Page 34 of Surrender
“Is this you and Sophie?” Gwen asked, her voice still husky from sleep.
Keefe’s voice drifted from the bed, low and lazy. “Yeah. Our parents took us to see Star Wars at the movie theater. We begged them to let us take a photo in the booth out front.”
She turned to glance at him, smiling.
He was lying shirtless under the quilt, hands folded behind his head, watching her with that half-lidded look that made her want to crawl right back in beside him.
“There was only one stool in the booth,” he continued, grinning at the memory. “So, of course, we fought over it. Right before the first photo snapped, she elbowed me off. In the second one we’re both trying to sit on it at once. In the third, I gave her bunny ears, and by the last one we were both doing it to each other. Look at those faces—pure chaos.”
Gwen chuckled, brushing her thumb over the glass. “You look so smug.”
“That’s because I was. Still am, probably.”
She set the frame down gently and looked around the room. The space was warm, lived-in, layered with dark wood and soft textures. A faded wool throw was draped over the armchair in the corner, a half-read book on the nightstand beside an empty glass. Everything about it felt real. Grounded. Safe.
“You have a lovely home,” she said quietly. “It’s beautiful. Comfortable.”
Keefe propped himself up on one elbow, eyes lingering on her like she was the best view in the room. “Thanks. It’s even lovelier now.”
Sensing the storm still churning inside her, he reached out a hand.
Just a few more quiet moments. Then she would tell him everything.
Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she crossed the room back to the bed, her bare feet silent on the worn wood floor.
“You’re such a flirt,” she said, climbing in beside him.
He caught her around the waist and pulled her against him. “Only with you.”
And just like that, the photo booth memory, the warm room, the softness of the morning—it all melted into the moment as they kissed, slow and smiling, beneath the rising sun.
“It’s actually my aunt’s house. She remarried, and when Soph and I moved back, she let us stay here while we got settled.”
“Your sister doesn’t live here anymore?”
“Nope. She just got married herself a few weeks ago. Moved in with her husband.”
The investigator’s report had made no mention of Sophie getting married. Gwen narrowed her eyes, filing the detail away. What else had the feckin’ eejit missed?
She looked out at the garden, a burst of color in full bloom. “Your garden is stunning.” Her voice was quiet. “You’re lucky, you know. To have a place like this... and family.”
Keefe’s gaze softened. “You don’t?”
“Not really.” Gwen kept her eyes on the garden. “My mom died when I was a baby and now that my dad is gone it’s just me. I never knew anyone else.”
“No aunts? Grandparents?”
She shook her head.
That sounded like a very lonely life. “What were holidays like for you growing up?”
She sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “Holidays were usually just me. Sometimes I went home. Most times though, I stayed at my boarding school. My dad was a busy man.”
Keefe couldn’t imagine it—holidays in silence, no noisy kitchen, no squabbles, no laughter. Just quiet halls and empty plates. He moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She leaned back into him instinctively, resting in the warmth of his chest, the safety of his arms. She’d never known peace like this. Not ever.
It didn’t make sense. None of it did. People didn’t fall in love overnight. But what did she know about love?
Her father had given her everything money could buy—designer clothes, elite schooling, sleek townhouses and staff—but she could count on one hand how often he’d said he loved her.
