Page 125 of Discretion at Its Finest

Does Eugene even remember me?

Would he recognize me now?

The only pictures I saw of them was when I received a letter from Jamie many years back. She was still as sick as she was when I left, still fighting the cancer, being the brightest light in the miserable experience we all know as life. I hadn’t talked to her in so long. Didn’t know how Raymond was doing with his cancer or how their treatments had been going. Reid could’ve known, but he never brought up the subject.

To keep my mind off the past, I tried to keep myself busy when he was away given I could only bear so much corporate nonsense in a day. I’d read three books this week. Or maybe it was four. The pages blurred together after a while.

I cooked when I wanted something else to do, watered the plants I dragged through every flight since we were never in one country for too long. On the good days, I let myself actually enjoy where we’d landed for as long as I could before we were back on the jet again.

Behind me, a low hum sounded, the rotor blades chopping the air in slow, heavy pulses as the helicopter descended onto our private pad. The same pad tucked so deep into this island that even maps pretended it didn’t exist.

As the propellers slowed, I let out a soft breath of relief.

Reid was home.

I smoothed my hands down the front of my dress. It was a soft cotton one with a milkmaid cut he loved on me.

A few moments later, the sliding glass door opened. And before I knew it, warm hands slipped around my waist from behind, pulling me back into a chest I knew too well. His scent, expensive and masculine, settled around me.

“Sorry I’m late,” he murmured into the side of my neck, his lips brushing my skin. “The helicopter had issues on takeoff, and Adams refused to end the meeting without three more contingencies.” I gave a small smile as he continued. “He’s convinced he needs more safeguards to protect his company. I told him the world has more immediate problems… but you know first-hand, billionaires love to fantasize about hypothetical disasters instead of dealing with the real ones.”

When he noticed I wasn’t answering, he turned me in his hold, pulling me closer as he gazed into my eyes.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

I didn’t answer. Just looked at the man I got to call mine. The man who noticed every little thing and made me his priority over the entire world. He obviously had more important things to worry about than my constant pouting or sadness. But he always put me first.

Time was doing him well. While he was consistently noticing the amount of grey hairs peeking through, I couldn’t help but notice them for a different reason—a rather lewd reason that led to me ultimately pulling said grey hairs as we made love on the beach front. But with the way he was looking at me… I had to save the dirty thoughts for later.

“I’m fine…” I muttered, kissing him on the lips briefly.

He rested his head against mine, pressing his fingers into my hips. “You know I know that’s not the truth.”

“It is.”

He nipped at my lip.“Liar,”he murmured against my lips.

A quiet giggle slipped out of me before I could stop it, my hands finding the sides of his face. My thumbs grazed his jaw, the silver threaded through his light stubble, the hints of grey at his temples.

God, those grey hairs made me weak.

His fingers pressed a little deeper into my hips, pulling me out of my head.

“Vieve,” he whispered knowingly. My throat tightened. Reid tilted his head, brushing a tender kiss across my cheekbone. “You only get that look,” he murmured, “when you’ve been thinking aboutthem.”

My breath hitched.

He didn’t push further, never did when it came to this. We didn’t talk about the children often. When I cried, he just held me instead, arms tight, firm and warm around me as he made me whole again every time I fell apart.

I leaned into him now, forehead pressed to the hollow of his throat, breathing him in until my lungs hurt.

“I don’t want to forget their faces,” I whispered. “But every year… it gets harder to see them clearly.”

His arms tightened protectively. “You won’t forget,” he said against my hair. “I won’t let you.”

My lips trembled. “You say that,” I breathed, “but what if they… what if Eugene forgets me?”

Reid pulled back just enough to look at me. “Genevieve,” he murmured, “a child never forgets the mother who made them feel loved.”