Unbroken (The Secret Life of Amy Bensen #3.5)(14)

“A reminder that some things are eternal.” He strokes my hair. “Open it.”

Suddenly nervous, I reach forward to grasp the knob at one end of the box and slide it all the way to the other side. And my heart skips an actual beat when I see the six brown leather journals inside, and a white card with my handler’s symbol lying on top. My hand trembles as I reach forward and flip it open.

Amy . . . Lara . . . I can’t give you back the past I stole, but I hope I can give you back some of the good memories to replace the nightmares. I love you. Chad.

I flatten my hand on one of the journals, my head falling forward as I draw in a shaky breath. Liam wraps his arms around me. “I thought . . .” I start, pausing to swallow the knot from my throat and start again. “I thought that Chad wanted me to forget the past and move on.”

“I chose the tattoo because I wanted to remind you that no one can take away the special times you shared with your parents. They were always with you, and always will be.”

I take a deep breath. “It always felt like such a betrayal to pretend they didn’t exist.”

“You don’t have to pretend anymore. That’s Chad’s gift to you, with these journals. You can be Lara again if you want to be.”

I shake my head. “I’m Amy now. Lara died when they died.” I pick up one of the journals and hold it, feeling like the piece of me I’d lost is now found.

“I told you my life is no fairy tale.” I shift to face him again. “And I don’t want it to be; I just want it to be my life. Just like I don’t need a Prince Charming. You don’t have to protect me. Just love me.”

“I’m going to protect you. And I’m going to love you. Forever, baby.” Liam covers my hand with his and surprises me by going down on his knee. “Marry me, Amy. I need you in my life.” He reaches under the table again and I gasp as he produces a small velvet box, opening the lid to display a perfect round pale pink diamond that seems to spiral into a star inside. “Delicate and perfect, like you.”

My fingers curl around the journal, tears of joy welling in my eyes. “It’s the most gorgeous ring I’ve ever seen.” My lips curve. “But I’m not delicate. If you think I can’t kick your ass, Liam Stone, you’re wrong.”

He wipes away a tear that escaped. “Marry me, and you’ll have a lifetime to prove it.”

“Since you put it that way.” I laugh. “Yes. I’ll marry you.”

“How about New Year’s Eve?”

“That’s less than two weeks away!”

“It’s too long as far as I’m concerned, but I was thinking New Year, new beginnings.”

“Yes. Yes, I’d like that very much.”

Liam slides the ring on my finger and we both stare at it for several seconds, as if neither of us can believe we are finally here in this moment. This feels so right.

He leans in, whispering, “I love you,” the rasp of his goatee teasing my cheek, his lips an erotic promise of the kiss that follows. But when his tongue makes a caress into my mouth, it’s so much more. It’s a tender, sweet connection I feel in every part of me, but most importantly deep in my soul, where he has begun coloring that rainbow I know will be our life together.

When his mouth leaves mine, he sits on the couch and indicates the journals. “I know you’re dying to read them. How about I go and make us some coffee?”

Touched, I’m convinced he knows me in a way I never believed another person could. “That sounds wonderful. Perfect, actually.”

He kisses my temple and stands, striding away from me in that graceful, powerful way that he does. I watch him leave, a surreal feeling rolling over me. He’s going to be my husband. I’m going to be his wife. This house is my home. “I love you, too.”

Opening one of the journals, I start to read, immediately lost in my father’s words. I’m sad that my parents won’t be at my wedding, but joyful to have this piece of them with me. And I’m laughing at my father’s words, his bold personality jumping off the page, as Liam returns, handing me a cup of perfect coffee.

“I see you’re enjoying the journals,” he observes, sitting next to me.

“My father called me, Chad, and himself the Three Musketeers.”

“And your mother?”

“The damsel in distress. That’s why I was laughing. She hated it. He did it to egg her on.” I have a flash of finding her kissing Rollin Scott, trying to free my father from a debt he’d owed; my stomach clenches and I shove the image away. “She was . . . strong, too much sometimes.”

He touches my chin. “There is nothing wrong with being strong. You’re strong. She taught you right.”

“Like your mother did you?” I ask, thinking of how she battled an abusive husband, and then struggled as a single parent with cancer.

“Yes.” There’s a hoarseness to his voice. “Like my mother did me.” But he doesn’t elaborate the way I hope. He sips his coffee and sets it down before leaning against the armrest. “Come here,” he says, motioning for me to join him.

I sip my coffee as well and crawl into the cocoon of his body, resting my back against his chest. “Tell me about your family,” he orders.

I welcome the challenge, reciting the passage that had made me laugh, pleased when his response is that warm, rich chuckle I find so sexy. I start reading him random entries, and he encourages me to share my own stories. It’s as perfect as the ring and the man. Because only Liam Stone would understand that the best way to start my future is with a little piece of my past.