page 187 of Lady and the Hitman
“Also,” Mina added, “if you don’t bring me to this house Ronan’s building so I can help you pick tiles and hardware and paint colors, I will riot.”
I laughed. “He’s being weirdly opinionated about drawer pulls.”
“It’s true,” Ronan called out from the kitchen. “You’ll thank me later.”
Mina cackled. “God, I love him.”
I smiled so hard it hurt. “Me, too.”
We talked for a few more minutes—about plans, about the new chapter, about the possibility of starting fresh on our own terms. When I finally ended the call, my heart felt fuller than it had in weeks.
“Drawer pulls?” I asked, turning to Ronan.
“I have taste.”
“You also said you’re putting in a second laundry room just for tactical gear.”
He shrugged. “Gotta be practical.”
My laughter rang out into the space between us, a sound I hadn’t made in what felt like forever.
That night, I stayed at my place. My choice. Our future didn’t need to be rushed.
The next morning, my parents got home from Cleveland.
Dad looked … better. Tired, yes. But there was color in his cheeks again. Strength in his voice. He hugged me longer than usual, then turned to Ronan and stuck out his hand.
“Son,” he said, gruff with emotion. “I don’t know what all you did, and I probably don’t want to know. But I’m alive because of you.”
Ronan looked like he didn’t know what to say. “Just glad you’re okay, sir.”
Dad didn’t let go of his hand. “Call me Greg. And you’ve got my blessing.”
My throat tightened.
Mom teared up. She touched my cheek, whispered that she hadn’t seen me this happy in years. I wanted to say I haven’t been, but I couldn’t find the words. I just held her hand and let the gratitude settle deep into my bones.
Later that afternoon, back at my townhouse again, I caught my reflection in the hallway mirror and paused. The sapphire bracelet Ronan had given me circled my wrist like it belonged there—dark, ocean-deep stones set in gold, elegant and old-fashioned in a way that felt deliberate. I turned my wrist slightly, catching the light. The engraving on the clasp glinted softly. Keep choosing.
I smiled. And I was.
He’d been making little comments lately—about metals, about sizes, about how he liked the way I looked in gold. Not subtle. Not really trying to be. And I had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before I had another piece of jewelry to admire. One that didn’t come off. One that said forever.
That night, Ronan didn’t fuck me like I was fragile.
He pinned my wrists above my head, kissed every inch of my skin with reverence and grit, made me scream into the pillows as he reminded me that claiming someone didn’t have to mean controlling them.
It could mean holding them steady.
Loving them raw.
He made me come three times, each one sharper than the last, his body relentless and giving all at once. And afterward, when I was still trembling, he kissed the inside of my wrist and whispered, “I’ll never stop worshipping you.”
We fell asleep wrapped around each other, limbs tangled and skin damp, like we’d survived a war of our own.
And maybe we had.
The days that followed weren’t perfect.
