My parents weren’t bad parents, but they were always more wrapped up in themselves and their great adventure than they ever were in me. I loved them, and I know they loved me, but I was always an afterthought. Always a problem they had to get around in order to live their lives the way they wanted to.
And then there was Garrett—I threw everything I was into that relationship and it still wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.
I was just another problem to get around, a dirty little secret he had to keep away from his public life. For a long time, I thought it was okay—that what we had was real in a way everything else wasn’t. Finding out it was actually the opposite hurt me like few things, save losing Kian, ever have.
I go around the last bend in the road, happy to see my cottage in the distance, the light I left on leading me to it like a beacon. The bag of groceries I’m carrying is getting heavy, but more than that I’m just ready to be inside. Ready for a distraction from my thoughts and the tears rolling slowly down my cheeks.
Damn it.
I’m supposed to be getting over him, not crying every time I so much as think his name.
As I get closer, though, it registers that there’s another car parked in the driveway. And not just any car—a Bentley SUV.
Oh God.
Oh no.
Oh God.
My stomach starts churning, and for one long moment I think about running. Fleeing. Just dropping the groceries where I stand and bolting back into the woods.
It’s such an inviting thought that for long seconds I stand frozen, absolutely unable to move forward even an inch. I can’t face him. I just can’t. I’m not ready to see him—someday, I’ll be ready. But not now. Not today. I can’t do it. I just can’t.
Panic takes over now, shuts my brain down just when I need it most. Because the decision on whether to stay or to flee, whether to see him or to run away, is suddenly taken right out of my hands as I realize Kian is standing on the cottage’s front porch, watching me.
So, no running then. Not because I’m too proud to let him see me retreat, but because—for all his easygoing attitude—deep down, Kian is a predator. If I run, I have absolutely no doubt that he’ll chase. And he’ll win.
And if that’s the case, I might as well get it over with—somewhere comfortable, with chairs and heat and wine. Lots and lots of wine.
I start walking again and once he realizes I’m heading toward him, so does Kian. We meet about a hundred yards from the house.
“I was just about to send out a search party,” he says, smiling a little.
I don’t smile back. I can’t. It feels too good to hear his voice, to see that crooked smile and those beautiful, beautiful eyes. “Do you want wine?” I ask, nodding toward the bag I’m carrying.
He looks surprised at the question, but then, who can blame him. I’m not tracking the best right now.
“I want you,” he answers. And fuck. Just fuck.
“Kian—”
“I mean it,” he says. “I love you, Savvy, and I’m not leaving here without you.”
“Stalk much?” I manage to get out, though my tone is more yearning than snide.
“I never have before, but you’re introducing me to a whole world of firsts.”
Goddamn it, does he really have to be so freaking perfect all
the time?
It’s not until he laughs that I realize I said that out loud. Great. Fantastic. Wonderful. My grip on reality is fading by the second.
“You should go,” I tell him, ordering my feet to move so I can sweep past him. Too bad they have other ideas.
“I already told you,” he starts, then freezes when his phone goes off. Of course he has service out here in the middle of nowhere. Of freaking course. Stupid satellite phone. Stupid prince. Stupid everything.
“You should get that.”