Epilogue

" W hat do you want to do today, love?" Soren asked Ilaria as they laid out on the lounge chairs of their Bora Bora bungalow that sat over the turquoise lagoon.

"This," Ilaria replied sleepily. "Just this. And make love." Her legs were entwined with his, as were their fingers. "Maybe I'll eat."

Soren squeezed her fingers, reassuring himself that this was real, that she was really here with him. He hadn't been able to stop touching her ever since she came to Scotland with her proposal.

Afterward, his family celebrated their union and reunion, all of them saying they had known since they were teenagers that the two of them were destined for each other, and that it really was about fucking time.

Then Soren decided he was long overdue for a holiday, as Galen had already been saying. So they took ten days in the most luxurious, most private place he could think of, where no one else could ask them for anything, and there were no problems to solve. A place where they only had each other to focus on.

And that's how they ended up in Bora Bora. Even though Soren was sure all the other bungalows were occupied, it was so private that it seemed as if they had the island to themselves.

At first, it was so quiet they didn't know what to do with themselves. Even without hitmen, assassination attempts, and drug manufacturing, their normal everyday lives brought problems to solve.

None of which existed on this island. After the initial shock of no problems to fix, they learned about each other, continuing where they had left off in Chicago. Their conversations ranged from deep, serious, and philosophical to frivolous, superficial, and trivial. From "Do you believe in God?" to "What side of the bed do you prefer?"

"What's your favorite food?" Ilaria asked one night over dinner. It was rapid-fire trivia time.

Soren popped a fried calamari in his mouth. "Chocolate chip cookies."

"What food do you hate?"

"Celery."

"What's your favorite book?"

"Meditations by Marcus Aurelius."

"What's your actual favorite book?"

"The Harry Potter series."

"What music do you listen to when you're happy?"

"Jazz."

"What music do you listen to when you're sad?"

"Jazz."

"What's your biggest pet peeve about other people?"

"When they talk too much. And when they try too hard to be liked. And when they talk too much."

"How many kids do you want to have?"

"Eight."

"What??"

"Just kidding. Two."

"At what age did you lose your virginity?"

"Fifteen."

"How was it?"

"It was fine."

"Just fine?"

"Just fine."

"How was it for her?"

"No idea. She said she liked it, and then the next day she went out with someone else."

"How long did you last?"

"Three minutes."

"Really?"

"Okay, more like thirty seconds."

"How soon after you first met me did you want to kiss me?"

"Immediately. I was really disappointed you didn't take me up on my offer to be your first kiss."

"Damn, I wish I'd known that."

"Okay, my turn." Soren cracked his knuckles.

Ilaria stretched her neck on both sides. "I'm ready."

"Favorite food?"

"Pasta. Obviously."

"Food you hated as a kid?"

"Tuna."

"Favorite movie?"

"Gladiator. And the Harry Potter series."

"Worst hairstyle?"

"Perm in sixth grade."

"Something you wished you learned as a kid."

"How to play the piano."

"Who was your first kiss, if not me?"

"Bobby Walker when I was thirteen."

"He sounds like a douche. How was it?"

"Wet."

"When did you lose your virginity?"

"Freshman year of college. Scott Johnson."

"He sounds like a bigger douche. How long did he last?"

"Longer than thirty seconds. He was a senior."

"I hate him. Did you come?"

"No. I pretended so that he'd hurry up."

"What did you like about me when we were kids?"

"You were the most beautiful boy I'd ever seen. And the smartest. And you were intense. Anytime you cracked a smile at me, I was on top of the world."

"That first time I kissed you, would you have slept with me if I hadn't stopped us?"

"No question."

After that, Soren dragged Ilaria to bed and there was no more talking.

On other evenings, they would spend all night on one topic. Everything was fair game. Everything he ever wondered about her—and vice versa—he asked.

But as was the case with busy, ambitious people, quiet, downtime was only wonderful in small doses, and they soon got the urge to go back home and get shit done.

They flew to Chicago so that Soren could officially meet all of Ilaria's family. All the women—of all ages—fell in love with Soren and started naming their favorite body parts of his.

"His eyes."

"His jaw and stubble beard."

"His eight-pack abs."

"When have you seen his eight-pack abs?" Ilaria accused.

"Through his shirt. I can just tell."

The time was also here for the Carosis and MacGregors to actually work together. Soren appointed two MacGregors, Malcolm and Rory, to spend a few months in Chicago and learn the ropes from Gia and Peter. If things worked out well, they would move to Chicago.

Gia loved the idea and invited Rory to tag along on all her meetings for the next month.

Peter was less enthused. He was, however, a little in awe of Soren and therefore tempered his complaints. "Maybe I'm not the right person to bring Malcolm up to speed," he hedged.

"What are you worried about?" Ilaria asked.

Peter grimaced, glancing sideways at Soren.

"In case you were wondering, Malcolm and Rory won't be taking any of your portfolio businesses," Soren clarified. "They'll only take new businesses we acquire. Right now, they're only shadowing you to learn the American customs, see how things are done around here."

"Oh." Peter's face brightened. "Well, in that case, they're more than welcome."

Soren slapped Peter on the shoulder. "You're doing a great job, so keep it up."

Peter couldn't look more pleased.

"You have a new superfan," Ilaria whispered to Soren, who chuckled.

***

"Shoot, I forgot my jacket." Ilaria looked at Soren sheepishly just as he sat down in his first-class seat and buckled himself in. "Babe, can you get it from my bag in the overhead?"

After a week of setting expectations and coordinating personnel logistics in Chicago, Soren and Ilaria decided to go back to Scotland. Despite the hectic travel for the foreseeable future, Soren would gladly endure it as long as Ilaria was with him.

He leaned into her ear. "If you're cold, you can just snuggle up to me."

She smiled and patted him on the cheek. "I'll do that anyway, but I'd still like my jacket. Pretty please?" She batted her eyelashes at him.

And of course Soren couldn't say no to her. He wanted to give her everything. When Ilaria was happy, he felt invincible. So he had spent the last three glorious weeks keeping her happy.

And he planned to do just that for as long as they both shall live.

There was still a long line of people boarding the plane, but the line paused, and Soren saw an opening to stand back up, step into the aisle, and open up the overhead compartment.

As he unzipped Ilaria's carry-on bag, a man—laden down with three carry-on bags and a baby bag—who was now stuck waiting for Soren scoffed under his breath. "What the fuck, dude?"

Soren's eyes narrowed, and he turned scathing eyes to the unlucky guy who voiced his impatience at the wrong time. But before he could tear Impatient Guy a new asshole, Ilaria jumped in.

"It's my fault," she said with a dazzling smile. "I forgot to get my jacket out of my bag and insisted that my boyfriend get it out for me."

Impatient Guy blinked at Ilaria, expression turning sheepish. At that moment, the woman behind him, carrying a toddler who was straining in her arms, grabbed his shoulder. "Honey, I need the baby's bottle."

He looked down at his hands, which were completely full. With a sigh, he dropped everything, right in the middle of the aisle, reached down and pulled out the bottle of milk, and handed it to the woman.

"Thanks, hun," said his wife. She immediately stuffed the bottle into the toddler's mouth, who sucked greedily.

Looking relieved, Impatient Guy proceeded to pick up each bag one by one.

By now, Soren had retrieved Ilaria's jacket and slid back into his seat. As Impatient Guy passed, with his wife and son in tow, he met Soren's eyes, and they nodded at each other in understanding: this was what men did to keep their loved ones happy.

Soren wanted all of it—the fussy kid, the frazzled wife, and all the love, comfort, and security that came with it. And he never realized until recently how his old ideas of security—and his determination to have it in such a specific way—had cut him off from the love and comfort he also wanted.

So now he had it all, and it only took surrendering control and giving up the idea that his life had to look a certain way. He still couldn't believe what a lucky bastard he was.

And Soren's life was about to become even better. Well, he hoped. He felt the jeweler's box in his right pocket. Even now, he still felt a seed of uncertainty. Even though Ilaria had technically agreed to a partnership in marriage and had signed over half of her family's business to the MacGregors, still a seed of doubt crossed his mind.

He had purchased the ring right after he got back to Scotland in a moment of clarity in which he envisioned his life in the future. And he had brought the ring with him on their holiday, looking for the right moment. Despite all the romantic places they had come across, none of them seemed right.

Yet somehow the urge to ask her had risen in the least romantic place of the last three weeks: on an airplane. But if he didn't ask her now, the doubts would overtake him, and he might lose his nerve altogether.

Ilaria had shrugged on her jacket and was turning every which way to find the connecting points of the seat belt. "Where is the buckle?" she muttered.

Soren grasped his hand on the ring box again to bolster his nerve. Then he lowered the tray table in front of her and laid the open ring box in the middle of it.

She was still looking down at her seat, finally finding the buckle and clasping it with a click.

When she glanced up, she froze for a split second, then swiveled her head to Soren.

He gave her a soft smile. "Ilaria Carosi, will you do me the greatest honor of being my wife? Will you marry me?"

Ilaria released a loud squeal at a volume much too loud on an airplane. "Yes, I will marry you." She grabbed the sides of his face and smacked a kiss on him, then threw her arms around his neck.

Her squeal had caught the attention of the other passengers around them, who all started to applaud.

With shaky fingers, Soren took the ring and slipped it on her finger as she gasped. "My God, you have good taste."

The woman across the aisle nudged her husband on the arm and pointed. "Yes, he does have good taste!"

Ignoring everyone except the woman in front of him, he cupped Ilaria's face with both hands and gave her a deep, searing, toe-curling kiss.

Applause, cheering, and cat-calls rang around them.

The flight attendant walked up and gave them a bubbly smile. "Congratulations! I'm so happy for you. But we're about to take off, so I need you to bring your tray table up."

"Oops." Ilaria quickly slammed up the tray and twisted the lock. Then she turned back to Soren. "I love you," she whispered.

"I love you," Soren whispered back. "Remember when we were talking about our dreams as kids?"

"Mm-hmm," she nodded as she searched his eyes.

"You were my dream. It was always you. You are my wildest dream come true."