Arranged(84)

I acknowledged for the first time then and there that I wouldn’t be moving on. At least, not how I’d thought, because I knew in my bones that the regret would be worse if I couldn’t forgive him.

“I can’t settle again,” I told him, lips trembling, heart wide open. “I can’t settle for less than everything from you. From both of us.”

“Good.” His voice was harsh. His hands were firm on my face. His eyes were a wild storm and they were promising me the world. “I don’t want you to. I want to give you everything. I’m ready now. And you better fucking give me everything back.”





EPILOGUE





Fatima’s father’s organization went down two years later. He was assassinated by his number two guy, his place raided in a bloody coup in the middle of the night. After that everything folded, and people within started talking, and Fatima, now glaringly lacking in protection, was an easier target.

They could never pin the attempt on my life on Fatima, but she had gotten some eyes turned her way during the process. Those eyes started watching her, thanks to some Castelo influence, and two years after she tried to have me drowned, she was arrested and charged with conspiracy to commit fraud and a slew of other charges that stuck.

The tabloids caught a much sought after picture of her in a prison yard, looking sullen.

Orange was not her color.





I didn’t make an honest man out of Banks again for quite some time, though I did take pity on him and let him get rid of his own sterile apartment and move in with me. I wanted to try the boyfriend/girlfriend thing out for a while.

No contracts and no paperwork.

We were married on my twenty-fifth birthday. Possibly happier about it than us were his parents and his brothers, who’d been pressing us to get remarried since the day they found out he’d moved in with me.

The ceremony couldn’t have been more opposite than the first time. We went to Bora Bora with a tiny group of family and friends. We said our vows wearing shades and barefoot on the beach. He wore white linen trousers and a matching shirt that was open at the neck. No jacket, no tie.

I wore a barely there slip of a dress the color of the pale aquamarine waves lapping at our feet.

We’d rented out the entire resort and island for two weeks, which wasn’t quite so drastic as it sounded, as the whole place only held fourteen small bungalows. By Castelo standards, it was downright humble.

There was no prenup this time, no payoffs, no contracts at all, just a wedding license and a full heart.

My lips didn’t tremble. My hands were steady in his. We pledged our love and commitment for the right reasons for round number two.

This time I said I do with my head and my heart.

He buried both his hands in my hair and tapped his forehead gently against mine. His eyes were snapped with intensity. “’Bout damn time.”

The reception was beautiful, informal, and lasted for days. We danced, we toasted, we argued light-heartedly with his parents about how soon we were going to start making babies. I’d long established that twenty-seven was the right age, but his dad would have preferred five years ago at least. Banks held strong that it was my decision, and he was prepared to do his part whenever I was. Diana good-naturedly complained that she couldn’t believe none of her sons had made her a grandma yet. All in good time.

Banks and his father were getting along better these days though there sometimes rose a budding tension between them, as though their natures dictated that they butt heads. They would always be too much alike, I thought, but it was much better now.

We fed each other cake, Jovie caught the bouquet, I danced with every Castelo at least three times, and Banks for all the rest. I wasn’t numb for the celebrations this time. I filed every little detail away and treasured it appropriately.

This time it was real. This time it was right.