Plus my backpack containing Armin’s ashes.
I slip back out into the dimly lit bedroom.
I’ve let myself get distracted. Not that I could have emotionally handled multiple stops the previous day, and not that I regret any moment I spend with Sully. But —
“You’re leaving me behind?” Sully asks in a gravelly tone from the bed.
I instantly drop the boot I’ve been pulling on, spinning back to the bed, and leaning over to brush a kiss across Sully’s lips. I’m not sure how awake he is, and I don’t want to wake him further if —
His arms close around me as he yanks me across his chest, then rolls over me on the bed.
The kiss is edged in anger and just a bit of betrayal — of him, not from him. And yes, I’m so in tune with him, skin-to-skin, that it’s hard to kiss and not pick up his emotions.
I soften under him, completely submitting even though it’s not in my nature to do so. Sully’s kiss softens, turning playful.
When he finally lifts his head just enough to allow me ownership of my own mouth, I say quietly, “I thought I might be back before you woke.”
“Where are you heading?”
“The Yates country home.”
Sully blinks down at me for a moment, easing back enough to settle beside me instead of pinning me to the bed with his body. “He’s not there.”
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
I grin at him saucily. “I do have access to that sort of information gathering.”
Sully snorts. “And since when have you used it?”
I sober slightly. “Since I’m not ready for the confrontation Bolan is craving. But I want … to leave a bit of Armin where we spent a lot of happy times.”
“By the pond,” Sully murmurs, searching my gaze for something. “And you want to go alone.”
“I’ll drag Roz with me. But yes.” I hesitate for a moment. “I’ve asked Greg to stay with you.”
Sully frowns, confused.
I add, “Lord Savoy.”
He huffs. But I know he understands that suddenly declaring himself to be fourth in line to the throne to the United European Nation — even if it’s mostly a figurehead position these days — is going to come with a lot of unwanted attention.
I look at him, waiting.
“Mirth …” he mutters. “I’ve got a few more days, at least.” Then he falls back and rubs his face. “Shit, I need to get Fluff and Fizz in the loop. And there is going to be more fucking paperwork to sign.”
“Probably daily for a while,” I say quietly.
His gaze cuts to me, not liking whatever he’s heard in my voice. Then he’s up on one elbow and cupping my face. “I love you.”
I part my lips, slightly surprised. Not at the sentiment, but at the sudden change in —
“I love you,” Sully repeats, his tone hardening. “I fucking love you, Mirth. I don’t want there to be any more space or time lost between us. If that means I need to be Lord Savoy on paper, then so be it. I … love … you.”
“I love you,” I whisper back. I’ve said it to him before, many times. But this time, he looks at me as if I’m saying it for the very first time. And maybe I am.
We just linger there, holding each other’s gazes, his hand cupping my cheek gently. Then he slowly lowers his head — I meet him halfway — and we brush our lips together. Pure, undiluted energy passes between us — his and mine. As if maybe we’re not just pressing flesh to flesh but breathing soul to soul.
