Uncharted(56)

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, meaning it. “That sounds awful.”

“It wasn’t ideal, that’s for sure. Neither of us was happy the way things were. She thought a baby would solve all our problems, I thought bringing a child into an unhappy marriage would make things worse, not better. I was getting ready to ask her for a divorce when an opportunity fell into my lap. The newspaper I’d been doing freelance photography for was sending a team to Turkey, to cover the migrant crisis and the increasing threats of terrorism to the region. It was the perfect opportunity to escape, and I jumped at it.”

“And…your wife?”

“To say Monique was unhappy would be a grave understatement.”

“She didn’t want to lose you.”

He shakes his head. “She didn’t want to lose her citizenship. Why do you think she was so eager to have a baby, when she could barely stand the sight of me?”

My heart aches for him.

“I took the job. She begged me not to file the paperwork right away, told me we’d be free to live separate lives, but she needed time to apply for permanent resident status. I was so tired of fighting with her over every damn thing, from the mortgage payments to the exorbitant upkeep costs of her nonexistent modeling career. I didn’t have it in me to argue anymore. I just wanted out. So, I agreed.” He shrugs. “I was gone a week later, half a world away, and she was free to do whatever the hell she pleased without me there to hold her back or finance her expensive lifestyle.” He stops pacing and his eyes meet mine. “Violet… I am married, legally. On paper. But in every way that counts, I’m divorced. Separated. Whatever you want to call it, I’ve been living as a single man for more than four years.”

“You… do you still love her?” I ask, voice small.

His face goes soft and he falls to the sand at my side. He’s careful not to touch me, but his eyes never shift away. “I don’t think I ever loved her.”

I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

A flare of hope moves through his eyes when he sees the relieved expression on my face.

“Violet.” His voice goes gravelly. “The truth is, I never loved anyone… until I met you.”





Chapter Sixteen





T Y P H O O N





“Happy birthday, princess.”

I smile in my sleep, rolling over onto my back. I blink up at Beck, haloed in the early morning light as he leans down to brush his lips against mine in a soft kiss.

“It’s morning already?” I ask, voice groggy.

He nods.

I’ve slept straight through from yesterday afternoon. The instant I finally closed my eyes, I was out like a light. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. It was the most emotionally draining day of my entire life — neither best nor worst, but both at the same time. A true rollercoaster.

The grief of burying Ian could not be erased by the joy I felt at Beck’s revelation, nor was the love burning within me untempered by heartache. The two emotional extremes did not cancel each other out, but rather multiplied twofold, piggybacking in intensity until I was fraying like a bolt of over-stretched fabric.

I look around, eyes latching onto Ian’s empty pallet, and a pang of pain grips my heart.

Goodbye, sweet friend.

I look up at the man leaning over me, butterflies bursting to life inside my gut.

I never loved anyone… until I met you.

It’s hard to reconcile feeling such joy and sadness in tandem. With difficulty, I set Ian aside and focus on Beck. There’s been so much darkness, so much pain. I know, for my own sake, I have to let myself bask in the light for a while. I have no doubts the grief will be back — in waves, undulating through me for weeks and months and years every time I think of Ian. But for now, just in this instant, I let lust and longing fill me to the brim as I crane my neck to kiss the man I love.

The man who loves me back.

Beck Underwood loves me.

It’s hard to fathom, given the place we started out. Strangers, enemies, allies, friends, soulmates.

Yesterday, after he spoke those three little words that changed everything, he didn’t even give me a chance to echo the sentiment back to him. Reading the sheer exhaustion on my every feature, he lifted me into his arms and carried me back to camp. Back home. We collapsed onto one of the sleeping pallets before the sun had begun its western descent, dead to the world the second our eyes closed.

For the first time in a long time, I slept with his strong arms around me, feeling warm and safe through the long hours of the night.

“Wait.” I sit up, finally processing his wake-up call. “It’s my birthday?”

“It is.” He nods toward the tallies in the tree trunk a few yards away. “I counted back from the date of the crash. Today is the Fourth of July.”

“Happy Independence Day,” I murmur. “Too bad we don’t have any fireworks.”

He stares at me, his heated gaze on my face setting off an entirely different kind of fireworks inside my chest. I lean forward to kiss him again, reveling in the heart-stopping feeling of his mouth on mine. It’s still hard to believe we’re finally here, finally together.

I deepen the kiss, tongue seeking his as my hands wind around his neck and I press myself flush against his chest. He indulges me for a long moment before his hands wrap around my wrists and, with a groan, he gently pushes me back to create some distance.