Page 17 of Before the Fall

I smile as he cradles my face and presses his forehead to mine. “I missed you too. I’ll never leave again. I promise.”

With a sigh of pure happiness, I rest my head on his shoulder. The past is gone. I can forgive him for everything, and our future together is all I’ve ever wanted.

“I love you, Tia.”

I never thought I’d hear him say those beautiful words again, and now that I have, I don’t think I could be happier.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Jaxon

Tia lies next to me with her head on my chest as I slowly remember the reason we’re here. Nobody but Ryker and Cason know we’re using this house, except the cook, but my uncle swears she’s good. We just need to stay here until Ryker handles the Victor situation.

Not that it’s a bad place to hang out for a month. Five bedrooms, six bathrooms, and ten acres of gorgeous land to explore isn’t exactly slumming it. But to be honest, I’d rather be at Tia’s apartment, even though it’s cramped compared to this house. We don’t need a cook or all these bedrooms, but mostly, I love that place after only one time being there because where she calls home I want to call home.

For now, that’s just a dream of mine I haven’t even shared with her. I’d give anything to be able to settle down like Ryker, Cason, and Kane. I can’t, though. Not yet.

Maybe when this Victor problem is solved that will change.

Nothing would make me happier than being able to ask Tia to marry me. But I can’t do that when my job is to be an enforcer for my family. That’s no life for her or a kid, and whenever I think of us together in the future, it involves kids and a house where they can play and have the kind of childhood I never had.

As I daydream about that future for us, Tia lifts her head and smiles at me. “You’re really quiet. Everything okay?”

I’d love to tell her about what I dream about for the two of us, but I won’t. Not until I know there’s a real chance I can give her the life she deserves. I won’t make plans when it’s far too possible I could be dead the next time I have to do a job.

Squeezing her to me, I answer her question. “Never been better, although I’m thinking it’s nearly time we got that chef to wow us with something great to eat. Ryker raves about her, so I’m hoping she’s as good as he says.”

Tia’s expression grows dark at my mention of the other person living in this house with us. “Are you sure she’s not going to tell anyone I’m here? You don’t even know her.”

I nod, as sure about this cook woman as I am about everything else. “Ryker wouldn’t send her here if she wasn’t safe. Trust me. She’s good.”

As she returns to resting her head on my chest, Tia sighs. “Okay. I trust you, and if you trust her, then I’m okay. By the way, what is her name? We can’t call her cook lady.”

I smile at the thought of that. “Her name is Ivy.”

For a few seconds, Tia doesn’t say anything, but then she sits up and looks at me strangely. “Ivy? How old is this chef? I got the feeling she was older than someone with the name Ivy.”

I have no idea what that means nor do I have a clue as to how old the cook is. I’ve only seen her a couple times since I brought Tia here, and I wasn’t exactly paying close attention.

“Is there an age criteria for names? I didn’t know.”

Tia twists her face into a grimace. “You know what I mean.”

“Actually, I’m not sure what you mean, but why don’t you lie back down? I was enjoying how cozy we felt,” I say as I pull her down toward me.

She resists, though, shaking her head. “What does this cook named Ivy look like?”

I shrug, unsure why we need to be talking about the person whose only job is to cook our meals for the next month. “Dark hair. Longish. Maybe to the middle of her back. I’m not sure. All the times I’ve seen her, she’s been wearing it up in a ponytail.”

Honestly, I don’t think I’ve noticed anything else about her. Oh, yeah. There is that tattoo she has that’s sort of cool.

“A ponytail?”

Nodding, I add, “Yeah. That’s the only way I saw her spider tattoo on the side of her neck.”

For some reason, Tia looks horrified. I don’t think it could be the tattoo. I have dozens of them, and she’s always liked them.

“A chef with a tattoo who wears a ponytail?” she asks in a tone that tells me none of that pleases her.