King of Pride (Kings of Sin, #2)(107)

My mother blew out a sigh. “Long story short, we separated when we were young and stubborn. My priorities have shifted since then, especially with my health scare. I want to spend more time outside the office and with family. Besides…” A rueful smile crossed her lips. “I’ve been at the helm for a long time. Companies that don’t change risk stagnation, and it’s time for a CEO with fresh perspectives.”

I ran a hand over my face, trying to make sense of everything that had happened over the past twenty-four hours. Between my reconciliation with Isabella, the CEO news, and my mother’s double bombshell, my life had tilted so far off its axis I couldn’t think straight. However, it didn’t bother me as much as it would’ve a few months ago.

Companies that didn’t change risked stagnation, but the same could be said for people. My life had followed ruler-straight lines for over three decades, and a little chaos was good for the soul.

“Since it’s confession time, there’s one more thing I have to tell you.” I angled my screen so my parents could see Isabella, who greeted them with a weak smile and a wave. “I’m back with Isabella.

And this time, we’re staying together.”

My mother didn’t look surprised. “I figured as much,” she said dryly. “Clarissa called her parents yesterday and told them a Teo-Young wedding isn’t in the cards.”

“I’ve never met you nor do I know when and why you broke up,” my father told Isabella. “But I’m glad you’re back together.”

Her smile carved dimples in her cheeks. “Thank you.”

Since it was so late in Shanghai, I didn’t drag out the conversation. I promised not to tell Abigail about my parents until my mother spoke with her and hung up.

Relief loosened the fist around my heart. Perhaps it was her vacation, my victory, or a combination of both, but my mother’s reaction to our relationship was surprisingly muted. Other than a few sighs and disapproving frowns, she’d refrained from her usual barbs. She must’ve realized her objections would fall on deaf ears, and Leonora Young was smart enough not to waste her time fighting a losing battle.

“That went way better than expected,” Isabella said as we started a new round of Scrabble. “It’s amazing how much sex can loosen someone up.”

I nearly spat out my drink. “Are you trying to traumatize me?” I asked, appalled. “That’s my mother you’re talking about.”

“Sorry, I thought you were already traumatized from seeing your parents in bed—” She broke off with a squeal of laughter when I pulled her toward me and pinned her to the ground.

“Finish that sentence, and I’ll hide all your thrillers until you read every word of The Divine Comedy,” I threatened. “The Latin translated version.”

Her laughter vanished. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

“If you do that…” She hooked her legs around my waist, her eyes glinting with challenge. Heat raced straight to my groin. “I’ll withhold sex until you put the books back.”

“Darling, we both know you would cave before I did.”

Isabella arched one brow. “Wanna bet?”

We never resumed our board game that day.

I was normally a stickler for finishing what I started, but hours later, when we lay sweaty and satiated in my bed, I didn’t care that we’d left dirty plates and a half-finished game of Scrabble in the living room.

After all, we had the rest of our lives to finish it.

Epilogue

ISABELLA

Two years later

“Oh my God. It’s here.” I stared at the shelf. “It’s here.”

“Of course it is. That’s why we came.” Vivian nudged me toward the bookcase. “Go! This is your moment.”

I didn’t move. I couldn’t quite process the sight in front of me.

The red spine. The name printed in white. The years of work and editing, all bound up in one paperback.

My debut novel Mistress in Waiting, sitting right there in the middle of my favorite bookstore’s thriller section.

A warm hand touched my back. “Congratulations,” Kai said. “You’re officially a published author.”

“I’m a published author,” I repeated. The words tasted ephemeral at first, but then they solidified, taking on the earthy flavor of reality. “That’s my book. Oh my God.” My heart rate accelerated. “I did it. I did it! ”

My stupor snapped, and I threw my arms around him as the weight of my accomplishment sank in.

He laughed, his face wreathed with pride as I squealed and did a little happy dance.

I didn’t care how stupid I looked because after all the agonizing, the failures, and the setbacks, I was finally a published author.

Jill Sherman had loved the revised manuscript and officially offered me representation two years ago. She shopped the book around, and after a couple of nibbles but no bites from the big houses, I signed with a small but well-respected publisher who was building out their thriller imprint. Now, after endless edits and revisions, it was out in the world.

I wasn’t going to turn into Nora Roberts or Dan Brown overnight, but I didn’t care. I finished my story, I loved it, and that was all that mattered.

I was already in the middle of drafting the sequel. Kai read it in chunks as I wrote it, which made the process much smoother than the original. It was hard to get lost in my own head when he was always there to pull me out.