Her face split with a grin as relief rushed through her veins. “I didn’t know if you’d ever ask again.”
“It’s all I’ve wanted to ask.” He opened the box. There was her favorite stone, polished into several fine pearls nestling the most beautiful diamond she’d ever seen in her life. He withdrew the ring. His voice was soft, full of emotion. “Evelyn, be my queen, protect me, stand by me, love me, and I promise to always do the same.”
The ring slid on her finger and fit perfectly. She admired the way the stones and the diamond winked in the moonlight. Gazing back at Lucian, she whispered, “Yes.”
Every night, every chill, every ache, suddenly fell into place. This was what she was meant for. In a world of uncertainty, she’d never before felt like she belonged as she did in that moment, in his arms. He was hers. And for the first time, a true sense of peace opened her heart. For he was the most valuable thing she’d ever owned.
Part XII
Mrs. Lucian Patras
Epilogue
Six months later . . .
“‘The wedding was an intimate affair. Mrs. Patras wore a couture gown, her hair hung in loose curls, as she made her vows to Folsom’s most sought-after bachelor. Only a few close friends and family members attended the ceremony in the yard of Lucian Patras’s mansion in the Hamptons.
‘The mysterious Evelyn Keats, now Patras, was rumored to have been escorted down the aisle by none other than Christos Patras himself, who has been residing in Paris, France, since his son overtook Patras Industries over a decade ago. The engagement was kept secret for many months. Sources believe the couple was out of the country when the proposal was made.
‘When spotted at a Manhattan bakery and asked about her past, Mrs. Patras simply stated, “Perhaps someday I’ll write my own story, but until then, all you need to know is that I fell in love with an incredible man who showed me what home was.”
‘The couple has since returned from their honeymoon in Greece and they are now back in Folsom. While Patras remains the same unyielding financial king of Folsom, there is speculation he is a different man behind the scenes. Family and friends have remained tight-lipped regarding the newlyweds, but we suspect Folsom will be welcoming a very young, new tycoon in the coming year.’”
***
Evelyn closed the tabloid and stared at her mother’s gravestone. “I wish you could have been there, Momma. It was so wonderful. We danced and feasted like royalty. Everything was perfect. Lucian even had a pair of sneakers made to match my dress for when my feet got tired.” She shook her head, overwhelmed by how irrevocably she’d fallen for her husband.
Her hands patted the turned earth blanketing her mother. “We’ve started discussing children,” she quietly confessed. “Lucian would like to try for a family, but I’m scared. He’d be a wonderful father. Our children would never want for anything. I just . . . sometimes I worry.”
Evelyn never wanted to let her children down. She always wanted to be there for them, love them, and assure them of it every day.
She’d had grown used to letting Lucian make most the difficult decisions. He was good at it, and she trusted him to choose what was best for them. She held on to her apartment until after the wedding, giving him the key as a wedding gift, a sign that she was ready.
He supported her decision to continue with her education, and there was something so priceless about seeing words and reading them herself. She would be getting her GED soon and wasn’t sure what her future would bring. She’d convinced Lucian that she would work and he finally accepted the inevitable, proving his support the day he unveiled the art studio he built her, stocked to the rafters with sea glass and uncut metals. He’d even started discussing higher education with her, suggesting she might enjoy earning a degree in art in order to turn her skills into an independent business venture.
When it came to submission, they’d both learned a bit about sacrifice. Most of all, it never felt like sacrifice when a compromise was made for the one person they loved more than themselves. She continued to surrender to Lucian domestically, and he had learned to accept her independence outside of the home. She would never be socially submissive, and that was enough.
Trust.
She trusted him to decide for them, but he never overlooked the fact that she’d always be her. Evelyn Scout Keats Patras.
However, with the decision to start a family, he’d said it was her choice. He wanted a family and she wanted to give him one, but it would be her decision when that would actually happen, and she’d finally made up her mind.
Her eyes turned toward the house as the limo came into view. She scooped up her magazine and kissed her fingers, then placed them on the cool headstone. “I love you, Momma.”
She quickly headed down the hill toward the house, racing to make it inside before Lucian. The grass crunched under her feet with each hurried step as the crisp January air chapped her cheeks. Lucy held the door for her as she bolted in the house, and the maid quickly took her coat.
Evelyn rushed up the steps and began stripping away her clothes. He’d find the trail before the servants did and would know where she was. When she made it to the bedroom, she dropped to her knees and rested her hands, palms up, over her thighs.
The sound of the front door opening had her pulse quickening. She breathed steadily as she awaited her husband. His steady footfalls imprinted on her heart. A low chuckle echoed in the quiet house, and she imagined he’d found her trail of clothing.
When the door slowly opened, he spotted her and stilled, her discarded clothes in his hands. His eyes bore into hers, crinkling with anticipation and curiosity. “Mrs. Patras,” he said tossing the clothes aside and loosening his tie. “How was your day?”
She lifted her lashes and smiled. “Very nice, Mr. Patras. How was yours?”
“Long.” He stepped into the room and quietly closed the door. “This is quite a welcome. May I ask what has provoked such a beautiful display of surrender?”
“I have a gift for you.”
He toed off his shoes and removed his jacket, adding it to the pile of her items. He stepped closer. “A greater gift than finding my wife awaiting me in nothing but a smile?”
She nodded. “I saw Dr. Sheffield today.”
He stilled. Lucian was usually aware of her every move, and the fact that she’d done so without his knowledge clearly took him by surprise. “And how did that go?”
A shaky breath filled her lungs. Courage. He’d once taught her that clothes were courage, but over time, she’d learned that there was nothing more courageous than laying yourself bare for the one you loved. “I want to have a baby.”
His breath caught and he dropped to his knees. His hands found hers as he pressed his forehead into hers. “Are you sure?” he rasped.
“I’m sure.”
His lips pressed to hers and emotion erupted between then. His gratitude for her gift came in the form of tight breaths and shimmering eyes. His hand tugged at her neck as he drew her close and kissed her passionately.
“When?” he asked.
“After my graduation this spring. I would like to have at least one year of my husband to myself, but then . . . then we can try.”
He laughed softly and pulled her into a tight hug. “You will always have me, love. A child will only expand on the love we already share.”
It was unfathomable, to love more than she already did. Intrepid excitement rolled through her. Her gaze found his, and a potent need unfurled at the look in his onyx eyes.
“Welcome home,” she whispered, and he took her mouth, easing her to her back, claiming the haven of her surrender.
Safely tucked in the shelter of his body, the one home she’d learned she could always depend on, she sighed as his lips graze her ear, his voice low and intense. “I love you, Scout.”
Keep reading for a preview of the first book
in the Surrender Trilogy
FALLING IN
Available now from InterMix
Caught
The early morning sky was the color of steel wool, sharp, ominous gray hanging low over the city without a hint of softness, but Scout Keats’ trajectory was somewhere brighter. She hustled down Randolph, past the urban district, and into the commercial quarters of Folsom. Only after crossing that invisible divide from the hidden shadows of the impoverished sections of the city to the streets teaming with endless opportunities of prosperity, did she take her full first breath of the day. A sense of possibility invigorated her every time. Scout’s lungs filled with hope and her weariness ebbed with each step as the world she coveted awoke and slowly began to flow around her.
Today was a day to be proud. After two weeks of learning her way, mimicking those who had it already figured out, she had done it and would finally see some of the results of all her hard work. Her heart raced each time she imagined clocking out at the end of her shift and being handed her first big fat paycheck.
This was it. This time it would be different. Being a maid at Patras, although nerve-racking, was going to change Scout’s life. Like scenting the snow before it fell, she could sense change approaching, and every cell of her being told her that Patras Hotel was the key to her escape.
She couldn’t say how she knew, but she knew. Parker had come to simply roll his eyes each time she fell into fanciful ramblings, warning him that her evenings at the shelter were numbered, that one night she simply wouldn’t return and when that night came, he should celebrate, in memory of her, Scout Keats, the dragon baby who outran her destiny and made it in the real world.
She was aware of what Parker thought. She knew how they all saw her. While much of the transient population seemed to accept their hand in life with bitter surrender, Scout never would. Their cynicism ran deeper than any still waters could wash, but she refused to let herself drown in their doubts.
Born in a back alley, ripped from her mother’s womb by claws sharp enough to make her scream to a point of delirium, she came into this world running. She was chasing the dragon before she could even crawl. Ironically, her mother had been running from it as far back as her memory held.
The dragon killed her daddy before she ever knew him. No pictures to tell her if her silver blue eyes were his or how he wore his hair. All Scout had was a collage of mumblings, broken bits of her mother’s jigsaw mind to tell her the kind of man her daddy was. Didn’t matter anyway. He was dead before she was born.
Death favored the poor. People of wealth had an astounding ability to not see them. As insignificant as litter, they were merely unfortunate crumbles of trash lining the curbs they hoped would soon blow away, and each night they did, retreating back to the warmest corners of Folsom to barter their scavenged finds of the day, sleep with one eye open and strategize how to outmaneuver their pretend friends the next morning, because in reality, you had no friends when you were homeless. You only had yourself and your only objective was to stay alive.
Parker had been a concession she made at the age of fourteen. She supposed she could call him a friend. He did kick Slim’s ass when he kept leering at her that one year, and she sort of liked him then. Not that she needed a hand defending herself. It was nice of Parker to do that, but that wasn’t what made him her friend. Scout decided he could be her friend when she found out he could read and he offered to teach her.
But friends were liabilities. Survival was easiest when emotion stayed out of it. She was getting off the streets and she didn’t need to be liable for anyone when she already had her mother to worry about.
Pearl had long ago surrendered to a doomed existence that worried Scout sick, but she brought her into this world and no matter how much Scout hated the life her mother chose, she’d seen it enough to know she really didn’t choose it at all. She merely flirted with a dragon that swallowed her whole at first chance and traded her soul for the poor excuse of the life it let her slip away with.
The woman who raised her was gone, replaced by a flesh-covered skeleton who whispered gibberish in her momma’s voice, but she loved her all the same. Heroin was Pearl’s weakness and she was Scout’s, and damn Parker for intruding on her meager list of those she cared for, but Scout wouldn’t let him hold her back no matter how many words he taught her to read or how many leering creeps he beat the piss out of. Parker was a lifer and she was not.
He often made fun of Scout and her obsession with words. He didn’t understand why she had such a fixation with expanding her vocabulary. At this point in her life, it was humiliating not to know how to do such a common thing as read. It wasn’t something she shared about herself easily. Words, however, she could memorize.
Anytime she heard a word she didn’t know, she’d ask Parker what it meant and he’d tell her. She made it a point to think and speak those words as often as possible. It made her feel educated in a way she knew she was not. Some day it would benefit her, once she moved out of the gutter class and into a more prestigious one.
The black ribbon of road slowly crowded with yellow cabs. That sleeping scent of the city, a little bit bitter with a trace of dewy air, was slowly replaced with the smell of exhaust and early morning eateries opening their doors.
Two sizes too large, her worn black sneakers clopped over the pavement and were slowly humbled by the gentle roar of pedestrians in their finery. The cadence of leather-soled loafers and stilettos built like a distant wave, washing out the unsophisticated rhythm of her steps.
The choking clouds were pushed back as the buildings grew in size, each one an enormous trophy of some self-important man’s arrogance and a supplement for his inadequate anatomy.
The buildings pierced the canopy of haze, like beams beneath a heavy circus tent. The analogy made her smile. She was leaving what would be the gypsy caravans squatting in ramshackle functionality and heading for the better-dressed performers of the main event. Like a child smiling over a tuft of cotton candy, she grew excited at the nearing presence of the fancy-dressed ringleaders of the world with their bedazzled accessories and self-pronounced confidence. One day she’d be among the glamorous women who swung high above the rest and were respected for their courage and grace. Scout longed to be a part of the big show and leave her less-appealing brethren behind.
Pushing her fanciful musings aside, she hefted her cumbersome bag over her shoulder as she moved deeper into the congested commercial district. Men of industry, demigods, built these impressive structures, smudging out even the sun until nothing but a slice of sky showed a mile above. On lackluster mornings like this one when the clouds hung low and the rooftops raked through the dull cotton bluffs, she truly understood why they were named skyscrapers.
Her strides doubled when she turned onto Fenton and the great clock showed there were only ten minutes to six. Three blocks to go and she still needed time to clock in and check her cart. In another hour these hollow roads would be clogged with taxis, and the walkways would suffer as civilized a stampede as human nature could produce.
Scout rounded the corner of Gerard and there, like a dove among pigeons, sat Patras Hotel. Its white granite walls with opalescent luster gleamed even under the overcast wedge of sky. Thirty-foot pillars guarded the structure, sweeping the grand marble staircase in a soft glow of controlled lighting where shine boys already waited at their benches with boxes for their wealthy clientele. Velvet roping sectioned off the affluent guests from the covetous passersby. One didn’t set foot on that red carpet leading through those eighteen-foot gilded doors unless they were entitled to.
Scout quickly walked past the fringed runner and around the corner of the building. Practically taking up a block on its own, Patras Hotel was the beauty among the motley buildings that neighbored it, and in such a swank section of Folsom that proclaimed it to be the best of the best.
At the back of the building was a subtle awning, p
ristine enough not to detract from the hotel’s beauty, but lacking the pretentiousness of the front enough to be overlooked by those who weren’t in the know. She slid her badge through the discrete keycard lock beside the door and waited. When the green light signaled and the lock disengaged with a snick, she pulled the heavy door open and let herself in. The scent of freshly arranged flowers greeted her and mingled with the familiar whispered clatter in the distance of the waitstaff preparing the restaurant for the breakfast crowd.
Traveling in the opposite direction of the lobby, Scout again reached for her badge and slid it through the service elevator’s lock. The bell dinged softly and she stepped into the unembellished car. She keyed in for the basement and moments later entered a bustling underground world of service.
The air was heated with the clean scent of detergents and presses. She loved the fragrance of the laundering facilities. Such a luxury, to not only sleep on fresh sheets every day, but to have them pressed as well. Her feet hustled through the corridor and turned into the employee locker room.
Approaching the docking station, she breathed a sigh of relief as she slid her badge through the mechanism clocking her in for the day at 5:58. Perfect.
Turning to her locker, Scout quickly stowed her belongings without making eye contact with any of the other employees. Down here, in the bowels of the hotel, they were all janitorial staff. Good thing, too, because the lobby employees with their fancy blazers and ticked, tuxedo-style pants intimidated the crap out of her.
The maids all wore the same poly-blend shapeless dove gray dress with white Peter Pan collar and cuffed sleeves. They didn’t intimidate her one bit. She simply didn’t meet their gazes so as not to inadvertently suggest she was interested in making acquaintances. She wasn’t. She was there to do a job.
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