Chapter 22: Yes, On My Terms

Rafe was sitting on the lodge steps at sunrise, in the exact spot where my mother's picture had been taken.

He had a coffee in each hand and had not drunk either of them.

I came up the road on foot with the deed in my coat pocket and a piece of paper in my fist.

He stood up.

"It's tomorrow," I said.

"I know. I've been sitting here since four."

"You said you wouldn't be late."

"I was early."

I almost laughed.

He held out one of the coffees, and I took it.

"Ask," I said.

"Linnet Averill," he said.

He did not kneel.

He stood with his arms at his sides and his eyes on mine.

"Will you have me?"

"On my terms."

"Anything."

I unfolded the paper.

I had written it at three in the morning on a hotel pad, in capital letters.

Capital letters were the only way I could be sure I meant them.

"One," I read. "No more standing aside."

I kept my voice level.

"If you're afraid, or the council threatens you, or someone puts a list in your pocket, you tell me that night. Not two years later."

"Yes."

"Two. You never speak for me, and I never speak for you. We argue in private and agree in public."

"Mostly."

"Mostly," I said. "Three."

I looked up.

"The old rule was no touching. I'm repealing it."

I folded the paper.

"The new one is that you touch me whenever you want to. You say so out loud if you don't."

His breath left him.

"Yes," he said. "God. Yes."

"Then yes," I said. "Yes, Rafe. I'll have you."

He took the coffee out of my hand and put both cups on the step.

I did not see which way they fell.

He kissed me.

It was a long, deep kiss, with one hand in my hair and one at the small of my back.