Page 104 of The Dark Before Light

My vision blurs until I blink, forcing tears from the corners of my eyes.

“I love you, too,” I whisper.

No words I’ve spoken in my entire life have been truer, and from the softening of his beautiful lips, he knows it. Eyes holding mine, he slowly fills me. My body—my heart—my every breath becomes entangled with his.

There’s no dirty talk. None of our usual teasing or the power struggles we both enjoy. No sounds but our quiet gasps and the slow slide of skin against skin. We don’t even kiss. We make love to each other without breaking eye contact once, as close as we can be, our bodies the sand and waves on the beach below—irreversibly mingled, locked together forever by nature’s design.

We shatter as one, trembling in the humming silence. As our heartbeats slow, he kisses me at last and tells me again that he loves me. And I say it back three times. Once for the girl I was. Once for the woman I am. And once for my monster, free now, purring and content because all she wanted was a dream.

And now she has it.

Chapter 30

Talia

We laze in bed for a while, cuddling and trading inconsequential details about ourselves. Favorite places we’ve visited, bucket-list vacations, favorite foods, books, movies, and music. I consider telling him a dozen times who I am, but I chicken out. The conversation ends when Kieran gives me a mischievous smile and says, “Now that our first date is out of the way…” then promptly buries his face between my legs.

Alistair and Gail come over for lunch. We eat on the patio, chatting and relaxing. I relish observing Kieran and his brother in close proximity. Despite being older, Alistair exudes a more youthful energy, as quick to smile as he is to frown. Kieran is more serious and introspective. Side by side, it’s easy to envision how dynamic they are as business partners, and it’s no wonder Lumitech rocketed to global renown in less than ten years.

There’s a great deal of laughter, too, as the men regale Gail and me with stories of their childhood. Misadventures. First, disastrous efforts at wooing the opposite sex. They talk about their parents and grandmother, too, and though melancholy floats on the breeze, there’s humor and love. So much love.

When we say goodbye, Gail gives me a hug and says, “I knew you’d be perfect for him.”

To my surprise, Alistair also embraces me. He’s shorter than Kieran, stockier, but there’s a familiarity when he squeezes the air from my lungs that makes me tear up. He hugs me like I’m already family.

“Thank you, Talia,” he says when he releases me, his blue eyes glassy as they stare into mine. “Thank you for bringing him back.”

Kieran grins at my obvious discomfort and stage-whispers, “You’re welcome.”

“You’re welcome,” I echo with a wince that makes everyone laugh.

Once they’re gone, Kieran takes me to the bluff and down steep cement steps to the empty beach. Dylan follows at a distance. We leave our shoes on the sand and walk barefoot along the water, holding hands and dodging fingers of foam as they rush toward us.

When we reach the end of the small cove and turn around, Kieran stops me with a tug on my hand. Cool fingers on my face, eyes serious on mine, he asks, “Any reservations lurking in that beautiful mind? About this? Us?”

His eyes match the sea to my right, bright blue-gray. My favorite color. I hesitate, then shake my head. “No.”

He draws me closer, brow furrowing. “But?”

“I don’t have reservations,” I assure him. “I just have no reference points for this. What I’m feeling. It’s overwhelming.” With a breath for courage, I unearth one of my dark treasures and offer it to him. “I’ve never been in love before.”

How could I fall in love with someone else when I’ve always loved you?

He kisses me, slow and soft, lips grazing and sipping. I melt into his chest, no longer feeling the cold breeze. When I’m buzzing and warm, he hugs me close.

“Your heart is my heart, Talia. I’ll never break it. I know you’re scared—so am I. But I think this kind of love is supposed to be a little frightening.”

I look up at him. “What kind of love?”

He strokes my cheek. “Have you ever read Rilke?”

I nod, and he smiles softly.

“My mam was a big fan. One of the last gifts she gave me was a book of his correspondence with a Viennese concert pianist.”

“Magda von Hattingberg,” I supply.

His smile grows. “Just so. I’m no poet, so I’ll give you his words instead. ‘To be loved means to be consumed. To love is to give light with inexhaustible oil. To be loved is to pass away, to love is to endure.’ That’s the kind of love this is—the kind that reshapes and remakes us. I’ve never seen anything as clearly as I see you. All your shadows and beautiful light. I’m your humble supplicant, your faithful worshiper, and I will forever kneel to you and only you. Lean in with me, mo ghrá. Together, we won’t fall.”

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