Page 100 of The Seven Rings
“Owen.” She pressed her free hand to her heart. “I never expected… I thought…”
He gripped that hand. “Tell me you feel more than friendship for me, though I treasure your friendship. Tell me, if not now, you might feel more in time.”
“Owen, I’m… I’m breathless.” She let out a dazed sort of laugh. “I couldn’t—I wouldn’t let myself believe you felt or could feel for me as I do for you.”
He brought the hand he held to his lips, pressed a kiss on it as he looked into her eyes. “If you feel as I do, you are madly, wildly, desperately in love with me.”
Tears sparkled as she laughed. “I am, and have been, and will be.”
He drew her close, and from where she stood, Sonya could see her tremble into the kiss.
“Will you be mine, darling Moira? Will you make me the happiest man in all the world and be mine?”
“I am.” She laid a hand on his cheek. “And have been. And will be.”
She didn’t tremble now, but gave a quick cry of joy as she answered his kiss.
The dog jumped out, shook the wet away, and splattered them both with it.
Laughing, hand in hand, her head tipped toward his shoulder, they walked on.
Sonya knew she wasn’t meant to follow, had seen what she’d been meant to see.
She stepped back into summer and thick green, and looked down the path.
They had given each other words of love, of marriage, of the future in the very same spot where Hester Dobbs had killed Arthur Poole.
“It means something,” she murmured. “It means love triumphs.Light, no matter how the dark spreads, always pushes through. I needed to see that. And I need to remember it.”
So she would, she promised herself as she started back down the path toward the manor.
Chapter Thirteen
Knowing the futility, Sonya didn’t argue with Cleo about the barbecue menu. She didn’t bother to debate or even question. Obviously, the impromptu sort of gathering she’d imagined had become a mini-event.
Instead, she focused on helping to make it work, and the excitement of having her mother up for a couple of days.
If she worried, and she often did, it centered on the mild annoyances Dobbs tossed out. Because that’s all they were, mild annoyances. Ringing doorbell, slamming windows and doors, flickering lights.
Worse would come, and waiting for it kept her nerves on edge.
“I agree with you, Cleo, about the people being here, the energy they bring, but I’m worried about—”
“Food and drink are under control, Son.”
“Not that.” Maybe a little, she admitted. “No big blast of anything since the really big blast.”
“Oh, her. Forget her for now. Whatever she throws, we toss back. Harder. And see, I made this marinade, and these flank steaks are going to soak in it overnight. Now, if you ever finish peeling those potatoes, we’re going to make the best potato salad anyone’s ever had. Creole-style.”
“Sometimes I don’t know who you are,” Sonya replied.
With a laugh, Cleo put the steaks in the fridge. “I’m into this cooking shit, Son. It’s like a drug. We’re going to get this prep done, andwhen Winter gets here, we’ll have some wine. Get her settled in, then I’m making that shrimp-and-rice dish Bree gave me the recipe for.”
Nodding, nodding, Cleo studied her list again. “If we’ve gone wrong anywhere—and I really don’t think so—Winter will save us.”
“I just want her to have a good weekend here.”
“Then we’ll make sure of it.”
