Chapter 10 - Forever in Lisbon
Six months later, the Atlantic breeze smelled of wild lavender, salt spray, and warm orange blossoms.
The sun was sinking behind the hills of Sintra, painting the sky in deep shades of gold and violet. Below our private terrace, the terracotta rooftops of Lisbon tumbled toward the sparkling expanse of the ocean.
I leaned against the stone balustrade, a glass of crisp vinho verde in my hand, wearing a simple linen sun dress that fluttered in the evening wind. The ghost of Conrad Mercer’s debts, the corporate battles of Chicago, and the shadow of Julian Vance had dissolved into ancient history. Mercer-Vale Logistics was running smoother than ever, overseen by a trusted council back home while Roman and I spent the summer abroad.
A pair of strong arms slipped around my waist from behind.
Roman pulled me against his chest, burying his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply. He wore an unbuttoned white linen shirt, his skin tan from weeks in the Portuguese sun, the silver at his temples catching the golden hour light.
“What are you thinking about?” he murmured, his lips brushing the sensitive skin below my ear, sending that familiar, delicious shiver racing down my spine.
“I’m thinking about a girl who used to sit in that café by the square,” I said, pointing down toward the distant plaza. “She thought the man watching her from Chicago was a cruel, cold bastard who never noticed her.”
Roman turned me in his arms, resting his hands lightly on my hips, looking down at me with those lake-gray eyes that had once terrified me and now felt like home.
“He was a cold bastard,” Roman admitted, a tender smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Until she broke every rule he ever made.”
“Are you glad I walked past your desk that third time?” I teased, tilting my head up to meet his gaze.
Roman’s expression softened into something purely, endlessly warm. He reached down, taking the wine glass from my fingers and setting it aside, before sliding his hand to rest gently over my stomach.
Beneath his palm, barely noticeable unless you knew where to look, was the tiny, miraculous flutter of new life.
“I would have waited another ten years for you, Abigail,” Roman said, his voice deep and thick with reverence. “But having you here... holding you like this... it’s the only victory I’ve ever cared about.”
He leaned down and kissed me, slow and sweet, as the Portuguese stars began to pierce the twilight. The world had tried to define us by contracts, family debts, and the cold calculations of power. But as Roman pulled me closer against his heartbeat, I knew the truth.
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We hadn't just survived the game.
We had rewritten the rules, together, forever."
