Ruthless Rival

The bartender interrupts. He looks at us funny when I order an Aviation, but he fixes the drink without comment.

My gaze goes to Simon.

We stay like that for a long moment. Quiet. Still. Absorbing the feel of reunion.

It's only been two weeks.

It feels like two hours, and it feels like a million years.

"You look good," I say. "Handsome, yes. But also… good."

"I am."

"You promise?"

"On the way to healing." He curls his hand around my neck. "You?"

"On the way."

He pulls me into a slow, deep kiss.

Again, my body buzzes. My head swims. When we break, I gasp for air.

Then I find it.

Find my footing.

My place.

My ability to marry lust and love. And maybe even a little loathing.

The bartender drops off my drink. "On your tab?"

"Close it out," Simon says.

"Almost to our second date," I say.

"Counting the minutes?"

"Yes. But… waiting is good."

"Waiting is good." He raises his glass. "Only."

"Only?" I raise my glass.

"I need to win you over with my personality."

"You do."

"That's a challenge."

"It is. But you're up for it."

Epilogue

SIMON

It hits me the second I open the door. Oranges and honey.

The scent of Vanessa.

The sight of her coat on the rack.

The sound of her gasp.

She's here, on the couch, watching TV with Opal. Finished with work early. These days, she finishes work early or very late.

She's still on leave, focusing on a new job with a sister organization, mentoring young women.

Mostly teenagers. A few college students. All completely and totally enamored with Vanessa.

She claims otherwise. She claims I exaggerate. Or, at least, see through a prism of love.

She's right. I don't see her objectively. I see beauty and joy in every step.

I'm as bad as Bash ever was.

I'm the one professing the beauty of the Sting song Every Little Thing She Does is Magic.

To myself.

I never subject anyone else to my romantic impulses.

I've grown. I haven't turned into a different person. I'm still pragmatic and ruthless and capable.

But I'm capable of opening my heart and loving too.

"Oh my god. Is she seriously—" Opal gasps. "Again?"

"It's her go-to move," Vanessa says.

Opal squeals as the character on TV propositions a man at a bar. The Americans. I didn't think Vanessa would convince Opal to watch any show she adored, but she knew exactly how to sell it.

Sex.

The cold war era spies solve every problem with sex.

The way Vanessa and I did when we started.

We're better at talking now. But neither one of us is great at full disclosure or softening or leaning on someone else.

We try. We work at it. We get better every day.

And we do understand each other when we're dressed.

But when we're naked?

We make even more sense there.

We read each other even better there.

Vanessa is still every bit the exhibitionist. She still prefers gentle to rough. But she's more open to new adventures.

And I—

Well, I still struggle with my worst impulses. There are days I dream about vengeance, but I stay true to my word. I stay patient.

My P.I. is watching him, but this time it’s not to hurt him. It’s to keep Seb safe.

He’s not well, but with his resources it could be years before nature takes its course. Years before Adam or Liam had the chance to meet their nephew.

But he will. And they will. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep my family safe.

Adam, Liam, Opal, Seb, Celine.

And Vanessa.

Everyone I love.

Fuck, I love her.

It overwhelms me every time I see her.

Even the sight of her coat on the rack makes me warm all over. The signs of her here, in my space, in my life, in my heart.

"Simon, close the door," Opal calls. "We're trying to watch." Her attention returns to the TV. "Oh my god."

"I know," Vanessa says.

"He's never going to let me watch it alone now!" Opal says. "You did this on purpose, didn't you?"

"How else can I make sure you only marathon with me?" Vanessa says.

Opal pretends to pout, but it only lasts a second. She savors her TV sessions with Vanessa. All her time with Vanessa.

She still lives and dies for Briar—

Not to mention her actual boyfriend—

What a fucking mess—

But as with her choices in TV, clothes, and hair, I know better than to offer input.

As much as I hate it, Opal is an adult. A college student with the ability to run her own life. And I respect that.

Most of the time.

"Okay, okay, but I'm getting a real vibe here." Opal nods to me. "An I will hear some weird shit no matter how loudly you play that music vibe. I have to study anyway, so…"

"Where are you going to study?" I ask.

"Simon!" She shoots me a death glare. I will not be the c-blocker here. Don't make me one.

"Are you going to the library?"

"I'm not taking your car to the library." She shakes her head as she pauses the show. "People will think I'm out of touch!" She rises, stretches her arms over her head, lets out a yawn. "Besides, the new coffee shop has the best vegan cheese cake. And it's open until ten, so…"