Page 122 of The SEAL's Duchess
“You’ve built something here, Ives. Not just with Ryder. With all of them.”
“I know.”
He faced her. “I’m so proud of you.”
Ivy swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Thank you.”
George crossed the room and took both of her hands. “You spent your life trying to meet everyone’s expectations—duty, responsibility, propriety. And you were bloody miserable.”
Ivy’s throat tightened.
“And then you came here,” George continued, “and nearly died on a collapsing rig, and found...” He gestured vaguely around the room. “This. And you’re not miserable anymore.”
“No,” she whispered. “I’m not.”
“That’s all that matters.” He kissed her forehead. “Even if you do make me ride in trucks on their last legs.”
“I’m going to make a start on dinner.” Ryder gave her hip a gentle squeeze.
“Ryder makes mean spaghetti. Even one-handed.”
George beamed. “Sounds perfect.”
“I’ll just check he’s managing.” She headed into the kitchen and threaded her arms around Ryder’s waist.
He twisted to face her. “You okay?” he murmured.
“Yeah,” she said. “For the first time in my life, I really am.”
The sound of George chatting to Ellie floated down the hall. Outside, the wind sighed through the pines.
She’d come to Alaska chasing solutions to her family’s problems. The numbers weren’t fixed yet, but the path was clear—and somewhere along the way, she’d found Ryder and Ellie.
Her future stretched before her—not inherited, not obligated.
Chosen.
