Relief crashes through me, and I press a kiss to her forehead, then her temple, then her lips. She tastes like tears and courage.
“Thank you,” I whisper, caressing her cheeks. “You won’t regret it. I promise.”
Her hand cups the side of my neck. “Until you, I didn’t think I’d ever feel like this. Like I matter. Like someone actually sees me. I’ve never had this kind of connection with anyone, Ronan. I’ve never been loved like this.”
“And I’ve never loved like this.” My voice is raw, fierce. “You changed me, Eleanor. You gave me something to fight for. You gave me a reason.”
She leans into me, curling into my chest as we speed toward the edge of everything we’ve ever known.
And I hold her tighter, already planning our escape, already dreaming of the future we’re about to steal back from the world that tried to break us.
This time, we get to write our own ending.
Epilogue
Hannah (Ellie)
One Year Later
The sun is lazy today.
A dark orange ball, spilling over the water like melted honey. Gentle waves float to the shore, the tide calm and slow, like everything else on this island.
Thailand feels like a dream I never want to wake up from.
I lie back against my towel, digging my toes into the warm, powdery sand, watching the silhouette of a man I love more than life itself walk out of the ocean like he owns it. He’s shirtless, board in one hand, black hair wet and long around his face, and the tattoos and scars on his chest—God, his chest—are glistening with water and sunshine.
My husband.
My Craig.
Even after twelve months together, it still feels a little surreal calling him that…as does answering to the name Hannah. One year ago, hiding behind our new identities, we exchanged quiet vows in a tiny candlelit church on a hill, just days after we arrived on the island. Just us, two fake names, and two very real hearts.
To the rest of the world, Ronan died in a tragic boat accident. Drowned trying to escape from the law, or so the news said. Burned wreckage, no body recovered.
To them, he’s gone.
To me, he’s here.
More alive than he’s ever been.
He drops the surfboard onto the sand and strolls toward me, wet hair dripping onto his tanned shoulders. He looks different now. More…free. More at peace. His body’s changed too—more muscled, stronger. His beard is fuller, the scruff wild around that sinful mouth of his. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s some rogue surfer god sent here to torment me.
He crouches beside me, all smug, sexy grin. “You checking me out again, Mrs. Walker?”
I smirk, tilting my sunglasses down to look at him. “You make it impossible not to.”
He leans in close, water droplets falling from his hair onto my chest. “I live to distract you.”
“You succeed,” I breathe.
And then he kisses me.
Not a sweet peck. Not a casual, married-for-a-year kind of kiss.
No, this is the kind that curls my toes and makes the sand feel like it’s melting beneath me. His mouth moves over mine like he’s starving. His hand slides under the edge of my bikini, finding the dip of my waist, pulling me closer as he groans against my lips.
“Ronan,” I whisper between kisses, and then quickly correct myself. “Craig—”
