Page 86 of Wild Promise

“Three generations of Alexanders have built this place,” Glenn said, his voice rougher now. “And I couldn’t be prouder of the one who’s stepping up to carry it forward.”

Proud. Glenn was proud of me. My uncle, who never said things like that, who showed his love through quiet acts and practical gestures, was telling everyone he was proud of me.

And I was standing here, blindsided, in the same suit I’d worn to my father’s office, with a speech in my head that was suddenly, completely irrelevant.

The noise of the room filtered back in, and I could feel the crowd closing in around us. But I didn’t care about any of them.

All I could see, all I could feel, was Melina.

She wasn’t surprised. That was the thing that got me. The room was losing its mind, people were shouting my name, and Melina Marshall was standing there with tears on her face and my hand in a death grip, and she wasn’t even a little bit surprised.

She’d known.

I didn’t know how. Didn’t know when or who she’d talked to or what kind of impossible strings she’d pulled. But the look on her face—steady, raw, terrified, and certain all at once—told me everything I needed to know.

She’d done this. Somehow, some way, Melina had done this.

“Firecracker,” I whispered, my voice wrecked. “What did you do?”

“Exactly the same thing you would have done for me.” Her voice broke on the last word. “I went to Eric. I told him everything. Then we got on a conference call with your uncle, and I asked him to help me bring you home.”

“You went to my family…for me.”

“No. I did it for us.” She pressed her palm flat against my chest. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you. I’m sorry I pushed you away. And I’m sorry I let you walk out of this place thinking you had to give it up to be with me.”

Sorry. Three times. The word she’d hated, the one she’d made me promise never to say—and she was handing it to me like a gift. Not because the word had changed, but because she had.

“Melina—”

“I love you,” she said, cutting me off. “I love you, and I should have said it before you left. I should have said it instead of all the awful things I did say. You didn’t pity me. You never pitied me. You just loved me, and I was too scared to see it.”

“I love you too. Fuck, Melina, I’ve been trying to say that since the night you walked out.”

Her smile was immediate and fucking stunning. “Then say it again.”

“I love you. I love you, and I’m not going anywhere.”

She pressed her face into my chest, and I felt her whole body shudder. I pulled her closer, my lips against her hair, holding her until the trembling stopped.

“Glenn didn’t buy your father out, exactly,” she said, leaning back to look me in the eye. “He used the trust fund. Bowen agreed to forfeit future contributions in exchange for signing over his stake.”

I stared at her. The trust fund. The money I’d hated my entire life, the monthly deposit I’d tried to refuse, the cash that had made me sick every time I spent it.

Fuck. “You used my dirty money to buy my freedom.”

“Glenn did. I just pointed him in the right direction.”

I shook my head, grinning like an idiot. This woman—impossible, brilliant, and all fucking mine.

“And your promotion.” I held her gaze. “You earned it. You know that, right? Every word Glenn said up there was true. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

Her chin trembled. “You really mean that.”

“I’ve never meant anything more.” I brushed a tear from her cheek with my thumb. “I just wish I hadn’t almost ruined it for you.”

“You didn’t. Wyatt and I talked. Glenn’s speech made it clear to everyone in this room that my promotion had nothing to do with your name.” She smiled. “And he dissolved the fraternization policy for good measure, so there’s that.”

“You thought of everything.”