“This is our home. Yes. That’s exactly what it means.”
“Ahh,” I squeal, clapping my hands together before throwing myself into his arms. “We’re going to live here?” I pull back, looking up at him. “You’re serious? You better be serious.”
“Would I lie to you?” He stops me before I can speak. “Don’t answer that. Would I lie to you…again?”
Cal has lied to me. The job I was supposed to have when I came here the first time and countless other white lies. It didn’t ruin my trust in him, though. Not once I broke through those barriers he put up. “No, you wouldn’t.”
He stands there, staring at me. “Hey, what’s wrong?” I give his hand a squeeze. It’s not the fact that he’s staring at me that has me perplexed. It’s the look in his eyes. They’re almost…sad. As if he just had a self-realization—a moment of truth. My heart twinges at the realness in him that I’ve been seeing more often. Like he’s ripping off old Band-Aids and letting emotion spill from his scars.
“Nothing. I just…thank you.” His forehead crinkles and I place a hand on his cheek.
“For what?”
He doesn’t shy away. Doesn’t look down at his feet or brush this away because vulnerability is a weakness to him. Instead, his brown eyes bore into mine. “Not giving up on me. For staying and not leaving. For just…being you.”
I can’t explain what my heart does next. It’s a feeling so new and raw and stronger than any sensation I’ve ever felt. To the point that tears prick at the corners of my eyes. “You never have to thank me for loving you. It comes naturally and it’s infinite. You are worthy of love and I’m not going anywhere.”
“We are worthy of love.”
Those words speak a thousand volumes. Born into madness, passed around like we were bags of old toys, surviving the loneliness. Yet, somehow, we found our way back to one another.
We are worthy of love.
I press my lips to his in a soft, subtle kiss. One that I can feel in my bones. “I love you so much.”
“I love you more,” Cal breathes into my mouth. “Now, let's get on that elevator, so I can show you the rest of your home.” He smacks a hand to my ass and I yelp before jumping back and tapping the elevator button.
As the doors open, Jeffery steps off the elevator, and Cal and I both thank him before he leaves.
I’m so anxious to see what he’s done with the place. I wonder if my room is the same. Or if I have a room. We didn’t talk about the living arrangements, but I’d assume we’d probably share a room now. Or maybe Cal wants his own space, which is understandable…for now. I mean, eventually, when we get married, we’ll share a bed, but we’re not even officially engaged yet.
My hand hovers on the panel, waiting to hit the button. “Which floor first?”
“Lucky number eight.”
“Eight it is.” I tap the button and curl up to his side, wrapping my arms around him. “So, what do we do now? We have this entire island to ourselves.”
“Now,” he kisses my head. “We relax like we’re on a honeymoon. I don’t know about you, but I’ve had a stressful couple months and I could use a little R and R.”
“You,” I chuckle. “Relax? I don’t see it happening.”
“Oh, it’s happening. No business, only pleasure for the next couple days.” He snatches me up, hands gripping my ass. “You’ve got me all to yourself. So, tell me what you like. Chick flicks? Walks along the waterfront?”
“Foot massages,” I blurt out. “Yep, I love foot massages while watching chick flicks.”
He scoffs teasingly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. “Oh damn, looks like I do have work to do.”
I grab his phone from his hand and stuff it in the pocket of my zip-up hoodie. “Nope. A promise is a promise.”
“Never promised,” he teases again.
“Ohhh, but you never lie to me.”
“I did say that, didn’t I? All right. I guess I’ll rub those things.”
I stretch up on my tiptoes and lay a gentle kiss on his lips. “I know you will.”
The elevator stops on the eighth floor, and we get out. Our luggage is all placed on the floor, right in front of Cal’s room. Hand in hand, we walk down the hall and I ask the question burning on my mind. “So, I assume I’ll be in my old room.”
Cal stops unlocking his door, jerks his head around, and gives me the stink eye. “What? No. You’re in my room, baby. Or should I say, our room.”
I smile inwardly, biting my bottom lip. “Okay.”
Guess I got my answer.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
We’re finally settling back into life. Bella seems to be happy we’re back on the island. I’m thrilled to be with her, no matter where we are. For the first time…ever, I think I’m finally getting the happiness I so desperately wanted all my life.
I watched her sleep for a good thirty minutes before peeling myself away to go down to the dining hall. Everything has to be perfect and the only way to ensure it is, is by doing everything myself. Well, almost everything. Some of the staff returned last night. I’ve hired more live-in guards for the time being. Byron had a lot of enemies, but I’m sure somewhere out there he had a friend or family member who would want to avenge his death. Or not. I just can’t be too sure. My personal chef has returned, as well as the housekeeper. Peter’s position has yet to be replaced, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that.
For breakfast, we’re having Bella’s favorite—blueberry pancakes, greasy bacon that she loves so much, and lemonade.
I’ve got some instrumental music playing through the speakers that are perched in every corner of the room. Four vases holding white roses are placed up and down the length of the dining room table. Then, there's the box. It’s safely placed under the lid of a platter.
I rub my sweaty hands together, making sure everything is in place. I suppose there isn’t much that could be out of place, considering it’s just a breakfast setup.
Albert, the chef, is in control of the music, and he’s been instructed to begin a special song at exactly eight o’clock. I glance down at my wristwatch. It’s seven-fifteen now, which means I need to get Bella up and get her fed before it begins.
Leaving the dining room, I run my hands down my pants. Didn’t think I’d be this nervous. She’s already agreed to marry me. She was under pressure then, though, since I had coerced her with a contract. Agreeing and wanting are two different things.
There’s no doubt in my mind that Bella loves me. I’m not just some egotistical man with a big head—I can feel it. The connection we share is extraordinary.
Once I’m in the bedroom, I close the door and walk over to the bed where she’s still sleeping. Only, she’s not there. Panic ensues. It’s a feeling of dread I’ve experienced with this girl one too many times. Seems like every time I turn around, she goes missing. “Bella,” I shout, looking around the room. “Bella. This isn’t funny.”