Trillion - Winter Renshaw Page 0,85

making love before heading out. He said he’s taking me somewhere special. I didn’t ask questions …

This new me is letting go of her control-freak ways, and she kind of likes the idea of being surprised …

Something tells me we’ll have a lot of those in our future.

Epilogue

Trey

Five Years Later …

“Trey, did you see this?!” My wife’s voice is a whispered shout as she rocks our two-year-old daughter, Edie Emmeline Westcott, to sleep. “There’s an article about Ames on this celebrity gossip site … Anabelle is leaving him.”

“What?”

She offers her dim-screened phone. It’s not that either of us give a flying fuck what happens to the bastard, but this could get interesting. And we’re especially vested since this involves Sophie’s first daughter.

I scan the article, which is relatively brief. Their source claims that Anabelle was curious about her daughter’s lineage and randomly did one of those AncestryDNA tests, which showed a connection between Sasha and several other distant Ames family members. She was able to secretly procure a DNA sample from Nolan and shipped it off to a private lab, which confirmed with 99.999% accuracy that Nolan was Sasha’s biological father.

“Poor Sasha …” Sophie says, voice broken. “Having to find out this way …”

The article claims there was no prenup, and Anabelle stands to walk away with almost a quarter of a billion dollars as well as three family homes, a yacht, two vehicles, and a Swiss chalet. She’s also pushing for full custody with visitation rights for Nolan.

“Anabelle’s a good mother,” I remind her. “Sasha’s in capable hands.”

Sophie nods, rocking our daughter. “You’re right.”

“You need to accept that not everything’s in your control. Trust that it’ll all be all right in the end.”

She pats circles into Edie’s back before rising.

“When the dust settles, we can reach out and see if we can be of any service,” I say. “Might be a good time to let Anabelle know about you. I’m sure she’d like to hear the truth for once.”

“Yeah.” She carries Edie to her crib across the room. “That’s a good idea. We’ll do that.”

Sliding my hand into hers, I claim her lips with a soft kiss, and we watch our daughter settle into her evening sleep before heading to our room. Once we’re settled beneath our bed covers, I pull her against me, placing my arm around her side, hand resting on her belly, where our son kicks.

“I think he’s going to be a night owl like his father,” she says, a grin in her tone.

In the earlier days of our relationship, I’d be holed up in the study at 2am when I couldn’t sleep. Sophie would always tiptoe down and lure me back to bed, reminding me of the importance of a good night’s rest. During the evenings when sleep truly evaded me, she’d accompany me to my sanctuary and we’d spend a half hour just … existing … together. In that space between two and three.

She’s good to me, this woman.

Marrying her four years ago in the south of France was one of the best days of my life. Sybil came. And Emmeline. We kept it family only. I imagine my parents were there in spirit …

I’m committed to spending the rest of my life loving her the way my father loved my mother—fearlessly, relentlessly, like there’s no tomorrow.

Sophie falls asleep with ease tonight, her curves beautifully swollen as she nears the end of her last trimester. Until I had a child of my own, I never understood what my parents felt when they said they loved me. Those were always just words.

Now the magnitude of those words is as overwhelming as a tidal wave when I say them to my daughter. They take on a new meaning. And my love for Sophie has only deepened with time.

All the money in the world could never buy a bliss like ours—what we have is priceless.

From the Author

Dear Reader—

Whenever people ask me how I come up with my ideas, I never quite know how to answer. To be honest, sometimes it feels like they appear out of thin air. Other times, I might watch a documentary, read a biography or magazine article, or stumble upon a word that makes me feel a certain way and somehow it magically spins into an idea (ROYAL happened like that).

I’m serious. It’s a magical process. (Just ask Elizabeth Gilbert—she wrote the book on this very topic).

Typically I start with a title and blurb before I do anything else.

Next I order a cover