Unveiled (Page 121)

‘Say it again!’ I blurt, recoiling as a result of my own abruptness but declining from apologising. I’m too dazed. The mild sign of a twitching lip would usually have my own lips twitching in response. Not today, though. Today I’m useless.

Miller takes a deep breath, reaches forward, grabs the sheets at my chest with his fists, and yanks me to him. We’re nose to nose, twinkling bright blues on wide, unsure sapphires. ‘Marry me, sweet girl. Be mine forever.’

My lungs burn under the strain of holding my breath. I didn’t want any noise when he repeated what I thought he said, including breathing. ‘Oooooh,’ I exhale it all on that silly gush of comprehension. ‘I thought you never wanted to marry officially?’ I had got my head around it. His written word and spoken promise are more than enough for me. Like Miller, I don’t need witnesses or religion to validate what we have.

Lush lips straighten. ‘I’ve changed my mind and we’ll speak no more of it.’

My mouth drops open in shock. Just like that? I would ask what’s changed, but I think it’s probably obvious, and I’m not going to question it. I’d told myself Miller was right, and I really did believe it. Maybe because he made sense, or maybe because he seemed so adamant. ‘But why are you in the lift?’ My thoughts spill from my mouth as I sit before him, trying to wrap my mind around what’s happening.

Miller’s slips into thought and takes a risky peek of his surroundings, but he soon centres his attention back on me. ‘I can do anything for you.’ He speaks quietly, surely.

I get it.

If he can do this, then he literally can do anything for me.

‘My life has fallen into place, Olivia Taylor. Now I am who I’m supposed to be. Your lover. Your friend. Your husband.’ He drops his gaze to my tummy and I watch in wonder as his eyes take on a peaceful edge. They’re smiling eyes. ‘Our baby’s father.’

I leave him undisturbed while he stares at my stomach for what seems an eternity. It gives me time to let his declaration settle. Miller Hart isn’t your average man. He’s a man beyond any reasonable ability to describe. I think I have that ability now. Because I know him. Everyone, including me one time, used words they deemed fitting when describing Miller.

Detached. Emotionless. Unloving. And unlovable.

He was never any of those things, although he tried his damn hardest to be. And succeeded quite successfully. He repelled positivity and welcomed detriment. Like his paintings, he tarnished his natural beauty. Miller Hart’s walls were built so high, there was a risk no one would ever breach them. Because that is how he wanted it to be. I didn’t bash those walls down on my own. Brick by brick, he dismantled them with me. He wanted to show me the man he truly wanted to be. For me. There’s nothing in this world that could give me greater pleasure or satisfaction than seeing Miller smile. A simple thing, I know, but not in our world. Every smile he gives me is indicative of true happiness, and despite his signature cool impassiveness, I will never live with the worry of reading him. His eyes are a sea of emotion that I’m certain only I can construe. I’ve completed the Miller Hart induction programme. I’ve aced that damn course. Yet I’m under no illusion that I did it alone. Our worlds collided and exploded. I deciphered him and he deciphered me.

There was him and there was me.

And now there is only us.

‘You can be whoever you want to be,’ I whisper, moving forward, needing to be closer to him.

Inconceivable peace reflects back at me when we’re looking at each other again. ‘I want to be your husband.’ He speaks softly and quietly. ‘Marry me, Olivia Taylor. I beg you.’ His demand steals my breath. ‘Please don’t make me repeat myself, sweet girl.’

‘But—’

‘I’m not finished.’ His finger meets my lips to hush me. ‘I want you to be mine in every way possible, including in the eyes of God.’

‘But you’re not a religious man,’ I remind him stupidly.

‘If he accepts you as mine, then I’ll be whatever he wants me to be. Marry me.’

I crumble with happiness and throw myself into his arms, feeling overwhelmed by the intensity of my feelings for my perfect gentleman.

He catches me. Holds me tightly. Injects an incredible amount of certainty into me.

‘As you wish,’ I whisper.

I feel him smile into my neck and constrict me in his grip. ‘I’m using my intuition here,’ he says quietly, ‘and I’m going to suggest that you mean yes.’

‘Correct,’ I whisper, smiling into his neck.

‘Good. Now get me out of this fucking lift.’

Epilogue

Six years later

It’s off by at least five millimetres.

And it’s bugging the God-loving hell out of me. My damn hands are twitching and my drumming fingers are speeding up by the second.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine.

‘It’s not fucking fine,’ I bark to myself, diving forward and poking my laptop to the left. I know the sense of released pressure is unreasonable, really, I do, but I just can’t figure out why I should leave it so horribly out of place when a split second of my time can put it where it should be. I frown to myself and settle back in my chair, feeling a whole lot better. Therapy is clearly working a treat.

A soft rapping pulls my attention away from my perfectly placed laptop and to my office door. That delicious wave of happiness mixed with a ton of other emotions sails through me like lightning, the fireworks beginning to explode beneath my skin at her known closeness.