Page 75 of Forbidden Fruit
She frowns slightly. "You never told me exactly what happened this morning."
We continue walking, my arm around her waist. At this hour, the park is peaceful, the city's chaos muted by trees and distance.
"He thought I'd pay him to go away," I say finally. "When that didn't work, he tried threatening me."
"With what?" Her voice is small, concerned.
"Nothing he can follow through on." I press a kiss to her temple. "I have evidence of his... financial indiscretions at the company. Enough to press charges if I wanted to."
She stops walking abruptly. "You're blackmailing Jack?"
"I prefer to think of it as leverage." I turn to face her fully. "Becca, he stole from my company. He betrayed my trust. And he hurt you, repeatedly, for years." My voice hardens on the last words. "I'm not sorry for holding him accountable."
She studies my face, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she nods. "I understand. Just... don't do anything you'll regret. Not for me."
"Everything I do is for you now," I admit. "But I promise not to cross any lines you wouldn't be comfortable with."
Her smile returns, softening her features. "That's all I ask."
We continue our walk, talking about lighter things—the summer charity gala she's planning and the weekend trip to the Hamptons we're considering. By the time we circle back toward Fifth Avenue, it's nearly eleven.
"Any regrets?"
"Of course not," she reminds me with a laugh.
"Just checking." I signal for a taxi. "Making sure you're not having second thoughts after our public debut."
She leans into me as a cab pulls up. "No second thoughts. I am right where I belong.”
“We both are, my love. We both are.”
Epilogue
Becca: Four Years Later
Isquint against the dazzling Cozumel sunlight as I squeeze another dollop of sunscreen into my palm. "Hold still, little man," I plead, trying to pin down our squirming toddler.
Liam protests, his chubby legs kicking in frustration as I attempt to cover every inch of his exposed skin.
"Just a little more on your nose," I say, dabbing the white cream onto his button nose. His freckles—just like mine—are already starting to appear across his cheeks despite my vigilant sun protection routine. "We don't want you turning into a lobster, do we?"
Liam giggles at that, momentarily distracted enough for me to finish the job. At two and a half, Liam is a perfect blend of Clive and me—my dark hair and freckles, Clive's piercing blue eyes, and stubborn chin. And unfortunately, Clive's fearlessness, too.
"Done!" I announce, capping the sunscreen bottle and securing the small life vest around his neck and chest. "Now you can go find Daddy."
Liam doesn't need to be told twice. He scrambles to his feet and races across the pristine white sand toward the dock where Clive is preparing our sailboat. I watch as my husband spots our son running toward him, dropping what he's doing to scoop Liam into his arms, tossing him playfully into the air before settling him on his shoulders.
The sight still takes my breath away—this powerful man who runs a global empire reduced to a puddle by our toddler's gap-toothed smile.
"You coming, Bec?" Clive calls, one hand steadying Liam on his perch, the other shading his eyes as he looks my way.
"Just packing up," I call back, gathering our things. I slip my cover-up over my bikini, grab our bag, and make my way down to the dock.
The sailboat gleams white against the turquoise water. "The Rebecca" is painted elegantly across the stern. It was Clive's anniversary gift to me last year—"Something worthy of carrying your name," he said when he presented it to me.
"Everything set?" I ask, stepping carefully onto the boat.
Clive nods, lowering Liam to the deck. "Life jackets are ready, the cooler is stocked, and I've checked the weather three times. Clear skies all day." He pulls me close, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Happy anniversary, Mrs. Bishop."
