A Warm Heart in Winter(90)

And then the words, so soft, so sad . . . and yet wondrous, too.

“He loved me,” she whispered. “He said he loved me, and only me.”

Her eyes rose, and they were luminous with complex emotion.

Qhuinn nodded at her. “Yes, he did. And I’m glad.”

“He said he would have married me if he could have.” She frowned. “But the writing is different on this one. Was this right as he was having the heart attack?”

“May I?”

When she gave him the letter, once again it was a shock to see that handwriting of his brother’s—but she was right. The script was messy. And the letter was short.

Qhuinn imagined it had been written as the lessers had stormed the house. Had Luchas been hearing the screams of their parents, their sister, their doggen, as he scribbled this all? And the message was plainly stated. He loved Anna Sophia Laval and he had decided to tell his parents that he was going to be with her, if she would have him.

If he survived the attack, Qhuinn tacked on to himself.

But that was not to be—and not because their mahmen and father would not allow him.

It was the start of the nightmare.

Yet it was good to know that Luchas had broken free of their upbringing, just as Qhuinn had. Maybe duress and the threat of death had done it, but in the end, he had chosen love over heritage—and Qhuinn was choosing to believe that the conviction would have stuck if the family had survived.

“This is beautiful,” Qhuinn said as he returned the letter to its owner.

Anna Sophia took the missive back . . . and then her hand dipped under the collar of her sweater. As she pulled out a gold cross, he thought of his little grapefruit session with Lassiter.

“You know what,” he murmured, “I personally believe that love is immortal, that love abides even after death. And I know that Luchas is up in Heaven, and he’s waiting for you there. At the end of your course, I believe you and he will be reunited.”

Because the fallen angel who watched over the Fade was going to have it no other way.

Her eyes shimmered. “Thank you for saying that.”

“Will you open his gift to you? You don’t have to, but—”

“Oh, yes.”

She tucked the letters under her hip, and struggled with the Scotch tape and the tissue. When she got the tangle free, she gasped.

And held out a ring as if she couldn’t believe what she was looking at and needed a good second opinion.

It was a diamond solitaire of good size. Two or three karats. Set in a modern setting that had to be platinum. Simple, beautiful . . . a symbol of enduring love.

Qhuinn didn’t recognize the piece. It wasn’t one that their mahmen had owned.

“That’s an engagement ring,” he said. Like an idiot.

“Is it for me?” As if she were in the same state of shock he was.

And then he realized something about the ring. You didn’t go out and buy something like that while there were slayers in your house, murdering everybody. Hell, given its size and the way it sparkled, even in low light? You didn’t just waltz out and pick it up at the local mall.

This was an important ring. One that had been chosen with care, over time, and with consideration, for which a tremendous amount of money had been spent.

So Luchas had made his mind up before the raids, before that night.

As that math added up, Qhuinn felt a tremendous swell of pride toward his brother.

“Do you . . .” Anna Sophia looked worried. “Do you need this back? It’s very expensive.”

“I’m sorry, what—oh, no. That’s yours. My brother clearly bought it for you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Never surer about anything in my life.” Well, except his love for Blay and his young.

Anna Sophia sat back and stared at the ring. Then she slipped it on the fourth finger of her left hand. “I wish he were here.”

“Me, too.”

“Is it wrong . . .”

“Is what wrong?”

“I’m glad that he didn’t just . . . forget me.” She looked around the apartment. “I have felt . . . forgotten. By my husband over the last decade of our marriage. By Luke. Especially by Luke. I loved him, too, you see. But . . . you’re not supposed to care what others think of you, right. Others are not supposed to define us.”

The last sentence was said with resignation, as if it were something she had been trying to convince herself of—with little success.

A sudden fear had Qhuinn leaning forward. “Anna Sophia, I know you don’t know me—”

“But I do. You’re Luke’s brother.”

“Well, then, please listen to me. You have things to live for on this side. There’s no reason to rush . . . seeing your Luke again. There’s time for that. Much later.”

It was a relief when she nodded. “You are very right. I have my two daughters. And God knows, I haven’t done enough for them lately.”

And Luchas had you, Qhuinn thought. He just didn’t trust your love was strong enough to handle his physical suffering.

Qhuinn reached forward and took the woman’s hand, the one that bore his brother’s ring. “Luke will be waiting for you, at the end of what I hope for you is a very long life. You’re in your middle, though. Not at your end. So you must stay here with your children and carve out your life—now knowing that you were loved by a male of great worth.”