Page 29 of My Violent Valentine

“Well, that was easy,” I say, still not trusting it.

We get rid of the body of the poor random thug we used for a heart, and go back to the house. Everyone just stares at Brian’s fake gaping chest wound.

Gabe looks the most concerned of anyone at the house, followed by Julie—but she’s the sweet type who cares about everything from small puppies to wolverines.

“You okay?” Gabe asks, sounding actually concerned. I told you there was a whole bromance thing going on there.

“It’s just makeup,” I say to the assembled house residents.

“Well, that’s unfortunate,” Lindsay says.

“Oh really, Doc? You think you can run this house without me? I’m calling your bluff. Mina and I are going on vacation, effective now. We’ll be gone for six months, so if you need me, you can fuck right off and take out your own trash.”

Now, I’m gaping at Brian. He doesn’t do vacations. I mean, I knew we were going to have to lay low for awhile until word spread through the underworld that the contract was dead but Brian has never taken a vacation in the entire time he’s been a partner at this house.

“Y-You can’t do that,” Lindsay splutters. “You can’t be gone that long.”

Brian raises a brow. “With all the years I’ve been here, I’ve got vacation time built up. Everyone at this house but me has taken a vacation. So good luck to you.”

“But, how can we reach you if there’s an emergency?”

“Guess you’ll have to sit with the reality of my untimely death, Doc. I’m not going to be reachable. So you better hope there isn’t an emergency.”

We pack our bags and charter a private plane to an undisclosed island where we stay in the best available suite in a five star luxury resort. We drink Mai Tais and lie on the beach and fuck in the ocean and dance under the stars and enjoy the night life for six amazing months.

Like a normal couple.

Okay, maybe normal couples don’t get to fuck off to some tropical island luxury vacation for half a year, but my logic is sound.

We’re lying on the beach at the end of our trip when I finally ask him the question that’s been tumbling around in my brain for weeks now. “So, is Brian Sloan really dead?”

He laughs. “The world wishes.”

“Are you going to use a different name at least?”

“Absolutely not. I spent way too much time building the Sloan reputation to throw all that away now.”

“But… the contract…” In my mind, if one person put out a huge hit on Brian, anyone could.

He takes a sip of his drink and holds my hand in his. “It was just the money, baby, and the money’s gone.”

It’s not technically gone. We haven’t spent all of it on this vacation, but most of it. It has been pretty epic. Thanks, Dante.

“The money’s gone, the contract’s dead, word has gotten around. I’ll put out some feelers when we get back, but we should be good,” Brian says.

I wish I were half as confident as he is.

“Hey,” he says, a devilish gleam coming to his eyes. “Let’s get married.”

I laugh. “Sure, Brian. Let’s get married.”

“I’m serious. It’ll be our secret. I want…”

And this is where the words fail him. Because he’s Brian, and the emotions and saying the emotions is hard for him. I still can’t believe he finally told me he loved me. But I know what he means. He wants the same things I want: to be bound together in every way it’s possible to be bound together, to be a team in all the ways that exist, for some legal entity to recognize us as real and forever.

It’s not the most romantic of proposals, then again, it is happening at the end of the most incredible island vacation of my life—and let’s be real, the only island vacation of my life—at least so far.

“I’ll marry you on one condition,” I say.

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