Not My Match (The Game Changers, #2)(94)

His hands tighten as he bends his head to mine. He kisses me with all the longing we’ve been denied for the past three days. “Are you sure, Giselle? I . . .” His voice hitches. “These days without you have desolated me, but I’m willing to be yours and let you go, and we can try and see how it works out . . .”

I put my hand to his lips. “From the moment Susan mentioned CERN, I was sick. It just took a pregnancy test for me to figure it out. I love you so much, Devon.”

A long heavy breath comes from him, and his eyes glimmer with hope, a soft shine there. He presses his forehead to mine. “I’m going to make you proud, baby; I’m going to make you happy, and you’re going to get everything you want, I swear.”

He kisses me soft and slow. “So are we going to go out there and tell them you aren’t pregnant?”

“You tell them while I dash to your car.”

He groans. “Your mama knows for sure we’re having sex. I can’t even look at her. You do it.”

“Okay. You tell them I’m not going to CERN, and I’ll tell them I’m not pregnant. They’ll be disappointed about the baby,” I say wistfully.

“There’ll be other babies,” he murmurs after another drugging kiss, his voice soft and wondering, as if he’s amazed at the idea. “I love you, Giselle.”

“I’m yours, Dev.”

That rich red thread of fate wraps around us.

We hold hands and walk to the door, a whole new future waiting for us.





Epilogue

DEVON

A few years later

I wake up and look over, and she isn’t there, causing a brief bite of disappointment, until I laugh up at the skylight above our bed. Knowing her, she’s either hiding to jump out at me, or she’s up and working.

I shower in the bathroom of our house, the one we built out on the farm after we were married. I dunk my head under the water, thinking about that day, her in a white dress, an amethyst ring surrounded by diamonds on her finger, her nana’s pearls around her neck, her hand in mine as we said our vows in her mama’s church. It was a perfect spring day in April when she was halfway through her doctorate, and I was giddy to finally make us official.

My dad was at my wedding, sober. A few months after he left Nashville, he came back, took one look at me and Giselle in my penthouse, and wept. I think . . . he saw my happiness, my contentedness, my deep love for a woman who adored me right back. He saw that I had something real, admiration mixed with devotion, respect, and commitment. He never had that. Eventually, a few months later, he let me pay for rehab, got straight, and moved back into his house. He’s his own man and makes his own way. He might slip, yeah, but we’ll deal with it together, me and Giselle and our family.

I walk into our spacious closet, and when I see there’s no mask-wearing wife, I shake my head. “She’s slipping,” I murmur. After throwing on joggers and a hoodie, I pad down the hall and open the nursery door as quietly as I can, tiptoeing in on Gabriel Kennedy, our one-year-old son. His thumb is in his pouty mouth, and I tuck the covers around him, my heart swelling.

After slipping out, I pad into the bright kitchen, my eyes searching for her. Not in the den that overlooks the rolling hills of Daisy. Nerves hit as I grab the pics from a drawer in the desk. I can’t wait to show her. After shoving my feet into sneakers, I head outside and jog the yards to her office, the barn we renovated as we built the house.

When I slide open the doors, her tattoo winks at me from her skinny jeans as she reaches up to a shelf, organizing her books. Three bestsellers for my baby. I grin. Always knew she’d do it. The baby monitor sits next to her laptop, the sound of Gabriel’s soft snores reaching my ears. After easing up behind her, I kiss her neck, and she melts against me, sliding her arms up and tangling in my hair.

“You left me,” I growl.

“I had to get work done before the baby wakes up.” She laughs and turns around, her hair down and thick, the color silver and gold. It’s been a few different colors, but her original is my favorite.

She kisses me, and I’m lost in her all over again, just like the first time.

“I have a gift for you,” I say against her lips.

“And it’s not even my birthday. Is it what’s in your pants?”

“That’s free anytime you want it.” Anxiousness hits as I show her the pics in my hand, then spread them out on her desk.

She gasps. “Devon, is that . . . a villa . . .” She stops, her finger moving to the next house. “And that one . . . where is this?”

“That one’s an apartment in the Saint Jean neighborhood, nice enough at three million. Four thousand square feet and a pool with a view of the lake. The real estate person says the sunsets are spectacular.” I wrap my arms around her from behind. “The villa is my favorite, though, just under five mill, with a view of the Alps, six bedrooms, a renovated kitchen, and a garden—but you get to pick.”

She blinks. “You want to buy a house in Geneva, Switzerland? For just under five million?” Her voice is incredulous. “I mean, you’ve joked about it, but . . .”

Just testing you, baby. And your eyes lit up when I brought it up.

“I have plenty of money, and so do you. I have the best life any man could ask for: a beautiful woman, a baby, and so much love that some days I wake up and have to look around and think . . . damn, is this really me?”