Page 136 of Lady and the Hitman
I’d never let myself dream like that before. About custom homes or shared closets or luxury anything. But maybe I could. Maybe I should. Maybe I was allowed to want more than survival. More than control.
Maybe I was allowed to want beautiful things.
My phone buzzed on the counter, and I grabbed it, expecting a message from him. But it was my mom.
I hesitated for half a second, then answered. “Hey, Mom.”
“Well, you finally picked up,” she said, her tone light but laced with something else. “I was starting to think you’d been abducted by aliens.”
“Just busy,” I said, leaning against the counter. “Writing. Thinking.”
“Thinking?” she echoed. “That sounds dangerous.”
I smiled despite myself. “I’m okay.”
There was a pause on the other end. “You sound okay. Happier, maybe.”
That surprised me. “Really?”
“Your father and I were talking last night. He said you haven’t sounded this settled in years. And I have to say, I agree.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Because it was true. And it scared me a little.
“But …” she continued, and there it was. The hesitation. The shift.
“But what?”
“Honey, there’s been … talk,” she said carefully. “Your piece on Alpha Mail made noise.”
My pulse quickened. “What kind of talk?”
“Just … people asking questions. Online mostly. Some at the nursery. The ladies. People wondering if you’re stirring the pot.”
“I didn’t name anyone. I just raised concerns. Asked questions.”
“I know. But sometimes that’s enough.” She sighed. “Just be careful, Zara. This doesn’t feel like one of your usual exposés. This feels … bigger.”
I rubbed my forehead. “I’ll be fine.”
“Well,” she said, softer now, “I hope you’ll come out here soon. I think being around the trees might help settle your mind. And if you want to bring someone with you—well, the invitation stands.”
My stomach flipped. “You mean Ronan.”
She didn’t say anything for a second. Then: “I mean whoever it is that’s got you sounding like you might finally be ready to stop running.”
“I’m not?—”
“I love you,” she said. “Come see us. Bring whoever you want. We’ll go swimming.”
I let out a soft laugh. “You and the swimming.”
“Well,” she replied, mock-offended, “not everyone has a gorgeous pool with lush landscaping and no one to appreciate it.”
I smiled, the image already forming in my mind again—Ronan in that pool, water slicking over his broad shoulders, his quiet intensity disarming even the birds in the trees. Him, at my childhood home. At the house nextto the nursery. In the one place I’d never brought a man. I wasn’t sure if the thought thrilled me or terrified me.
Because my dad? He sounded supportive now, but he wouldn’t approve. Not really. Not of Ronan’s silence. Not of his scars. Not of the way he looked at me like I already belonged to him. My dad would see danger first, devotion second—if at all. And maybe he’d be right. But that didn’t change the way I felt.
“Maybe,” I said, throat tightening.
