79. Daniela

It’s been a grueling five weeks, but we’re healing—all of us. Even Antonio, who was shot twice, at close range. One of the bullets nicked an artery, and he lost a lot of blood. Fortunately, he’s young and healthy.

During the delicate surgery to repair the artery, I prayed, and prayed, and prayed. For him. For me. For all of us. He couldn’t die. We needed him. I needed him.

My most desperate prayers have never been answered. But that day, God granted my plea, despite what I’d done hours earlier.

I killed a man.

And I felt no remorse. Not then. Not now. Nor any day between. None.

That part is more unsettling than the fact that a man died by my hand. But the most chilling aspect is that I’d do it again—in a heartbeat.

I shed no tears over this revelation. Abel deserved to die.

Does that make me evil, destined for an eternity in hell?I’ll leave it in God’s hands to decide.

For now, my family is safe, and I’m packing for Gray and Delilah’s wedding. Although I highly doubt I’ll need everything I’ve laid out on the bed.

Antonio saunters into the bedroom with a manila envelope he tosses on the nightstand. Aside from a scar, his injuries have healed. No thanks to him. The doctor told me he’s the most non-compliant patient she’s ever met.

“I just spoke to Duarte,” he says, casually.

“And?”

“The doctor cleared him to come back to work after the first of the year.”

I smile until my cheeks hurt. We’re still not exactly sure how Duarte survived. The experts believe that Lara didn’t use enough of the toxin to kill him—perhaps because she was nervous about coming into contact with it herself. But it was enough to make him very ill, and it’s been unclear, until now, if there would be lasting damage that would prevent him from working.

“We’re not moving to Charleston,” Antonio quips, surveying the piles of clothes on the bed. “It’s just a vacation.”

“One more word about how much I’m taking, and you’ll have two injured shoulders.”

He laughs. It’s not forced or heavy. My whole heart smiles.

His mood is lighter these days, even with all that’s happened.

It wouldn’t have gone as well for him—for us—if he hadn’t been wearing a listening device. His men were close, but they entered the house when they did because they heard the commotion.

I pray the luck continues, and the new year brings a fresh start for all of us.

“I’m not here to discuss your penchant for overpacking. I have something for you.”

“An early Christmas present?”

“No. Although, maybe for me.” He pulls me close and sweeps my hair behind my ear like he does when he has something important to say.

“If this is bad news, save it for later. Like after the holidays—if it can wait.”

“Marry me,” he says, without preamble.

I cock my head, my pulse racing. Marry me?

Antonio swallows the knot in his throat. “Will you marry me?”

I smile at the inflection at the end of the request. “You’re getting good at that.”

“It’s like learning a new language—a hell of a lot of work. But that’s not an answer.”

“Maybe I need a minute to mull it over. It’s an important decision.”

“You need time?” he asks, uncertainty weaving into his voice.

My heart melts. I don’t think I’ve ever heard uncertainty from him before.

I shake my head. “I would marry you any day, anytime, anywhere. I don’t need to think about it. But unless that thing we did earlier this year was fake, we’re already married.”

“I want you to choose.” He reaches for the manila envelope and pulls out a laminated piece of paper, holding it up for me to see.

It’s the betrothal contract he signed with my father. After he’s sure I know what it is, he takes it over to the fireplace and tosses it into the fire.

The significance grips me, as I watch the flames eat away at the vestiges of the past.

“I’m releasing you from the betrothal contract,” he announces, while my eyes are riveted on the flames. “I want the marriage to be on our terms. Partners.”

Partners.The tears well, as the emotion twirls inside—broad satin ribbons in joyous colors, dancing to a jubilant tune. All I’ve ever wanted from him is to be his partner in life.

“I choose you,” I say without hesitation, “and your love. Over everything else, always.”

Before the words are out, he drags me to him and claims my mouth until my knees are so weak, I cling to him to stay upright.

His hand is still splayed at my nape, with his fingers in my hair. He tugs my head back gently, to capture my gaze.

He’s achingly beautiful. Not just when he smiles, but in those raw, intense moments, like now.

“I don’t have a ring for you.”

“I have one.” I smile, lifting my right hand.

“Let’s find something that doesn’t remind you—”

I put my fingers to his lips. “I want to be reminded of where we began, and where we are now. The journey is uniquely ours. The rocky stretches and the rolling plains. All of it.” I hold out my hand and gaze at the ring, the diamonds sparkling in the light. “I love this ring. It helped you find me.”

He kisses the bridge of my nose and pulls away. “While I didn’t bring a ring, I brought you this.” He hands me the envelope that held the betrothal contract.

“There’s more?”

“Open it.”

I pull out some documents. The top one is a deed, conveying Quinta Rosa do Vale to me. My hands shake uncontrollably as I read, and reread the document.

“It’s yours,” he says unequivocally. “Back in your family, where it belongs. You can do whatever you want with it.”

I smile, thinking about those precious grapes that I doubt he’s walking away from completely. Even in this charming, generous moment, he’s still Antonio, after all.

“Whatever I want?”

He nods. “Whatever you want. I considered putting in a clause that gave me the right of first refusal if you decide to sell the property. But then it really wouldn’t be a gift. At least not the kind of gift my soul wanted to convey.”

I wrap my arms around his neck, and he holds me against his pounding heart while I reflect on the magnitude of his gift.

“What would you have done, if I said I didn’t want to marry you?”

“I was pretty confident.”

I tip my head back, and he smirks—that arrogant, panty-melting smirk that makes me want to climb all over him.

“But when the idea came to me, I was in Morocco. I’d burned a lot of your goodwill before I left. I wasn’t sure you’d ever forgive me. But I decided then, that I would abide by your decision, even if I hated it.”

I search his face for evidence of the contrary. A gleam in his eye.Another smirk. Something. But all I find is love and a rare humility. He means it.

I’ve never loved this man more.

“Although,” he teases, tossing me over his shoulder, like he didn’t have life-saving surgery five weeks ago, “I would have forever stalked my dirty princesa and killed any man who dared speak her name.” He might not be teasing.

Antonio drops me on the bed, his eyes flaring with the kind of darkness I ache for. No matter how intimate and tender a moment might be, my dark prince is never far away.