Aiden shakes his head. “He won’t implicate Javier. If anything, he’ll help him.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Will this satisfy the DOJ? Will it make them stop before they get to me?”

Aiden’s hand squeezes mine—my skin bursts into flames. “I’ve sent the info to Bob. We’ll know more in a couple of days, love.”

His sentences are muffled by that one big word. “You called me love again.”

“You’ll always be my love.” His voice is so finite that my chest starts convulsing. This witness doesn’t change anything between us, does it?

“What about the last few days?” I breathe.

His right hand flies behind his back and his jaw flexes. “Love doesn’t change the last few days.”

I turn the words in my head. They sound backward. “You won’t kick me out?” I verify in unambiguous English.

The light dims in his eyes. “Not until you want to leave.”

“That will never happen.”

The flicker of light goes out. Abruptly, almost with an audible click. The void it leaves behind in his face is staggering. His features fold into a veil of desolation—utterly empty and barren. The change is so drastic that I gasp and cup his face like my fingers will shoot life into it.

“I will never leave you. I love you. Always,” I say with force.

He nods as, inch by inch, he brings his face back under control and tries to lighten his voice. “Did I hear a truck and some marching orders about where the roses should be delivered?”

I keep my hands on his face. “Kiss me.”

But I don’t wait. I lunge at him—fingers pulling his hair like hooks, arms vising his face, legs gripping his hips. So forceful is my attack that the chair tilts and he gasps, giving my tongue an in. Ah, his taste!

It takes a few strokes of tongue before I realize that the gentle hold on my shoulders is actually a push. I press myself into him further but he leans away, tipping up my face.

“No, love.” His voice is low.

“Please?” I whisper, trying to hold my body together. I don’t know if it’s trembles or dry sobs.

His jaw flexes in inner battle. When he speaks, his voice is back to even. “I miss it too. More than you know. But it’s no longer right.”

“It’s always right between us, Aiden.”

He blows on my lips once and—before I can blink, breathe or mount another attack—holds out his hand for me.

“We have a tree to plant,” he says.

* * * * *

Aiden surveys the crimson rose bushes scattered along the tilled perimeter in a perfect half circle. They’re already in bloom. Marshall’s fir stands sentinel across from us, the first tree before the forest starts.

“Douglas-fir?” Aiden asks as we traipse across the lawn.

“Yes. I thought it was a good choice for him. Tall, strong and always green.”

I ruffle the needles as we reach the young sapling. It’s only as tall as me now but, with time, it may reach up to three hundred feet.

Aiden reaches out a steady hand, grips the slender trunk and shakes it gently.

“Thank you,” he says with a strong, leashed emotion. “It suits him.”

I lean my head on his shoulder. “He’ll be around for a long time.” Like Lady Clare, I can’t call Marshall’s fir an “it”.

He nods and his eyes roam over the rose bushes. “Why fourteen?” he asks.

“One for each of our family members.”

Aiden swallows and a crease deepens where his dimple used to be. “Not English roses?”

“No. American Beauty.”

He turns to face me, his body close. So very close. The flicker of light I saw earlier gleams again in his eyes. I rest my head on his chest.

“I thought it made sense to start our garden this way. Then we can add later…” For a little Peter. Or a little Clare.

If he hears the unspoken future, he doesn’t comment. But he does wrap his arms gently around me. I stand still not to ruin it.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmurs.

“Like you.”

And I’ve ruined it.

He drops his arms, muscles tensing, and picks up Marshall. “Come on, put on your gloves. Are you wearing sunscreen?”

“Yes,” I grumble. Who cares about sunburn when the rest of me is blazing already?

He marches to the hole he dug earlier and bends to lower Marshall in.

“Wait! Wait!” I call, chasing after him. “Just a second, give me your phone!”

The V appears between his eyebrows but he reaches in his pocket and hands me his iPhone.

I tap and scroll until I find what I want. “I think we need some music for this.”

He frowns but then his forehead locks in understanding. His posture tenses as though bracing for impact. The tectonic plates shift for the first time in the last three days. He gives me a swift, jerky nod. I grip his hand and wait as his eyes roam my face. The instant they lighten to turquoise, I tap the screen and turn up the volume.

“Well, I got a woman,” Ray Charles booms into the air.

Aiden’s breathing picks up, his shoulders ripple, but he doesn’t look away from me. I lean into his chest, wrapping my arms around him as, atom by atom, the tension leaves his body and he sighs.

“You did it,” I murmur, wiping my tears inconspicuously on his T-shirt.

By the time the song finishes, Aiden pulls away. I think he’s about to silence the iTunes but he taps the screen and Ray starts all over again. He rests the phone on the grass and, together, with synchronous movements, we lower Marshall into the ground. Big hands, small hands, tilling my own piece of land, covering the roots until the fir stands on his own.

“Grow well, Marshall,” I whisper, shuffling his needles.

Chapter Fifty

Allegiance

“Elisa! Elisa! Baby, wake up!” Aiden’s voice is urgent in my ear, his hand shaking my shoulder gently.

I jolt up, my heart racing.

“What? Aiden, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, love. Here, Bob wants to talk to you.” He shoves his phone into my hand but my fingers are shaking so badly that it drops on the covers twice. Finally, I grip it along with the sheet and press it to my pounding ear.

“Hello?” My voice is in shreds.

“Elisa, Bob here.” His voice echoes in the bedroom, and I realize he’s on speaker.

“Yes?” I clutch Aiden’s hand.

“Did Mr. Hale tell you about the witness?”

“Yes, he said you’d let us know?”

“Yes. Well, I think we have an out, dear. I just got a call from the DOJ. They’ve reviewed the evidence and have put the investigation on pause. They feel they have enough to prosecute Feign.”

“Really?” My voice is going to shatter the glass wall.

“Yes. Obviously they don’t disclose witness names but I got the substance of the testimony. It incriminates Feign enough to charge him.”

“What about my friend? Was there anything there about him?”

“No, dear, but of course, if other clients come forward or the state wants to push maximum sentence, they may rehash it. But by then, hopefully, you’ll have your green card and you can protect your friend.”

I try to fight the warmth on my skin before I lose everything again. “What do we do next?”

“We need to file today and expedite the process in case they pick up again.” Bob’s voice cracks in excitement. It’s not until I hear that note that I start thawing.

“Elisa?”

“Yes?”

“I won’t congratulate you yet but—with crossed fingers—welcome to the United States.”

I listen but I don’t hear. I look but I don’t see. The world falls silent and disappears. An aura of life starts from the soles of my feet and soars to my eyes, incandescent. Then I see her. A little girl with purple eyes and black hair, one hand in her father’s and one in her mum’s in an English rose garden. They lift her up and she giggles. Our eyes meet. Through my tears, she blinks and smiles. Her face changes in slow motion over the years, within reach now, eye to eye. I smile back as she becomes me. This is what dreams are made of. This one belongs to me.