“Always.”
He looks me over, at my T-shirt and denim shorts. “Let’s go and get you some new fucking clothes. It’s a long drive back to New Orleans and I want my baby arriving in style.”
Epilogue
Geraint
TREFOR CALLUM REESE. GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN.
I’m the last one at the graveside. All the other Cavalieri have paid their respects and shaken my hand. All but Arthur. He’s not fucking happy with me.
“It was a beautiful service,” Branwen says softly at my side, holding my hand. She’s looks so fucking beautiful in the dappled sunshine, her hair dark and loose, hanging down her back.
It took us five days to get back to HQ. A few hours south of Napa, I called a funeral director I know, who isn’t too fussy about death certificates and record keeping if you pay through the nose, and I had him go get Trefor’s body, and bring him back to New Orleans. Now he’s buried at headquarters, in a peaceful spot on the grounds beneath the trees. Where he can always be close to me.
I see Arthur standing on the stone steps leading up to the house, his brows drawn together as he casts his eyes around the grounds. He spots Branwen and I, and his scowl deepens.
“Excuse me, babygirl. I’ll go talk to him.”
Hands deep in my pockets, as if I don’t have a care in the world now my brother has been laid to rest, I stroll toward Arthur, pretending he’s not glaring at me with a ferocious gaze.
“Arthur,” I say pleasantly, nodding at him.
He cuts right to the chase. “How do you know you can trust her?”
Because she’s a Lange. Because of what Adelmo Lange did to my brother. Because of what she might do to us for her family. But Branwen’s not going to do anything for them anymore. We’re her family now. I am.
“I trust her with my life,” I say firmly. “I love her.”
Arthur’s lip curls slightly at this, as if he’s never heard of something so pathetic. “She’s really fucking young. Kids can be stupid.”
“She’s not a kid. She’s got a will of iron underneath that pretty face. She stood between life and death on more than one occasion.”
He looks past me and calls out to her. “Branwen. Come here.”
I shoot him a filthy look for talking to my woman like that. Branwen glances at me, and stays where she is. Good girl.
“Please,” Arthur adds in a grunt, casting a dark look at me.
I hold out my hand to Branwen and she comes forward and takes it.
Arthur glares at her, long and hard. “Geraint’s one of my best men, and I’m very demanding of my men. I don’t want bitching and crying from you when I have to send him on jobs.”
“Yes, sir,” she answers.
“Arthur,” I growl in warning. “You don’t talk to my woman that way, and you don’t order her around. You take orders only from me, baby. Remember?”
She smiles up at me, not in the least frightened of Arthur. It’s as if he’s not there. “Yes, daddy. I remember.”
Arthur’s eyebrows lift in surprise.
Grinning, I plant a kiss on her head. “Good girl.”
I can see my boss still isn’t happy about this, and he turns to me with a scowl. “You might have killed her daddy and put yourself in his place, but she’s still a Lange.”
I look at Branwen’s fingers laced with mine. “When Branwen and I were traveling across the country, she swore a vow. Of obedience, to me. Not you. To me. I trust her, and that’s got to be good enough for you. If it’s not, we’ll be on our way.”
Arthur glares at me for a moment longer, and then turns away, muttering, “I don’t know what the fuck’s got into some of you lately. Fucking soft.”