Page 160 of Kiss Me Like I Didn't Kill You

It’s June now. We’ve finished our exams, received our results, and we passed.

Now, with our diplomas in hand, it feels almost surreal to be done with studying. After years of chaos, after everything that tried to break us, we’ve made it to this point.

The last few months have been busy in ways I didn’t expect. Arlo started working full time in his family’s company.

He gave up the idea of professional football, said it was something he started as a boy to irritate his father more than anything else.

Now his focus is entirely on the business, his legacy. He’s the CEO of the lab grown jewel division, and I know that once his father retires, Arlo will take over the entire empire.

Their relationship has changed too. They actually get along now. I think they both needed that peace. His father visits often, I even have coffee with him once a week. We sometimes host dinners here, and it feels good, normal, even.

My father on the other hand, hasn’t visited once. I suspect Arlo had something to do with that, though I never asked.

But he flies my mother to Paris nearly every other weekend, and I adore it. We spend entire days shopping, laughing, sitting in cafés like we’ve always lived here. My sister visits often too, and so do the girls.

Bellamy lives here with us now, finally. The stables were built the moment we moved in, and there’s so much space for him to run that I sometimes lose sight of him in the distance.

Our days have settled into a rhythm. Arlo works long hours, but he always makes time for us.

I spend my mornings volunteering at the local animal shelter, my afternoons riding with Bellamy or working on the final touches of our home. Some days, I go into the city, shopping, running errands, simply enjoying the quiet of being on my own.

And then there’s the wedding.

We’re getting married in August, just a few weeks away now. My days are filled with fittings, tastings, and endless calls about flowers and décor. I never thought I’d enjoy wedding planning, but watching it all come together feels real.

Tangible.

Ours.

The afternoon sun hangs low over Paris, its light spilling through the tall windows and gliding across the marble floors.

I’m barefoot in a pink floral dress that falls softly around my knees, my hair loose down my back, a few strands pinned with a matching clip.

The house is quiet, peaceful. It feels like home.

Soft music drifts from the speaker on the counter as I stir the risotto simmering on the stove. A warm breeze filters through the open patio doors, teasing the white curtains into a slow dance. Beyond them, the garden glows in the late afternoon light, the pool catching hints of gold.

We have staff, but I prefer the quiet rhythm of doing things myself. The chef only comes when I’m too busy or away, but on nights like this, I enjoy being in the kitchen. There’s something grounding about it.

It’s Saturday. I spent the morning shopping, followed by my wedding dress fitting with Sofia Moretti, then read by the pool while Bellamy grazed somewhere in the back garden.

Later, I took him out across the fields until the sun dipped, and now I’m here, music playing softly as I finish dinner for us.

Arlo had an emergency at work. I’d been disappointed, more than I’d admit, when he said he wouldn’t be home until late. But it’s rare that he’s called in on a weekend, and I know how much his position demands

I chop herbs for the garnish, humming under my breath, when I hear the faint click of the front door opening and closing.

My smile spreads instinctively.

A few moments later, the sound of his shoes on the marble floor fills the hallway.

He appears in the doorway, tall, impossibly handsome in his black suit, tie loosened, dark hair slightly messy from the wind.

My heart stumbles in my chest.

Every damn time.

He crosses the space between us in long strides. His hand finds the small of my back, tugging me toward him. I go willingly, rising on my toes just as his mouth meets mine.