Page 20 of Billionaire Bodyguard Summer

She laughs out loud. It’s a familiar sound, and I love it.

“What? No. Ohhellno. I wouldn’t have—Jesus, Armin. No.”

“Single?”

She runs her hand through her hair, and a woman who I only ever knew as wholly confident and self-assured now glances away.

“I am. Not married. Well, there is this one guy I’ve been seeing, but…”

My face falls. I imagine her in the arms of some ruggedly handsome DEA agent or some douchebag CIA analyst who flies her around the world.

Shit,Icould fly her around the world.

Or I couldkillthis other guy, another part of my mind offers. Lord. Too much time around crime bosses and hit men.

“It’syou, Armin.” Daphne interrupts my dark thoughts. “I’ve been seeing you. I know it’s under false pretenses, but I still—I consider you my…there’s nobody else.”

“Thank God,” I say. “I was so jealous of him. Listen, I know how we met wasn’t ideal, but I still—Daphne, I…come up to East Greenwich sometime? Or wherever you want? Doesn’t have to be East Greenwich.”

“Yes,” she says quickly, to absolve me of my blathering. “East Greenwich sounds great. After the past couple of months, I could use a drive through the woods. Still got your cabin?”

“I do. I think I do. Unless they bulldozed it on me while I was gone.”

“When should I come up?”

“How about now?”

She smiles in that favorite way of mine, her beautiful half-smile.

“I know a place. Maybe you’ll let me take you there? Great pie and ice cream. Nice cup of coffee. If we leave now we could be there in twelve hours.”

She pulls out her phone and takes a long look. I hold my breath. I know this is a long shot. I know she’s not Mia, but I love hertoo, this stranger, I know I do, I love this Daphne, and I can’t let her leave my life.

“Okay,” she says, and she takes my hand, interlaces her fingers in mine. “Let’s do it. Let’s go back to East Greenwich.”

And her touch makes me feel like I’m home already.

fourteen

. . .

Daphne

I putthe bouquet of lilies on her headstone, brush the dried up leaves and twigs away.

“Hey Nicole.”

“It’s a nice tree,” Armin says. She’s got a big yew to shade her plot in the cemetery. Armin takes out the handkerchief from his back pocket and helps me brush the dirt off her grave.

“I’ve got somebody I want you to meet.”

He clears his throat. “Hello, Nicole,” he says. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Hearing Armin say Nicole’s name sets me to crying. I work hard to turn it off, but the tears come anyway. I’ve cried more in the past couple of months than in my whole life, or at least since Nicole died.

Being both free of the FBI and partnered with the man I love has been a full-scale assault on the wall I’d built up over the years, to stop myself from feeling anything.

Armin’s there, both arms around me, ready to cradle me in his soft flannel. I let him hold me and I cry into his shirt until I can’t anymore.