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BONUS EPILOGUE

SCARLET

Six Months Later

Vehicles line the road straight to the fountain. The sound of hammers and mechanical saws slice the spring morning with signs of renewal. The garage and the underlying tunnel were destroyed in the explosions, and a fire that ripped through the mansion left the stone facade and little else.

In true billionaire fashion, the way only someone without a budget could do, Nick set about restoring the estate, remaining true to the period of the home. The progress the restoration team has made is awe-inspiring, a testament to the power of a team motivated by the prospect of a substantial financial bonus.

Given most of the walls burned, the furniture and art destroyed beyond recognition, the interior was a blank slate. Nick wanted to hand the reins over to me. After resolving the issues with his global partners, he became obsessed with drones. He bought up a small drone start-up and sees the tech as an important component for ensuring European independence and stability.

As there’s a good chance many of my days will be spent in this country home, I’ve weighed in on plans. But at my urging, he let Lina loose with the interior design, and she’s found a passion. She’s enrolled in an interior design program, and she’s enthused.

“Is Lina meeting us here?” I ask Nick as he weaves around the parked cars and trucks.

“She said she’s got too much on her plate this weekend. A project of some sort due. But she wants us to message photos.”

I study him, searching for anger or concern. With his sister, he always anticipates the worst, but I’ve told him he’s got to believe in her and let her tread her own path. He can be near and help her if she falls, but he’s got to give her the space to conquer those demons.

“Are you worried?” I ask, choosing the direct approach.

Bright blue eyes meet mine for a brief second as he parks the SUV in a location that will block other vehicles from looping the circle.

“Not at all. Her sponsor says she hasn’t missed a meeting. She’s got one this afternoon.”

“Don’t park here.”

“Why?” He opens his mouth to argue, and I swat him.

“It’s my place,” he mumbles. “I can park where I bloody well like.”

“Won’t hurt you to be considerate.”

“I’m always considerate.”

I toss him a soft glare, and he half chuckles.

“To someone other than me.”

He pulls up and shifts to park.

“Your wish is my command.”

I roll my eyes as he comes around to my side of the vehicle and opens the car door, offering me his hand.

“Watch where you step,” he warns. “Nails.”

I do as he says, meeting the gaze of one of the security guards on the perimeter. I give the stern man a curt nod.

I’m uncertain if the abundance of security has to do with the upcoming trials where I will serve as a witness, or if it’s simply an ongoing precaution, but I’ve grown accustomed to their presence.

Shall we go inside? The sound of hammering and power saws fills the air. The front-facing faccde will largely remain unchanged, but inside it’s a thoroughly modern home.

“I’m going to go around back,” I say.

Ash approaches with four dogs hot on his heels, tails wagging. Ash survived the explosions, but not unscathed. His hearing took a hit, and he’s still in physical therapy. He recently returned to his post as head of security and lives in a neighboring home Nick purchased for him.

The three additional dogs with Ash are mine, and when I bend to greet them, I’m nearly plowed over by their exuberance.

Nick surprised me at Christmas with an abandoned litter of curly-haired puppies. He read about them somewhere, or so he told me. Said he set up an alert for any mention of puppies in the area and, he read about these being left near a Cotswold pub. I’m not sure I completely believe his story, but I could hardly pass them up, especially with the red bows tied around their necks.

Sometimes they stay with us in London, but they’re getting quite big and prefer it out here where there’s room to roam. Plus, they hate their crates.

While Ash and Nick chat, I rub them down and lead them away from the hub of activity to the small barn. Lina’s horses are currently boarded nearby until the completion of the stables. The small barn adjacent to a paddock is where we keep the dogs when they stay here. It’s fine for summer, but we hope to be in the main house come fall when the weather turns.

Lina’s horses may return, or she may choose to stay in London and possibly sell her horses. It’s her choice to make.

Orlando and I speak about every fortnight. He’s summering with a friend’s family in Turkey and sounds like a teen once again. Overall, I’d say boarding school suits him.

The sun beams overhead, and the dogs run in circles. I lift a stick and throw it as hard as I can, and all four head off on a chase.

Nick approaches, mobile in his hand, speaking into it to message someone. I’m not sure if he’s always been like this or if his preoccupation with work is due to his drone start-up, but I suspect it’s the former.

When he slips the mobile into his pocket, I arch an eyebrow.

“Work?”

“No.” He smirks. It’s a familiar look I’ve grown to adore.

“What are you up to?”

“Scheduling a time for a private shopping excursion.”

“I do not need more clothes.”

He lifts my hand and caresses my fingers with his thumb. “But you could use some diamonds.”

I withdraw my hand from his and bend to greet Daisy, the black curly-haired dog. The other three boys are off grappling with the stick.

“Thought it might be nice for us to make it all official before we see our friends across the pond.”

I haven’t yet spoken with Willow, but I’ve been assured that soon, we’ll go on a private holiday and meet up with her. She goes by Lily now, and he goes by Sam. They’ve been quite cautious, as they should be, but Jack Sullivan promised us he’d find a way for us to safely meet. Nick assured me that it would happen. And now the designated holiday is a few short weeks away.

“Should it concern me that you don’t fancy the idea of wearing my ring?”

Daisy licks my face, buying me time for a response.

“Do you not want to be my wife?”

I push up off the ground, brushing my hands on my thighs.

“I’m already yours. I don’t need a ring or a document stating it.”

His eyes cloud, and that’s not what I want.

I interlock our fingers. “I have a proposal.”

He’s been dropping hints for weeks that he’d like for us to marry on our upcoming holiday.

“Let’s get tattoos.”

His face contorts, and I can’t suppress my laughter.

“You can’t be serious.”

I point at my ring finger. “On our ring fingers. You can take a ring off. You and I, we’re not traditional. That’s not what we’re about.”

“You did traditional. Didn’t fancy it,” he says, thoughtful.

“That’s a fair assessment. But that doesn’t mean I plan on walking away. Let’s do a commitment ceremony when we’re on holiday.”

He won’t tell me where we’re going, but I’m envisioning a private tropical island.

“Your mate can be your best man.”

“That needs to happen,” he says, quite serious.

“Why?” I’m fascinated by the machinations of his brain.

“Luck. We need the good luck.”

“No. We make our own luck, you and I.”

“I suppose that’s true.” He lifts my hand to his and presses his lips to my knuckles. “After all, I’m one lucky bastard.”

“You warming to the tattoo idea?”

He chuckles. “Well, yes.” With a grin, he adds, “My angel committed to spend the rest of her life with me. Keep me treading the right path forward. If that’s not luck, what is?”

His strong arms loop around me, and I rest against him as we watch our dogs race around the English countryside. The sun warms my face as I think about how far I've come, how much has changed.

Once, men feared me for the blood on my hands. Now, this man calls me Angel.

Keep Reading. Dorian’s story continues in Blind Prophet …