The King (The Original Sinners: White Years, #2)(130)

“Of course,” Grace said as they stood by her front door.

“You don’t have to work any more if you don’t wish to. You or Zachary. You can work from home, buy a new house in the country, travel. I don’t care. The money is yours and your son’s. I know you’ll put it to good use.”

“We will, yes. I can’t… Give me a few days to wrap my mind around all this.”

“You have plenty of time.”

“If Zachary has a heart attack tomorrow morning, I’m blaming you.”

“Have an ambulance on standby.”

“My God, Kingsley. I can’t believe it.”

“Believe it,” Kingsley said. “After all that’s happened, we should be able to believe anything by now.”

Grace laughed, and he embraced her again.

“You’ll tell him Fionn’s well?” she asked.

“I will.”

“Do you think he’ll come visit his son?”

“When he’s ready. Give him time. He doesn’t want to interfere.”

“It wouldn’t be interfering. Tell him that.”

“I will,” Kingsley said. “He’ll be jealous I held him.”

“Kiss your beautiful girl for me,” Grace said.

“With pleasure. Both of them.”

“Where are you going now?”

“Paying a visit to an old friend,” Kingsley said. “That’s all.”

“Speaking of old friends, what happened to your Sam?”

“What happened to Sam? Four years after she came to work for me the worst thing possible happened. She fell in love.”

“That’s terrible,” Grace said. “Happens to the best of us, though.”

“She moved out to California with her girlfriend. They got married a few years ago.”

“Did you go to the wedding?”

“I was her best man. We wore matching tuxedos.”

“Sexy penguins?”

“That was us.” Kingsley threw his bag over his shoulder, crossed his arms over his chest. “I haven’t thought about that year in a long time. Blaise and Lachlan are married now.”

“You’re kidding.”

“He stole her from me. Not that I blame him or her. She always had a weakness for accents. Australian beat French, apparently. They live in Sydney. Felicia moved back to London a few years after the club opened. Justin runs a home for gay runaways.”

“Quite a crew you assembled.”

“I was always a good talent scout,” Kingsley said. “I knew what Nora would be the moment I saw her.”

“You did. You were right.”

“Twenty years ago… It feels like yesterday. Yesterday and a lifetime.”

“I imagine it does.”

“Twenty years,” Kingsley said again. “All that time, S?ren’s been the constant. Him and her.”

“Nora?”

“Twenty years ago she got arrested and that brought S?ren back to me. Twenty years later she gets kidnapped and that brought my son back to me. I’m almost looking forward to the next time she gets herself into trouble. I always benefit.”

“Nora get herself into trouble? I doubt you’ll be waiting for very long.”

Kingsley gave Grace a kiss on both cheeks and pressed his forehead to hers a moment.

“We’re family,” Kingsley said. “S?ren is my family, and that means Fionn is, too. You understand?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “If Nora’s his godmother, you can be his godfather. Then he’ll have four wonderful fathers who love him.”

“Four?”

Grace glanced skyward. Four. Of course.

He let her go and walked from her home with a light step, buoyed by a deep contentment that left him feeling half his forty-eight years. It was good to finally tell someone the story of what S?ren had done for him and why. He felt unburdened now by the telling of his tale, like a man walking from confession with his soul lighter and cleaner. But his confession hadn’t been to a priest but about a priest, the priest he loved not despite all the sins they’d committed against each other but because of them, because the sins were what bound them together.

And the love. Of course the love. Always the love.

At dawn Kingsley boarded his plane. A short f light but the hour of sleep he caught was enough to refresh him. And when he emerged from the airport, he closed his eyes and for the first time in two decades, breathed in French air.

France, yes, but not home. Home was Juliette. Home was Céleste. Home was S?ren. But even if it wasn’t home, it was part of him. His parents were buried in French soil. His life had begun here, and when the time came, he, too, would be buried in the same Paris cemetery where they had laid his parents to rest. He’d already told Juliette those were his wishes. And because she loved him and knew how to obey an order and give one at the same time, she’d answered, “Oui, mon roi. But you’re never allowed to die.”

And he’d promised her he’d do his best to never let something like that happen.

He was tempting fate by coming back to France. He’d made enemies here, important ones. And certain people he’d known once had likely not forgotten his name. But he wasn’t afraid. Twenty years had passed. He was a low priority now. He didn’t plan to stay long anyway. Just long enough to do what had to be done.