by Amelia Wilde
“She’s gorgeous.” I’m overcome by a flush of love and warmth in my chest. “Vivienne is gorgeous, Dad. She’s gorgeous. Like Mom.” It’s in this moment—right now—that I finally understand how much my father loved my mother, and why he moved heaven and earth for her, regardless of how those actions affected less consequential things like Wilder Enterprises. Because that’s how I feel about Vivienne. My dad loved my mom more than anything. Understanding and appreciation stream through my veins, through my soul, for my dad, and everything he gave up for my mother. It’s nothing less than I would give up for Vivienne.
“Listen—come see me when you have a free minute, okay? I’d—like to meet Vivienne.”
“We’ll be back in a month. You’ll be the first stop.” I take in one more breath. “I’d love for you to meet her, too.”
There’s a weighty pause. “Enjoy your vacation, Dominic. I—I love you.”
“I love you, too, Dad.”
I hang up the call and let the significance of all of it sweep through me. How could I not have seen what was really going on?
A hand on my arm brings me back out of the storm. It’s Vivienne, looking up at me with her deep green eyes, a cautious smile playing over her lips. “They’re ready,” she says softly. “Are you okay?”
“I’m good. But I’ll tell you more about it on the plane, if you want.” I wrap my arm around her, pulling her close and breathing her in. “After—“
“After what?”
“I show you the bedroom.”
She grins up at me, then takes my hand in hers, lacing our fingers together, and pulls me toward the door, out into the sunlight, and my entire body feels light and warm and free.
Epilogue
Vivienne
We’ve been in the Bahamas a week when I come slowly out of a deep, delicious sleep in the middle of the night. Dominic’s hands are on me, gently stroking my face, and I turn into his touch.
“Mmm.”
“Vivienne, wake up.” His whisper is excited. I want to know why.
I blink a few times, my eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room. We’re sleeping in a giant king-sized bed with pure white sheets, a four-poster with flowing fabric covering all four sides, and Dominic is sitting on the edge of the bed, a lit candle in his hand.
“What’s going on?”
“I want to show you something.”
“What?”
“I’ll show you.” He grins in the darkness, and I can see the outline of his white teeth against the backdrop of his newly tan skin.
I slip out of the bed, pulling on the light silk robe I keep hanging on one of the posts, and dart into the bathroom to brush my teeth. When I come back out two minutes later, Dominic is standing near the double doors that open directly onto a white sand beach. The ocean waves lap gently over the shore, the sound becoming more of a background noise every day that we’re here.
“Come and see this.”
He opens the doors and goes out onto the sand, wearing a pair of linen pants and a dark t-shirt that hugs his muscled body. I step out behind him.
And gasp.
The beach is covered with candles—hundreds of them, maybe thousands.
“Oh, my God.” I cover my mouth with my hand. “Dominic, what is this?”
“It’s magic, isn’t it?” He reaches back and takes my hand, leading me down a path in the middle of the candles, toward the shore.
He takes his time, stepping carefully, fingers moving against mine with every step, and as we walk, a soft violin pipes up from somewhere near our little beach house. It’s so pure, so vibrant, that I suck in another breath, turning to see who the musician is. She’s a shadow against the white of the building. After a few moments, another one joins in. My heart aches to bursting. It’s that gorgeous.
We make our way down to the shore, to the last dry spot before the waves, and Dominic looks out over the water. It’s a brilliant night, warm, with a thousand stars above us and a thousand candles on the shore below. I’m caught in the starlight. I’m swept away.
Then he turns to face me. “Vivienne Peterson,” he says, and the tears are spilling out of my eyes already, I can’t stop them, I don’t care to stop them. “From the first moment I saw you, I knew you’d stay in my heart and my mind forever. I’m lucky that you’ve stayed in my life.” He bends down to one knee, pulling a small box out of his pocket. “I hope I can stay by your side for the rest of time.” He opens the box, and the ring inside glints in the flickering light. “Will you be my wife?”
“Yes!” The answer bursts out of me almost before he’s done speaking, and he stands, sweeping me into his arms, kissing me hard and hot and furiously, then pulling back, laughing, to put the ring on my finger. The violin music swells, then melts back into silence.
Dominic wraps me in his arms, and I’m laughing with joy, surrounded by light and hope and beauty.
“That was me proposing,” he says into my hair.
“That’s the beginning of our lives,” I answer.
His only reply is a kiss.
Fearless Kiss
1
Kennedy
“Have a drink, Leah. No—not that one. Water.”
My best friend, one Leah Morgan, dramatically rolls her eyes at me and readjusts the sparkling tiara she has perched on the pile of dark curls circling her head. “I didn’t come here to drink water. I came here to get you to dance!” I hold out the glass of water to her, a steely glare dominating my eyes, and she sticks her tongue out at me petulantly. Still, she snatches the glass out of my hands, and a little of the ice water sloshes over the top. “You’ve been guarding the table all night. I swear, it’s going to be fine.”
I shoot her my best martyr expression as she takes a long sip of water, and then I hold out my hand to take the glass. “How are you feeling? Ready for another round? I still think we might want to wait until—”
“Kennedy.” She puts her hands on her hips and cocks her head to the side. “We are all adults here. You don’t have to tend to everyone like a mother hen.”
“I look nothing like a mother hen,” I snort. “You made sure of that.” Leah dedicated an hour’s worth of her own getting-ready time convincing me to wear a barely-there little black dress and sky-high stilettos instead of the sensible ballet flats I had my heart set on. You never know when a disaster might happen in a club—and Lord knows there have been enough nightclub tragedies reported in the news lately—and the last thing anyone wants is to be caught wearing high heels that make it all but impossible to escape during an emergency.
Except for Leah. “One night, Kennedy,” she’d begged, dangling them from her fingers in front of my face. “For my bachelorette party. It’s a special occasion. You can’t say no.”
I’d given her a long look before shaking my head in defeat and taking the fuck-me heels from her hands. “Ok, but this one time.”
She’d clapped her hands like a toddler and let out a whoop. “I’m going to get you out on the dance floor. This is the beginning.”
I’d rolled my eyes. “You’re revealing your whole strategy, and the limo isn’t even going to be here for another forty-five minutes.”
“I’m going to make sure that Kennedy Carlisle dances at my bachelorette party if it’s the last thing I do.”
“Unlikely…” I whispered under my breath, but she was already flitting off to get her makeup bag to amp up my look.
Never let it be said that I’m a bad friend, because here I am, four hours later, willing my feet to stop aching while making sure she’s not in imminent danger of succumbing to alcohol poisoning.
Leah shifts and sashays to the beat of the thrumming club music, the white sash she’s wearing across the front of her outfit glimmering vibrantly under the multicolored lights. As if on cue, the rest of her bridal party emerges from the dance floor, their sequined dresses each flashing a little light show.
“Come on!” The one shrieking at Leah right now is named…Cassidy? Cassa
ndra? She’s been drinking at an incredible pace all night, but seemed to cut herself off about forty-five minutes ago. “This DJ is incredible.”
Leah takes my hand in hers, dancing toward me from around the table with a come-hither look in her eyes, and I can’t help but laugh. Dancing, though? That’s another story.
“Come with us, Kennedy!”
We’ve scored a private booth toward the back of the club, and the rest of the women’s purses are stacked toward the back of it hidden among a pile of light jackets and wraps I insisted that they bring, even if it was eighty-five degrees in the shade this afternoon. The way it is in New York City, if one August thunderstorm rolls in, we’ll all be glad to have something to wrap around our shoulders on the way home.
“Maybe in a few minutes.” I glance at the crowded booth. My own purse is right on top, so if somebody gets it into their heads that we’re easy targets, my wallet and ID will be the first to go missing.
Leah pouts, dropping my hand limply, and the others hover around her like a swarm of bees. The flash of sequins sparkles under the colored lights rotating above the dance floor as they encircle her on their way back to the center of the dance floor. I keep my eyes focused on them as they go, watching Leah and the other four women for any sign that they might have had too much to drink and need to down another glass of water before they do any more shots. They’ve probably hidden a few from me while they were out on the floor, so I’m including those in my running calculation of exactly how much risk we’re taking.
You’re letting it get the best of you, Kennedy, I tell myself after five minutes, when all of them still seem to be fine. We’re four years out of college. It’s not like binge-drinking is a regular pastime anymore—not that it ever was, not since the graduation party. In my mind, it’s the “Graduation Party”—before that party, everything was perfect, and after it? Nothing was ever the same.
Maybe that’s being a little dramatic, but it is what it is.
That’s what I’m debating in my mind, my hand curled around a fresh glass of Diet Coke, when the bachelorette returns to the booth with her other attendants in tow.
“Tequila shots!” Lily, one of the other girls we went to college with, cries out.
“No.” Cassandra shakes her head. “Let’s do Fireball!” She looks over at Leah with eyebrows raised, and my best friend throws her head back and laughs uproariously, her curls shaking.
“Ladies, ladies…” She holds her hands out between the two of them like she’s stopping a fight. “There’s room for both at this party!”
The rest of them let out a chorus of whoops and yeahs, but there’s a prickling in the pit of my gut, and the muscles start tightening across my shoulders. I press my lips together in a firm, thin line. Don’t say anything. They can handle it. They can make their own decisions—
But when they start looking around for the cocktail waitress who has been assigned to our table, I can’t keep my mouth shut a second longer.
“I don’t know if this is such a good idea…”
“Don’t worry so much, Kennedy.” Leah throws her arms around my neck and leans her head into my shoulder. “You’re my best friend in the entire world. I’m not going to let our little party do anything too dangerous, and you know it.”
The twist of anxiety curls up into my chest. “Maybe it would be best to…space them out a little.” I give my most winning smile to the girls gathered around Leah, but I notice Cassandra rolling her eyes at Lily. “Or maybe we could take a break for a little bit—we’ve got this amazing booth—”
I wriggle my shoulders in the direction of the booth, but nobody makes a move.
“Shots!” Jessica shouts out, and the rest of them start laughing and nodding in agreement. Lily starts up a chant. “Shots! Shots! Shots!”
“Guys—”
“It’s my bachelorette party, Kennedy! Loosen up!”
“Yeah,” a voice chimes in from somewhere off my elbow—a smooth, resonant voice that sends a shiver running down my spine. “It’s her bachelorette party. The next round is on me.”
The rest of the girls cheer, the pitch resounding from it higher than a cathedral ceiling. Leah’s eyes widen and a funny grin arcs on her face, and I turn to see the last person I ever expected to see standing inches away from me.
2
Gideon
The redheaded goddess I saw from across the room turns toward me like a skittish deer, moving back a little, putting a few more inches between us—the exact opposite of what I wanted her to do. Her lips fall open, like she can’t believe I interrupted her little sobriety speech by offering to buy another round of pure alcohol, but there’s no denying it.
“Tequila shots and a round of Fireball for these ladies!” The cocktail waitress that has been following me around all night jumps to do my bidding, weaving her way back through the crowd to the bar, hurrying as fast as she can on her six-inch spiked heels.
I turn back to admire the redhead, who has crossed her arms over her chest in a protective stance. Fire is blazing hot in her eyes, even though her friends are still cheering me on. She’s even more gorgeous up close than what she seemed when I first caught sight of her from across the club fifteen minutes ago. My friend Adam had punched my shoulder and pointed her out to me, straight across the dance floor from us.
“That’s the one.”
“That’s the one?” I’d taken another shot of whiskey and put the glass down in front of me on the table. “The love of your life?” Then I’d made a show of squinting across the sea of people. “Or are you talking about our cocktail waitress?”
He’d smirked at me. “I should have been more clear. She’s the one. That redhead over there—the one who’s been camped out at the table all night like they don’t have security watching the booth—she’s the one you have to convince.”
I took a second look.
From across the club, she looked good. Deep red hair glistening darkly under the club lights, her lithe curves offset by a form-fitting black dress…yeah, she was hot. It took me another minute, though, to see why Adam thought she’d be able to resist my charm.
The girl wouldn’t dance.
She wouldn’t do anything except eye her friends like a hawk, even when they tried to convince her to join them on the dance floor. She might have a flawless complexion and a tight, slender body that made me want to take her back to my penthouse right this instant, but there was no way she was going to let that happen. I could see it in the way she held herself, her back straight as a board, daring the world to step in her way.
Not that she seemed to be doing anything, other than looking unbelievably sexy under the club lights.
Up close, she’s a thousand degrees hotter, radiating a kind of erotic blend of irritation and surprise that sends goose bumps racing down the backs of my arms. My heart picks up inside my chest, beating hard when I catch the look in her eyes. This is the thrill of the chase, and the glare that she’s giving me makes me twice as determined to show her that standing around by the booth like an unpaid security guard is not how she should be spending her evening.
Adam must see it in my face, because he nudges me with his elbow, interrupting the standoff we’ve been having. Red’s friends are gathering closer, leaning in, and at least one of them knows who I am. I’m betting, by the expression on her face, that it’s the bachelorette herself.
“Sorry. My manners are for shit.” Every single one of them reacts to my signature grin except for Red, who breathes out through her nose and shifts her weight to the other side. “Congratulations on your upcoming wedding vows…”
I let the sentence hang in the air long enough for the bachelorette to come forward and extend her hand to shake like a high-powered businesswoman. “Leah Morgan…but not for long!” she cries, and her friends throw their hands up in the air and let out another ear-piercing cheer. “Thanks for the shots.”
“We really don’t need them,” Red interjects, her mouth pressing back into tha
t same thin line.
“Don’t worry.” I lean in like I’m telling her a secret, but I don’t lower my voice. “I can afford it.”
She raises her chin in the air. “I know you can.”
“Oh?” I turn toward her, catching a glimpse of her grinning best friend out of the corner of my eye. “Without me even having to tell you?”
She smirks a little. “You’re in this club, and cover isn’t cheap. Plus, I’ve seen your face plastered all over the gossip sites.”
“And you remembered my name? How flattering.”
Her pretty lips part again, but before she can speak, her face floods with color, and her chin drops a few inches. “I—” Clearly, she remembers my face, and the fact that I’m a member of New York City’s—and the world’s—ultra-wealthy, but my name has escaped her.
I lean in close to her again. “It’s okay. We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other tonight.”
She draws herself up to her full height and straightens her shoulders defensively. “I don’t think—”
I don’t get to hear what she was going to say, because the cocktail waitress reappears right then, her tray teeming with shots, and we’re caught up in another shrill cheer from the rest of the group. Red steels herself as the other women grab shot glasses off the tray, Adam playing the real gentleman and waiting for everyone else to take theirs before he accepts his.
“Adam Zeller. Which of you beautiful ladies aren’t about to get married?” His voice floats over my shoulder while I commit to locking eyes with Red. There’s a palpable energy zinging through the air between us, and I don’t want to—no, can’t—tear my eyes away.
I take two shots off the tray, never breaking her gaze, as Adam launches into the pitter-patter of his tired pick-up routine, which from all the giggling, seems to be going over pretty well with Red’s friends. With all their attention focused on him, it’s like there’s only the two of us in the club.