Page 39 of Triplet Babies for the Scottish Mafia Boss

Lilly wraps her arms around me. “Everyone in Waterford is taking about you, you know. Especially after Brooke left Trevor. Nobody can shut up about the girl who ran away with a rich, gorgeous, mysterious countryman, got hitched, and had three perfect babies. I always knew you were too big for Waterford.”

Her words warm me, even though I don’t know if they’re true. In the end, all I really wanted was love and freedom and a good story. I certainly got one. “When do you have to go back?”

“Ugh. An hour. School’s wrapping up, and all those little brats are driving me crazy.” She loops her arm through mine as we leave the babies to nap in the nursery. “Do you ever miss it?”

I think about it. Most days I read, write, garden, roam; I spend hours with the girls, reading to them, telling them stories and teaching them about the world they’ll one day explore and, if Malcom has any say in it—conquer.

“No,” I admit. “I don’t.”

“Good.” Lilly grins ear to ear. “After everything you’ve been through, Emma, you deserve the best. Ah. And look. There he is now. That’s my cue.” She kisses my cheek and releases me at the foot of the stairs, brushing past Malcom with a fond and knowing—but still ever so slightly combative—smile.

He’s been in Glasgow for the last few days, and seeing him fills me with a teenage kind of giddiness. I don’t bother trying to hide it, instead striding to meet him in the entry. He sweeps me into his arms, bringing his mouth roughly to mine. His hands slide into my hair, his tongue parting my lips as he presses me to the wall.

“It seems like you missed me,” I say between kisses. He chuckles, a low vibration that fills me with desire. “Well? Tell me. How was the city?”

He nuzzles my neck, beard delightfully rough. “The whole time I was there,” he growls, “all I could think of was you, and our perfect girls.”

I bite my lip, pleased and brimming with barely restrained desire. “And now you’re back.”

“And now I’m back.”

I grasp the collar of his jacket as he kisses my cheek, my jaw, my throat. He nips my neck gently, and I suppress a mewl. “And,” I say, breathless, “how exactly are you going to make it up to me, Mr. Walker?”

He draws back, smiling broadly. His beautiful emerald eyes are care and worry free. We’re different people than we were a year ago. We’re stronger. Happier. And above all else, we are free. Malcom is working to succeed Sampson, who, though nearing the end of his life, has reached a kind of delicate and serene kind of peace.

When he saw the girls, as I knew he would hang on long enough to do, there was nothing but pure hope in his face. Having lost his son, and Malcom having lost his father, it felt full-circle, somehow. The grief will never be gone for either of them, but this, at least, helped the healing along.

And when he’s not in the city or the country, Malcom is here. He’s only ever gone long enough to make me miss him. I think he knows.

“How would you like me to make it up to you, Mrs. Walker?” Malcom is already shedding his jacket. He leaves it on the stairs as he follows me up them, pinning me to the balustrade at intervals to kiss me, his hands trailing deliciously over my body.

“It’s a secret. Maybe if you’re very,verysweet, I’ll even tell you.” My back touches the bedroom door. He pins me there.

“Tell me you love me,” he says, his voice a little rough, his eyes a little serious. “And that will be enough.”

I take his face in my hands, gazing up at him. His body is pressed to mine, and I can feel his heart racing. Some days, my luck feels impossible. Others, it feels earned. Blood, sweat, tears. We fought to be here. We fought for each other. It’s more than I ever imagined I’d get, and I thank the stars for it every night.

“I love you, Malcom Walker,” I whisper, rising on my toes to kiss him. “I always have, and I always will.”

Is this all that I am?

I don’t have to ask myself that question anymore. Because he proves it, day after day after day.

To him—I am everything.

THE END