by Liz Durano
"Why?" he asks, frowning. "I hope you don't intend to get started flashing your selfies on social media."
"Of course not, but I have to admit, your Frette sheets are to die for," I chuckle as I hand him my phone, my expression turning serious. "But really, it's because even the way I look now, you don't flinch, or look away, and I want to remind myself that even with my bruises, I'd like to think you still think me beautiful."
"Because you are, Billie. You're the most beautiful woman in the world," Heath says. He reluctantly takes the phone from my hand as I slowly pull the covers down from my body, exposing the diagonal mark left behind by the seatbelt across my torso and the bruised hip bones where the waist section of the belt cinched tightly and held me fast even as the car rolled down the embankment that night. It makes my breath hitch, the way each bruise and cut appear starker in the morning light streaming through the windows, a reminder of how far I've come.
But I want the pictures as a remembrance, not of the time when someone attempted to kill me for I've long accepted that Harris would never have wanted witnesses to begin with, but of the time when the walls I'd built up around myself finally crumbled.
It pains Heath to snap each picture, but he does as I ask him to, for every snap of the shutter is a reminder that I am stronger than I know. And never once does Heath look away, not when he's kissed every single one of those bruises last night, and is kissing them again, telling me how beautiful I am, how perfect I am—and how hard he has fallen for me.
"Even if, technically, we've just met?" I ask as I giggle when his beard tickles my belly.
"I doubt we can say we've just met, considering everything we've been through," he murmurs. "People experience less in ten years than what we've been through in seven...or is it eight days now?"
"Who's counting?"
"I know I'm not," Heath says, frowning. "Though now you've made me lose count of your freckles. I was currently stuck at seventeen."
"But I thought you were kissing all my boo-boos," I giggle.
"What can I say, Billie? You can't fault me for being thorough," Heath says, dipping his head down lower till my giggles are replaced by gasps of pleasure and the delicious anticipation of release only he can give me.
That afternoon, we rent a rowboat from Loeb's Boathouse in Central Park and row lazily along the Lake—or rather, Heath does all the rowing for according to the doctor we saw that morning for my injuries, I'm to refrain from any strenuous physical activities. He tells me how his mother took him on walks in the park. With a map of Central Park on his lap, he shows me the different trails they and their assigned bodyguard Clyde Fredricks—or Fred, as Heath has always called him—took to identify different birds using binoculars, and how she often would paint the various landscapes of the depending on the season.
Afterward, we take a stroll along the Mall, a quarter-mile walkway bordered by rows of American elms. His security detail is not far behind, and I've gotten used to seeing them. They're no longer dressed in suits like the ones from last night, but more casually, in polo shirts and jeans.
We purposely avoid any talk about Harris, Jessica, and Daniel, for Heath tells me that from here on, their fate is up to the justice system to handle though he adds that the District Attorney will push for the maximum sentence possible, even if it takes years. Heath's nieces are now under the care of Daniel's sister, Pam's mother until Ethan and Blythe return to New York that evening.
But until they arrive tonight, the day is only for us, the seventh day since we first met. Heath wants to show me a glimpse of the life that awaits me in New York should I agree to move here, of being closer to Blythe and watching her pursue her dream of starting her fashion line, of maybe going back to school for whatever I want to study—and a life with him.
“A life with you,” I repeat after him as we sit down on a recently vacated bench along the Mall, and Heath pulls me close to him.
“For however long it takes,” he murmurs.
“Be careful what you wish for, Heath. I’m a forever-kind of girl, you know.”
He chuckles. “Well, lucky for you, Billie, I’m a forever-kind of guy, too.”
30
Epilogue: Home
In exchange for their testimony against Harris, Daniel, and Jessica, Jackson and Charlene Denman pleaded guilty six months later to mail fraud, conspiracy to commit money laundering, making false statements to a financial institution, and forgery. Jackson was sentenced to fifteen years in Federal prison while Charlene got twelve.
Despite agreeing to testify against Harris, Daniel and Jessica, Richard Pressman would have no such luck for a lesser sentence. Not even being one of Edgar Kheiron’s bastard son saved him from life in prison with no possibility of parole for his role in my attempted kidnapping, and attempted murder, as well as the death of John “Wally” Walthers, who had died while protecting me that night in Nevada City.
Jackson, Charlene, and Richard’s trials had come first, if only to build the groundwork for the bigger trials to come against Harris Colman, his son Daniel, and Jessica Kheiron (who did not take her husband’s name when she married him, not even with a hyphen). Until they got their day in court—delayed with motion after motion from their lawyers—it meant that I was never to travel alone, whether it was rushing to business classes at NYU or flying back home to Nevada City to take care of Kathryn when she caught a cold that turned into full-blown pneumonia. She would die two weeks later, with all of us by her side—me, Blythe, Heath and Ethan.
Her passing felt like the cutting of the last remaining cord that kept me bound to the place where I grew up, though if I had thought that I was leaving Nevada City for good, I was wrong. Kathryn left her historic house to me and Blythe, and with the two houses side by side, it meant that Heath’s security detail didn’t need to have nearby bed and breakfast accommodations whenever we were in town.
But as much as I would have wanted to stay in Nevada City, it had stopped being my home the moment I fell in love with Heath. It meant that New York City was going to be my home just as much as his, where his mother lived just 90 minutes away in Upstate New York. It meant visiting with her and listening to her stories about a young Heath and a dashing Fred who had always been there for her after her marriage to Edgar crumbled under his many affairs.
She told me about one particular summer when the three of them went to Lake Winnipesaukee in New Hampshire, and she watched Fred teach Heath how to fish for largemouth bass with a fishing pole while standing on the dock. Had to be a dock, she said. No fancy boats needed.
I love listening to all her stories, every one of them not so much a revelation but a confirmation of what an amazing man I’m set to marry in a year’s time after I graduate from NYU with a Bachelor’s degree in Business. It was one of the conditions I had told Heath when he proposed to me in Venice, that I wasn’t getting married without a degree.
After all, I’m still common-sense Billie—even underneath all the designer outfits Alicia continues to hand-pick for me.
Almost a year after I moved in with Heath, he surprises me by bringing my favorite memories of my hometown to New York. As if Central Park isn't enough of a view from our Upper East Side penthouse, he recreated Nevada City in the attached conservatory, complete with up-to-date sprinkler systems and humidity controls, and even a rock fountain that reminds me of the stream behind the house where I used to pick wild blackberries. There is even a crabapple tree, and fragrant amaryllis and a camellia bush. At the center of the conservatory, there's even a domed ceiling with a view of the stars.
"I know how much you missed home, Billie, and Manhattan isn’t exactly the most peaceful place in the world to live. So I thought I'd bring some semblance of the home that you know and love to you,” he says, settling back down on the comforter and pillows covering the thick king-sized mattress he had the staff set out in the middle of the conservatory earlier that afternoon.
"But I'm already home, Heath," I say, and when he doesn't say anythi
ng, I continue. "I know it sounds corny, but home is wherever you are, though I have to admit, this is a nice bonus. Thank you."
"You're very welcome,” he says. "With everything that's been happening—all the delays with the case against Harris, Daniel, and my sister, it's been a hectic year so far, and I worry that this isn't the life that you want. Sometimes I wonder if you wish you were back home, where you can jump into the Yuba River or hang out with the locals at your little shop.”
"Mick and Norah are doing a great job with the store, and they don’t need me anywhere near it unless they want me to micromanage it. It's doing well, what with their expertise with social media and online sales—and whatever crystals they’ve snuck in every nook and cranny which supposedly increase the aura of the place and entice customers to walk in.”
I have to laugh sometimes at their crazy ideas, but whatever they're doing, it's working. Business is booming and who knows? Maybe there is something to be said about all the weird stuff Mick and Norah do, so I'm not complaining.
“Maybe I should do the same with the office,” Heath says as he plays with a lock of my hair, twining it around his finger. “God knows I need all the help I can get to focus on work when all I can think about is you."
"Are you complaining already?"
He grins, his dimples making their appearance, something that is a more common occurrence now than when I first met him. The man who was all work and no play is now a myth.
"Never," he replies. "You are my home, Billie, and I hope you are happy here.”
“As much as you may think I miss home, I don’t—at least, not as bad as you think. Not when I have a whole life ahead of me here with you, Heath, and the family we're going to have one day."
He kisses me lightly on the tip of my nose. "I like the sound of that…a family."
"I do, too." I lie down on the pillows and take his hand, resting it on my belly. It's flat right now, but it won't be for long, not when the doctor said I'm currently at nine weeks, and pretty soon, I'll be showing.
For a few moments, Heath is quiet, closing his eyes as I keep his hand on my belly. I should have told him sooner, but with his current workload—which now includes training Ethan to take over his position in a few months and travel to various countries to finalize a few things with local plants, I didn’t want to distract him. But as I watch the expressions on his face shift from curiosity to confusion, slowly followed by the realization of what I'm telling him without words, I can't help but feel that I’d made the right choice.
"Billie," Heath says as he opens his eyes. His voice is hoarse. “How far along...?”
"Nine weeks," I say. "I should have told you sooner, but you were so busy with work and travel."
"No! It's perfect. At least there won't be any more flying from here on...definitely," he says, kissing me deeply, his hands cradling my face. I love the way his thumb gently caresses my cheek, his fingers curling just behind my ear. When he pulls away, unable to speak, I marvel at the things that leave Heath speechless. A smile, a kiss, the news of a baby.
“I love you so much, Billie,” he murmurs as he rests his forehead against mine. "Should we move the date of our wedding sooner? I may be a patient man, but I won't be able to wait a year, not with this news. You, carrying our baby..." His hand moves back down to caress my belly as if acknowledging the life inside me.
"If we do, then it has to be a small one, Heath. I won't be able to handle all of New York showing up at the church, and already Alicia is saying how hopeless I am with my fashion choices when left on my own," I say.
"She just loves to complain," Heath says, chuckling. "You're her favorite customer."
"Why don't we get it done at the city hall? We can still have the big wedding next year if you still want to."
"What I really want is to make an honest woman out of you the fastest way possible, so tomorrow it is then." His dimples make their appearance, and I can't help but giggle.
I make a mental note to call Blythe, no matter how late it is, to let her know the specifics. I need her to be there, just like I needed her when I first suspected I was pregnant and made sure she was outside the bathroom door when I did the test. Heath and Ethan had been staying with their mother for a few days then, determined to patch things up between them after learning the extent of their sister's involvement in the plan to eliminate not just Heath, but Ethan, too. And how easy it would have been—one unfortunate accident after another. It's a close call that could have ended in the worst possible way, and Heath and Ethan aren't wasting any more time fighting.
I take a deep breath, not wanting to ruin the moment between us with such dark thoughts. This time, we don't talk, both our attention directed on Heath's hand resting on my belly again before he kisses me and gathers me in his arms.
As his kiss deepens, I know that nothing will ever change the way I feel about Heath, and there's only one home that I want and need. And it's right here with him.
THE END
If you enjoyed this book, it would mean the world to me if you could leave a review. Reviews help readers like you discover new stories!
Want to read a short story from Heath’s point of view? Check out The Things That Matter: A Collateral Attraction Short Story!
My Humblest Thanks
There are a few people I'd like to thank who have made this book possible: Laura Shaw, whose sharp eye and messages of support and laughter over the muses kept me sane.
Thank you to Amanda Cheairs-Cabral, for knowing how to talk me away from that proverbial cliff of self-doubt every time I wanted to quit writing Billie and Heath’s story, and Cherry Shrestha, for always championing my characters and my process, and for always lifting me up whenever I was down.
I also owe a debt of gratitude to Tonette Tongoy-Fritzsche and Aurora Teves Zulueta, whose constant words of encouragement, even from afar, always make my day much better.
And most of all, I'd like to thank my family, for being there for me.
The Latest Contemporary Romance from Liz Durano
is Now Available!
When her perfectly planned life falls apart, 40-year-old transplant surgeon Harlow James ends up outside of Taos, New Mexico, hoping to find out where she went wrong.
Instead, she finds the perfect man in custom craftsman, Dax Drexel. He’s gorgeous, sexy and kind. Too bad he’s only twenty-seven…
But he may also be the one man who can give her everything she’s always wanted.
Books By Liz Durano
A Different Kind of Love Series
Everything She Ever Wanted
The Celebrity Series
Loving Ashe
Loving Riley
Standalones
Finding Sam
About Liz Durano
Liz’s start in storytelling got its rocky start in 8th grade when the “play” she was writing landed her in the principal’s office for being a bit on the NSFW side. Since then, she’s done penance by writing romance and chick lit—with a dose of naughty on the side if you look hard enough.
When she’s not writing about her muses, she maintains a private massage therapy practice in Manhattan Beach, California. She lives in a century-old house with her family, a Chihuahua, and way too many books.
For the latest updates about my books
@Lizdurano
lizduranobooks
lizdurano.com