All In (The Blackstone Affair 2)

“You look pretty gorgeous yourself, Ethan. We match too. Did you pick that tie just because of my dress?”

“Of course. I have heaps of ties.” I watched her doing her makeup and finishing the last bits and pieces, grateful that she didn’t mind me lurking, and getting nervous for what I was about to do.

“Will you wear that vintage silver tie clip? The one I like so much?”

Perfect lead in. “Sure.” I went to my case atop the dresser to get it.

“Was it a family piece?” she asked as I pinned it onto my tie.

“Actually it was. My mother’s family. My grandparents were old English money and had only the two daughters—my mum and Ivan’s mum. When they passed, the goods went between the grandkids, Hannah, me, and Ivan.”

“Well, it’s incredible and I love antique pieces like that. Vintage things are so well crafted and if it has some sentimental meaning, then all the better, right?”

“I don’t have but a few memories of my mum, I was so young when she died. I remember my grandmother though. She had us stay for holidays, told us lots of stories and showed us photographs; she tried to help us know our mother as best she could because she always said it’s what my mum would have wanted.”

Brynne put down her makeup brush and came over to me. She drew her hand up my sleeve and then adjusted my tie a bit, and finally smoothed down over the silver clip reverently. “Your grandmother sounds like a lovely woman and so does your mother.”

“Both would have loved meeting you.” I kissed her carefully so as not to smudge her lipstick and pulled the box from my pocket. “I have something for you. It’s special…meant for you.” I held it out to her.

Her eyes widened at the black velvet box and then looked up a little startled. “What is it?”

“Just a gift for my girl. I want you to have it.”

Her hand shook as she opened the case and then one came up to her mouth in a soft gasp. “Oh, Ethan…it’s—it’s so beautiful—”

“It’s a small vintage piece from my mother a

nd it’s perfect for you…and how I feel about you.”

“But you shouldn’t give this family piece to me.” She shook her head. “It’s not right for—for you to give that away—”

“I should give it to you and I am giving it,” I spoke over her firmly. “May I put it on you?”

She looked back at the pendant and then back at me, and repeated her actions.

“I want you to wear it tonight and accept the gift.”

“Oh, Ethan…” Her bottom lip quivered. “Why this?”

Honestly? The amethyst heart pendant with diamonds and pearls was a very pretty little thing, but more than that, it screamed Brynne’s name. When I’d remembered it was in the collection of my portion of the lot from my mother’s estate, I’d gone down to the vault and opened it up. There were other things in there as well, but maybe some more time was needed first before we delved any deeper with additional jewelry gifts.

“It’s just a necklace, Brynne. Something very fine that reminds me of you. It’s vintage and it’s your favourite color and it’s a heart.” I took the box from her hand and removed the pendant. “I hope you’ll accept it and wear it and know that I love you. That’s all.” I tilted my head and held the two ends in my fingers, waiting for her to agree.

She pursed her lips together, took a deep breath and got that sparkly look in her eyes as she looked up at me. “You’re going to make me cry, Ethan. That’s so—so beautiful and I love it—and—and I love that you want me to have it—and I love you too.” She turned back toward the mirror and lifted her hair off her neck.

Victory felt so fucking fabulous! I am sure I was beaming, knowing more happiness in this moment than I’d felt in ages when clasping that chain around her beautiful neck, watching the bejeweled heart settle onto her skin, finding a home at last, after decades in the dark.

A lot like my heart.

12

The National Portrait Gallery is a magnificent venue for events and one I am well familiar with, having been there many times before working security, sometimes as a guest and once or twice with a date.

But never like this.

Brynne brought a whole new meaning to the idea of possessiveness. At least for me she did. I thought I might be dead by the end of the night from keeping up with all the people who wanted a piece of her.

She looked so beautiful and perfect in her periwinkle lace dress and silvery shoes; every inch the model she was outwardly, but inwardly, that artistic mind of hers was brilliant and respected for the work she did in her field. My girl was a celebrity tonight. It damn well helped to see my gift around her neck too. She is mine, people! Mine! And don’t fucking forget it either!