Living With Wolves

by sheswalkinginbeauty

If exchanging his heavy and mud-drenched boots for Italian whole cut brogues was torture enough, he was clearly mistaken because there's something about Claire Dearing's ability to handle herself that keeps one former navy soldier on his toes. COMPLETE

20. Tell the Wolves, I'm Home

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

I hope y'all still here. My pathetic apologies are at the end notes. Anyway, dig in my lovelies.

---

TELL THE WOLVES, I'M HOME

"The alpha male and alpha female are mates for life. Once a wolf has found a mate, they stay together for life."

---

Three weeks after.

The weather in Mississippi wasn't what Elijah Mills expected.

Even IN the dark of the night, it was dry, and unpleasant, like eating soup on a hot day. The moonless sky was a canvas of black; no stars were visible to offer beauty nor brilliance. Thin clouds dispersed like smoke, the air was dull and dingy. He despised the heat. If it was up to him, he'll be somewhere north. Somewhere along the mountains, far, chilly and alone.

The tight-knit neighborhood, they're amiable it made him wanna gag. But if they want to remain undetected (at least, until someone picks them up) he has to "suck it" and keep a low profile. They've been lucky enough to slip outside the mansion. He was doubtful that he could have the same luck, twice in a row. Hence, Elijah Mills, endured. And he hated to admit it, but Emma was right and if it wasn't for her, they would've been behind bars now.

It was during their fourth day on the road when they heard the news. The most powerful mob boss in California finally received his gruesome fate. All their associates, apprehended. All their properties, possessions, taken and investigated.

After a decade-long manhunt, Victor Hoskins had finally dropped dead. Four perfectly aced body shots. Mills was surprised; he didn't think a bullet could past the bastard's body fat. The Tenebris Bellator was no more. All their associates, apprehended. All their properties, possessions, taken and investigated. Some were already distributed to the public.

Eli was livid, of course. A few months ago, he had just persuaded Hoskins to appoint him as his successor.

But Elijah Mills wasn't a skilled manipulator for nothing. He made the fat man reconsider. But before Hoskins could declare his sudden change of heart, he, of course, was stupid enough to get killed.

The moment a hailstorm of bullets rained on them, the answer was pretty clear. The Tenebris Bellator has a mole. Someone still found a way to infiltrate their ranks! Even after years of flawless, successful operation. He'd be damned!

If they weren't currently stuck in a hellhole of cheap motels and fake IDs, Mills could say that he's impressed. Nobody could get away from the Principal and live. The mole, whoever he was, rightfully earned the fucking gold medal right now.

Him and Emma didn't know who it was yet. But they figured, whoever it was, has been a long-time associate. Nobody could have the information the authorities acquired from some neophyte.

The sound of the cash register and a freckled, teenager in braids brought him back to the present.

"Hello there!"

He didn't acknowledge her and went on to load the grocery from his basket. It was his turn to buy the supplies today. A mundane, low life task he swore he'd never go back into.

"I have servants for this shit." He cussed at Tate, who was busy typing away on her laptop.

"Well, all your flankies are in jail right now. Unless you want to join them, be my guest."

"Did you find everything okay?"

He almost wanted to vent out that the food here was bland. Cheap substitutes for the lifestyle he'd grown accustomed to. Mills remembered his childhood years. Back when they only ate two times a day and he had to filch snacks from their local store.

The worst years of his life.

So, he worked hard, unbothered by the people he abused to get where he was. But, of course, Owen good-two-shoes Grady had to play detective, and ruin his life. And he was back to square one, living like a pest and a fugitive.

He pulled the baseball cap over his eyes and hugged the brown bag to his chest. He hated it because it scrunched his hair into this flat, nerdy look that reminded him of his loser days.

He closed the trunk of his car when a sign holder emerged from a bar across the street. The skimpy outfit called his attention; ripped and a literal bandanna for a shirt. Her redhead hair was up in a tight ponytail, the pointy end reaching past her waist.

"One Dollar, Two Beers! One night only!" She hollered to the passing crowd in a bored tone.

He watched the woman for a good minute. She was standing at the intersection of the street. A few people stopped to consider, but shook their heads and went their way.

"One Dollar, Two Be—" The woman turned her head and caught his gaze. "Hey, you! Baseball cap in the parking!" Beamed the ginger. "You look like you could use a drink."

For a moment, he stood his ground. Tate told him to be discreet especially when talking to locals. But it's been days and if he had to endure another boring conversation with the stiff, he'll kill himself. It would be much better and easier if the woman would sleep with him. But no. Tate was always huddled over her laptop, trying to figure out what went wrong during the bust.

And after weeks of... inaction, he's bored. There was nothing else to do but stare at the peeled off paint and listen to the crappy news. Eli had been craving for a cold beer and a real woman's company for the past few days. So, he flirted back,

"You think so, huh?"

The woman tilted her head at him, and shook her pretty head. "Not really, but I do."

A cynical smirk formed on his lips. "How about your lovely job?"

"I'm gonna quit anyway." The woman shrugged, leaning the placard on her hip. "So, what do you say?"

He looked around, still wary.

"Unless, You have somewhere to be." The woman's eyes wandered up and down at him. "I don't wanna interrupt a quiet night in."

"You won't, I'm free." he said immediately.

The woman nodded, flipping her hair behind her back. "Well, then."

He put his hands in his pockets and leaned back on his trunk. "I only drink Belgian Rodenbach, sweetheart."

"Well, you're in luck, big boy." The woman flashed him a flirtatious grin before turning her back on him. "It's my favorite too."

He locked the sedan, adjusted his cap. He crossed the street, to the local pub where the woman disappeared into.

The bar smelt like tobacco, varnished wood and grease. Only a few people gathered about the small space. The pub has a bar, two pool tables and diner booths. The woman abandoned her signage and linked her arm under his. The sides of her breasts rubbing against his arm, making him hard in an instant.

"I'm Rose."

"You look like a Rose." He flirted, as they walked towards the elevated bar. He released her to pull the wooden stool for her. "Miss Rose."

"Oh. Such a gentleman." she cooed.

"A Rodenbach." Eli ordered at the young bartender, he turned to Rose. "And for the lady?"

"Bourbon and…" She replied, her breath tickling his nose. "What I'm sure is a fascinating story."

Eli was anticipating this. His practiced speech flowed in an almost effortless manner.

"I'm a recent divorcee. My wife cheated with the neighbor. No kids. And my dog, the only companion I had, died a few weeks ago. I'm rebuilding my life in this small town."

Rose turned her chair towards him, her crossed legs between his.

"That's too sad." she sympathized, folding her elbows in an alluring way that made showed her cleavage. "I'm sorry."

"No biggie, sweetheart." Eli couldn't help the smug grin off his face.

"I was right." Rose's hand slid across the island to his palm. "I could tell that you're new here."

"Is that right?" He smiled, willing to play along. "How so?"

"I know everyone in this godforsaken town."

The bartender arrived with their drinks and a bowl of peanuts. Rose dipped her pinky in her drink before sucking on it. Her dark eyes stirring his depraved masculinity. "And if you were a local, I would've boned you already."

"Oh? What can we do to rectify the situation?"

"You're lucky you're cute. And don't think that this…" she gestured to his destitute attire. "Is fooling me. I could sense a wealthy man when I see one."

"And here I thought you liked me for my charisma." He dragged his seat closer to her, to the point that he was caging her in.

"Oh, I do."

Without taking her eyes off of him, she called the bartender. "Hey Jay, save our drinks, will you?"

The bartender, Jay, groaned. "As if I had a choice."

"Shut up, kid." She hissed before leaning towards his ear. "I have the key to the storage room, stranger. Follow me."

Rose stood up and ambled towards the dark corridor. Her hips, swaying, goading him. Eli followed after taking a long sip of his drink.

She was walking in front of him before she went right, past the kitchen. Rose looked over her shoulder, making sure he was following. Eli kept his head down, cap on, but eyes following her. Rose turned another left and disappeared behind a curtain.

He heard a racket of pots and pans behind him before he felt the air knocked out of him. Hands pulled him by the lapels of his shirt, the back of his head hit the wall. His cap, lay trampled, on the dirty kitchen tiles.

A laugh rumbled in his chest as her rough hands inspect his pockets.

"The last time I did this, the guy was a cop and he was pointing a gun at me. Not the kind of schtick I'd like to be pointed at me during this kind of situation. You know what I mean?" She replied, her fingers still roving the insides of his shirt.

"You must be a handful." He murmured, clasping her waist. "You did some pretty bad things, sweetheart?"

"You could say that." Rose pulled him by his shirt again and with a hard thump, shoved his cheeks against the wall. His glasses fell down his nose. He laughed again as she pressed her chest against his shoulder blades. It turned him into a rock in an instant.

Her lips, were inches from his ear. She hissed, grabbing the back of his hair. "But I bet, they're not as bad as yours."

The air around them shifted to something very suspicious. He tried pushing back, but the woman was surprisingly strong for her size. His brain processed what was happening and he tried to break free.

What the fuck?

"You made it so easy, you dick."

"What the hell is this?"

Dozens of footsteps echoed before he heard the unmistakable sound of cuffs. The metal bit his skin and he yelped, struggling against Rose. He felt his sweat, turn cold. A man in a black vest swung the door, gun in hand; their faces dimmed by the low light in the room. Eli turned his head towards his capturer.

"What does it look like?" Rose crowed, her grip on him, tightening.

"You bitch!"

"So, they told me." Rose jeered. "Let's go big boy. You're under arrest for fraud, forgery, embezzlement and kidnapping. Among many others."

The woman yanked him from the wall and pushed him back to the saloon. The remaining customers fled behind the billiard table at the other side of the room. The door opened and five more men entered.

Without his glasses, his eyesight was a little blurry. But he recognized one familiar face smirking at him. Eli staggered forward, his feet slipping on the misaligned floor.

"I always had a hunch." He sneered at Billy Brennan- Hoskin's favorite former employee.

"Hey bud! Everybody's missing you at the station. Where did you go?" Brennan cajoled, clapping his shoulder like they were old friends.

"Piss off!"

The man had the nerve to laugh at him!

Brennan turned to Rose.

"That was much better, Rodriguez. You're getting good at this."

"Whatever. I'm not dressing up like this again, Brennan." Rose, Rodriguez, whoever she might be, groaned.

"But you look so good in it."

"Shut your trap." Rose spat as she loosened her hold on him, her eyes suddenly focused on the door. "Wait. Don't tell me, he's here."

"He's outside. The man's all kinds of stubborn. I almost tased him myself." Brennan replied before turning to him again.

"I told them, we're bringing you in today. The Elijah Mills, finally. Enough evidence to put you in jail too! Everyone's gonna be so happy."

He glared at him.

"But hey, a lot of your friends, we have to take alone. But you're lucky you got to share a ride with one."

His eyes widened.

"Miss Emma Tate's tougher than she looks though." Brennan added, showing the nail marks at the side of his neck. "She put up a fight."

Rose stood by Brennan and reached behind, removing her fake hair.

"You should be proud of yourself, Mills. I doubt Rodriguez would ever dress like this. But she volunteered for this just to catch your sorry ass."

"I had to admit, that was fun—"

The door to the entrance swung open and a man, he knew all too well, barged in. His face distorted with anger and everything ugly in between.

Rose or Rodriguez muttered a And there he is. before she and Brennan took a cautious stepped back.

Eli couldn't help but titter at his broken form. The man's right arm was in a cast. His face, marked with wounds, making him look more roguish. And yes, dangerous. "My, my, if it isn't Mr. Owe—"

The end of his sentence was abruptly cut off as Grady's fist collided with his jaw. Eli heard a collective, "Oof!" And "That's gotta hurt!" from the crowd. To his utter shock, and disappointment, nobody bothered to hold Grady back.

"That's for Claire, you abusive, piece of shit." Grady snarled down at him.

Despite the sting on his lip, he managed a complacent smirk. He turned to him again. "The bitch deserved it. How's that little cunt? Last I heard, she had a bullet on her throat—"

Grady hurled his fist again. This time, the assault drove him backwards, the chair and table behind him securing his fall. He couldn't help but yelp in agonizing pain as his ass landed on the floor.

"I told you before, I'm gonna break your face."

Eli's head was swimming, his ears were ringing. He tasted blood on his lip; he spurt it out.

"This is an assault!" He whined at Brennan and the other officers looking at them.

Brennan shrugged. "If he didn't do it, I would have. Now, come on." Brennan clutched him by the collar and hoisted him up to his feet.

"I want my lawyer."

"You can talk to him at the station. He's hanging your "Welcome To Prison" Banner. "

---

The country view was a sight for sore eyes. Verdant plains, wild flowers, exotic woodlands, the sun on her skin and the fresh, cool breeze.

But trust one imbecile, know-it-all, cocky CEO to ruin her lovely day.

Steady hooves kicked dirt and debris with every trot. Foams of saliva leaked from the beasts, their strong necks lathered with perspiration. Her shrieks of frustration could be heard from miles away. That and his carefree laugh.

"You cheated!" Claire accused with every conviction in her body.

"I wasn't!"

She and Charlie stopped into a trot along the meadow while Owen tugged Blue's reins so they're facing them.

"Don't lie!"

"I am not! I am a proper gentleman. I do not lie." Owen defended again, the corner of his eyes, crowing with mischief.

As they had been after their recovery, they were at the farm for the weekend for a much needed, very well deserved week off.

She clicked her tongue, tapping Charlie's side with her foot. The beautiful beast huffed, cantering towards their opponents.

Over the fence, she saw the old couple watching them with unbridled amusement. "Mario! Nerissa! You saw that right? He sprinted off right before the mark! Tell him!"

The uptight woman, shook her head while his husband raised his tattered scorecard.

Two to one.

In favor of Owen.

Owen pumped a fist into the air. "So..." He and Blue turned towards her. She could swear, she wanted to wipe that teasing smirk off his face. "Where can I sign the papers, Miss CEO?"

She glowered at him. "The bet was first to three, Grady. Don't be such an ass."

Owen became interested in personally handling his dad's foundation after Grady Corp. held its first charity ball for the children's cancer ward of St. Andrew's. Claire could say that right after seeing the kids, it shifted something in Owen. He began talking about it more. He became more involved, he attended dozens of conventions, anything he can do to help, he did.

It was a week ago that Owen filed his resignation to focus on them. Everybody on the board accepted it, enthusiastically.

Everyone, except her.

It wasn't a selfish motive, per se. Claire could trust that Owen would fit and perform perfectly in his new role. But with him, quitting meant something else. Something so monumental, something she was working her entire life for. (It might as well be the pinnacle of her entire career.) She must be going crazy to turn it down. Claire never questioned her credentials before. But how could she accept it? How could she live up to someone as great as Alan Grady and his son?

Hence, she challenged Owen, placed a wager- the past time he loved so much- to change his mind. Knowing she had a stronger equestrian career than him, she engaged them in a friendly horse race.

It was also a distraction for Owen, for both of them. Today was that day.

"Fine! Fine!" Owen raised a hand in defeat before he smiled at her. "Tell me the rules again."

"Race through the meadow. Reach the abandoned water tank by the edge of the forest, come back here." Claire led Charlie to the starting point again.

"Are you ready?" he challenged, squinting at her with a smirk.

"Are you, Mr. Grady?"

"Damn it! Stop being sexy! I might just let you win."

"Pfft! I don't need you to "let me" win. I can beat your ass, fair and square."

Owen laughed as he positioned Blue beside her horse. But before Nerissa could ring the bell, they heard a familiar, cheery voice from the gates.

"I hope I'm not interrupting something."

They both pivoted in their saddles and saw Simon Masrani. The man, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and linen pants, raised his hand in a wave.

The last time they saw Simon was at the hospital, four months ago, after the incident with Hoskins. Unlike her and Owen, Simon didn't suffer any injuries and recovered rather quickly.

"Simon!" Owen mounted down with the ease of a cowboy to hug the Indian man. She followed, unable to contain her glee from seeing an old friend.

"It's so good to see you, Simon!" She greeted, kissing both his cheeks.

"Yes, yes. Great to see you both..." Simon paused to gather their appearances. He gave them a cheeky smile. "Little dirty and sweaty."

"Yeah, well." Owen shrugged, his arm was around Simon's shoulders. "A little horse race couldn't kill nobody. What do you say, Simon? Ready to join and face your fear, yet? Blue's a doll."

"No. Not today."

"Fear?" she chimed in, looking at Simon with jest. "You have a fear of horses?"

"No, my Claire. I don't have a fear of horses." Simon argued, glaring at his godson.

"He doesn't. But how do you put it, Simon?" Owen teased.

"Why would I want something that has a mind of its own, bobbling between my legs?"

She and Owen burst into a simultaneous laughter. Simon clucked his tongue at them in disapproval. "Tsk. Look at you two, double teaming me when just last year, you were ready to kill each other."

"True." Owen nodded, wiping the tears on his eyes.

"By the way, I heard about your resignation, Owen."

"Well, well, well." Owen turned to her and wiggled his eyebrows. "News does travel fast."

She rolled her eyes at him and turned to Simon again. "Please, tell me you're here to talk him out of it."

The man didn't answer. Instead, he produced a brown briefcase from his other hand, she hadn't noticed before. "Let's see, shall we?"

Their eyes met, confusion clouding both their faces.

"What is it?"

"Your old pops wanted me to give you this on his first death anniversary." Simon answered, tucking the briefcase behind his back again.

Claire gave Owen's hand a quick squeeze. "I'll help Mario get the horses back to the stables. You two go on."

Before Owen could nod for her to go, Simon interrupted them.

"No, Claire. Alan means, you too."

"Me?" she asked, incredulously.

"Yes, my dear. Shall we take this inside?"

Claire took her seat beside Owen in the living room. She could feel how anxious he was, felt it oozing off his skin to hers. They sat, side by side, like two kids in the principal's office. Simon read them Alan's second will and felt her mouth drop to the floor. Simon explained that Alan didn't want anybody else finding out he had another one.

When the old man finished, Owen looked like he just learned how to fly. Whereas she, felt like her world's been turned upside down.

Owen walked to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle from the storage. He offered a toast, Simon stood up as well and took the proffered glass.

"To Miss Claire Dearing," Owen started. "The new CEO of Grady Corporation. Good luck to those bastards."

She stayed rooted where she was, sitting on the couch, flabbergasted. She felt... unworthy, unworthy of the full faith from her former mentor. It was hitting her all at once. Her mind, jumbled, melted and overwhelmed.

"Ho— how could he do that to me? Leave me such a huge responsibility." Her voice was shaking. The men studied her, both have a proud look on their faces. It took all of her not to break down and cry. "I mean, I'm not... I'm only... I'm nowhere near as good as him or his son. I'm —"

"Claire." Owen interrupted, his voice somber— a rarity— that she couldn't help but look up. "There's no one but the people in this room, knows my dad better. We all know he's not reckless, he's not impulsive. He'd thought and made his decisions whole-heartedly."

"You deserve it, Claire. Damn, you deserve it way better than I do."

"He's right." Simon supported. "There's nobody in this world Alan could trust with his companies more than you and Owen."

"You got this one, Claire. You don't have to worry about anything else. You're perfect for this. You can do this shit in your sleep. And I'm not only saying this so you can let me leave the company, but it's the truth. You're better than me."

A small smile shaped her trembling lips. Even though, she could argue that Owen was way better than her in so many billion ways, she couldn't let the admission slide. "That's the first time you admitted I'm better than you."

"Well... Only a tad bit. Don't be so full of yourself." Owen joked, grabbing the glass he set down the coffee table. "What do you say, Miss Dearing?"

Instead of taking the empty glass Owen's handing her, she stood up and grabbed the bottle from the counter... And chugged almost half the bottle. The sparkling liquid called the courage and drowned all her insecurities to rest.

Both men shuffled back in surprise.

"Whoa."

"Okay, honey. Take it easy." Owen brought his glass down again to try and take the bottle away from her.

Claire steeled herself and wiped the dribble of alcohol on her chin. "Let's do this, gentlemen."

---

She was still shaking when Simon left. Claire leaned against the headboard, the empty bottle of champagne still in her hands.

"You okay, baby?" Owen asked when he emerged from the bathroom. He kissed the top of her hair.

"I don't know. I'm… nervous." she admitted, still staring at a random object on his desk. The bed dipped down as he sat beside her.

"You'll do great. I mean, you already are, Claire. There's no one we'd rather have for this job."

"Are you sure, you're okay with it? I mean, it's your birthright. I don't wanna take that."

"Yeah!" Owen chirped. "I am a thousand percent sure. I can't wait for you to start already. Besides..." his voice dropped in a teasing whisper. "It's hot, you're kind of like, my boss now."

She rolled her eyes. "You're a board member, that makes us equals. But yeah, only you will find something as ridiculous as that in this situation."

With that, she smiled and sat forward to hug him. They enjoyed the intimate silence until Owen pulled away to give her a wooden box. It was a handcrafted Armenian jewelry box, she'd seen this before. But she couldn't remember when and where.

"What's this?"

"It's from my dad." He exhaled. Simon left this for you and me. Part of the deal he had with Dad. He hid it in a separate deposit box. You know, in case…"

She opened it and was happy to see the silver thumb drive he gave Alan. The one Hoskins never got his hands on. She turned it in her hands, a queasy excitement in her stomach.

"Have you seen what's in it?"

"No, not yet." With that, Owen got up to grab the laptop on his desk.

Claire could discern the slight tremor in his sigh, giving her the impression that he was as nervous as she was.

She set the drive and laptop in silence. Owen joined her on the bed again. He positioned himself behind her, one leg up, arm dangling on it. The other leg, bent beside her. She settled herself in the space between his legs, enjoying the sturdy wall of comfort of his body.

"My dad's password is "chocolate_truffle"?" Owen asked in amused disbelief, peering over the shoulder he just kissed.

"Yeah. Why is that so hard to believe?"

"And to think, I almost got killed for something as simple as that? I mean? What are the odds? I thought he'd more romantic with his passwords, like, you know, my mom's birthday."

"He wanted something easy to remember and pronounce." she clarified. "Don't tell me you actually used those suggested encrypted passwords?"

"Nah, my password is your name and birthday. Easy to remember." he answered in the most candid and casual of tone, as if it was nothing of a revelation. She gave him a chaste kiss on the lips.

"Okay, Romeo."

Owen leaned his chin on her shoulder and Claire burrowed her fingers in his hair.

The Finder window opened to the single item— A video file. She cast a glance at Owen, who looked even more nervous than he was a while ago.

Claire pressed Play.

"Is this working? Is this working? Oh yeah, the red button is… okay. Okay!" A chirpy looking Alan Grady greeted from the laptop screen. "I hope this isn't too weird and scary."

Claire sucked in a breath. She reached for Owen's hand, only for him to meet her halfway.

"Hello Owen and Claire. I couldn't leave without my usual dramatic flair. You kids know me." The man chuckled before his eyes roamed around the screen. "I'm still getting the hang of this tech. I hope I'm really recording. It was really a struggle without Claire beside me."

She stole a glance at him and felt her heart break a little at the longing smile lingering on his lips.

"… But I hope you both understand why I don't want you here when it happens. That's why I chose not to tell you Owen. And why I also sent Claire away. But, don't get me wrong, I'm looking forward to me dying." He assured them, smiling. "But I—"

And for the first time since the video started, Alan looked frail and gloomy.

"I couldn't stand seeing you two getting hurt over an old man like me. That'll hurt me more than these last few months."

"Anyway, the point of this video call… uh, message… video message is to tell you, that I'm so proud of you of both of you. I know everything I left behind is in good hands. I'm at peace with it, knowing that it's all gonna be taken care of by you two."

Owen gave a quick chuckle, shook his head, but still keeping that tight grip in her hand. A silent tear rolled down Claire's cheek and she let it, too stunned to care.

"If it's okay to adopt a mid 30's woman, I would've done it my dear, Claire…"

The absurdity of the statement earned a laugh from both of them.

"And if it wasn't gonna hurt the slightest chance that you two might end up together, I'm all for it. Bring me the adoption papers!"

"But just so you know, Owen Michael Grady…" Alan leaned forward, a cautious finger hovering in the air. "… She's a keeper. She's a little bit scary, but she's great."

"And Claire, Owen could be pretty stubborn sometimes, but he's a good man. I hope you two will work, well, at least, try to work in harmony together." He emphasized the last two words.

"It would mean a lot to me, if you do. I will have a second will that I specifically told Simon not to divulge until it's my one year anniversary. He's on his way here to write it for me. Told him to bring a scotch or whiskey cause I'm parched."

"But, yeah. Everything you have to know is in the other drive. My business transactions, bank transactions, expenditures. Everything. Guard it well. I don't wanna touch it, I'm afraid I'm gonna delete something."

"I don't know what else to say, but don't be sad please. I'm happy. I've lived a wonderful life. I love you both and thank you."

And Alan offered them one grateful, heartfelt, final smile. Alan fumbled for the buttons for a bit before the screen went blank.

A long, heavy silence ensued. They stayed motionless for a long time until Owen turned his head and gave her a lingering kiss on her temple. Claire finally allowed herself to sag in his embrace. Her hand, coming up to grip his opposite shoulder in a half hug. He pressed his cheeks against her and she's made aware of how damp they were.

And in the silence, she's struck by the ferocity of emotions; of awe, of surprise, of heartache, of longing. But one emotion was towering everything else. An emotion she had a feeling she'd known all this time, clamoring to get out, to be known. Finally.

The words climbed higher in her throat, ever eager.

Her lips had already parted to say it.

But he beat her to it, because, of course he does.

"I love you." Owen whispered, trouncing her very own confession. He moved his arm, willing her to look up from their previous cozy position. Claire could only close her eyes as he stretched his neck for a kiss

His eyes, more sonorous and penetrating with their emotions —it drawn her completely bereft of speech.

"I love you, Claire." He mumbled against her lips, a childish grin residing on his, as if he knew what he did.

As if he knew what she was gonna say.

---

Three years later.

He was seething.

Like a ticking bomb, ready to explode.

Shaking.

Fuming.

Deadly.

Owen Grady was that mad.

The rotor blades finally ceased to a halt as the helicopter landed on the building. The landing skid was still a good five inches off the pad when he bolted off his seat. With barely contained ire, he threw the aviation headset to Lowery. The equipment skittered off his friend's hands as he tried to catch it. The harsh wind flew the lapels of his jacket open as he marched towards the doors. And as if it will relieve some of the strain he was feeling, he loosened his tie.

He entered the elevator, Lowery tailing, mute and silent behind him. After his fit upon landing in Sacramento, his friend must've thought it wise to keep his mouth closed. Still, he commended Lowery for trying to calm him down before they boarded the helicopter.

But nothing could waver him. And Lowery knew better than to talk sense to him.

He swiped his access card on the screen and the lift descended, yet not quick enough. He closed his eyes and took a huge inhale, to calm himself. But the angry puffs were persistent.

Because, it was her.

God damn it. It was always her.

The redhead had always been the only reason for his self-control to be palpable one minute then inexistent the next.

The distorted reflection in the doors, in a way, was reflecting his foul mood. Beside him, Lowery was still quiet. But he could still hint the amused smile on his friend's face.

Good to know that my relationship was still their number one source of entertainment. He thought, grimly.

The elevator doors opened and as soon as he stepped out, there was a yelp of cheer… but it died down. His intention must be obvious enough that dared everyone speechless. The employees' amicable pleasantries to him and Lowery froze mid air.

Out of the sea of people, he saw her—her mouth ajar, her eyes apologetic and nervous. Her protruding, 6 month pregnant belly almost making him feel guilty. But he pressed his lips into a thin line, steeling himself.

"Where is she?"

With mouth agape, the British woman, pointed her pen at the direction he wanted to know.

He gave Zara a curt nod before narrowing his eyes at the wooden door ahead. He's surprised his eyes haven't melted it yet. He strode towards the hall, avoiding anyone's nervous glances.

A cool headed composure was something that came naturally off him. He had always minded his manners, his ability to empathize with his people. But, right now, if he was being a self-entitled prick, an abuser of his power, he couldn't care less.

The orotund voice was distinguishable despite the cemented barrier. He could feel his anger jouncing off him. He clutched the doorknob in a vise-like grip and pushed.

Everyone's eyes fell on him. And like the people in the hallway, their amiable smiles faded. Owen ignored them and riveted his hard attention on her— the only attention that mattered.

She was in the dead center of the room, halfway through a presentation. Any evidence of her recent hospitalization wasn't obvious. At least not to anyone else but him.

Her medium-long hair was down in loose waves today. Her fringe, tucked behind her ear. Her clothes, although looser, was prim and pressed. The red lipstick and pink cheeks might've fooled everyone in this building, but not him. The thought made him even more furious.

He walked and stood by his then-chair at the end center of the table— a direct opposite from her.

Although, he gave up full company jurisdiction, he still practices his authority over the board. But only in special cases, such as this. More precisely, her.

Let him be unprofessional.

Let his employees and the board whisper.

Let them have something to talk about.

Her hand, fell by her side as she smiled innocently at him. That same, sweet, sunny smile that he was puny for. He swore, this woman was the only reason his heart kept fucking beating. And the only one who could expertly turn it, him, inside out.

He growled in a hoarse whisper. "Everyone. Out."

The employees cast him nervous glances, and didn't move, as if they didn't hear him.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, to, somehow, collect himself. He let out another harsh, threatening whisper. His eyes on hers, unyielding. "Out. Now."

God, he'd regret this later. He figured, he'd apologize to the board later. But there were more pressing matters at hand.

And everybody bustled out the room in such an impressive, world-record hurry.

The tension between her and him escalated. But Claire was merrier, like a girl scout who sold all her cookies— the complete opposite of what he was at the moment.

He kept his eyes on her, maintaining his rigid, annoyed stance. Their relationship hasn't always been wordy (well, sometimes, he could be). Rather, they let their actions represent what they wanted vocalized.

Lowery was the last one out the room, a silly leer twitching his face. And as soon as he heard the door closed behind them, Claire's face brightened.

She fluttered her eyelashes at him, the corners of her lips, twerking. "Hi baby."

He faltered for a second, his brain processing the sobriquet. Claire never called him anything other than Owen, or Grady. Or idiot or any and every insulting nickname in the book. Certainly, not baby.

She only calls him that when she's… when he's kissing her... When they're…

He scowled when he realized what it meant. If she thought that it would distract him, she had another thing coming.

"Don't "baby" me." He gritted with every ounce of self-preservation. "Why weren't you answering my calls?"

"I was in a meeting." She reasoned, simple and quick, her tone, teasing.

"I can see that, but..." He pinched the skin between his eyebrows, trying to alleviate the impending headache.

But he burst.

"What the hell do you think you're doing here?!"

"Working." She stated, weighing her arms beside her as if to say the obvious. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Don't get smart with me, Dearing. You know, you're not allowed to."

A week ago, she underwent an emergency minor surgery. Despite his nagging to get herself checked, she insisted that it was a only a slight fever. Owen then went out to get chicken soup and antibiotics. When he arrived home, he found her hurling over the toilet. Her complexion got even paler and indisposed. She couldn't stand from the pain on her sides. Owen rushed an unconscious Claire to the hospital. After a quick assessment, they rolled her for an emergency appendectomy. Claire's been at the hospital for almost two weeks as her body fought the infection. The doctors advised her to avoid stress, ergo, working to help her recover faster.

Owen had just landed in Sacramento when he received a frantic call from Cora. He'd been furious at Claire. How reckless was she?

Owen called the office and confirmed that Claire, was there. And even though, he had somewhere important to be, Owen re-boarded the helicopter.

Claire curled her lips inside her mouth, repressing her very obvious amusement.

"What?" He scowled, his brows furrowing together. "This isn't funny, Claire!"

"Isn't it?" She remarked in a gleeful tone. "You've been treating me like a doll for the past few days. It's nice to have —"

"That's because, not two weeks ago, you were puking your guts out!"

"I'm fine, now. I have the best nurse." She flirted, winking at him.

"Ugh! You're not supposed to be out for the next two days, for Christ's sake!"

She shrugged, nonchalantly. "I feel better. Oh! And I got my stitches out before leaving." She untucked the side of her flowing white top to show him the pink, raised contusion by her hip. She looked proud of herself. "See? So, all good."

The scowl formed deeper on his face.

"Are you kidding me? Are you kidding me, Claire?! You ran away from the hospital!"

She arranged herself and folded her arms, as if to say, You're one to talk.

"This is different." He said, too stubborn to let her win the argument.

Claire scrunched her nose. "It's really, not."

"This is not the time to compare, Claire." He huffed. "You are going back."

She straightened up and broke his gaze to fix the papers in front of her. "Owen, I'm fine. I missed so many things and there are tons of work to do."

"No you don't. Zara and Ericka are here."

Owen knew what she was doing, of course. As always, Claire had been trying to squeeze a small amount of work before the wedding. Her work ethic and dedication was still dead on; he loved that about her. But when she's jeopardizing her welfare, (thus, his sanity) he won't be having it.

When she didn't answer, he took a step forward. "You're going home. Right now."

Claire stacked the folders on the wood, the papery racket echoing in the room. She shook her head at him. He could sense another pathetic reason forming on her lips. "Owen—"

"Claire." He copied, manipulating his voice to show he's calmed down (he hasn't). "You heard what the doctors said. You need rest."

"It was a simple procedure. Don't be such a drama queen. I'm fine."

He scoffed before he leaned forward, palms flat over the table. He still couldn't shake the sight of her a week ago; pale, feverish, vomiting in the toilet. Owen didn't think he'd be able to forget that in his entire life. "You are going home. I'll haul you over my shoulder if I have to, Dearing."

Claire looked up. Her features, alight with mischief that was so unlike her. She, too, leaned forward, her arms supporting her weight.

The movement allowed his gaze to drip down her chest. She was wearing a light sheer top, her black bra showing through. The exposed skin of her sternum, milky, enticing and oh so smooth to touch. It suddenly reminded him that it had been two weeks. Two long weeks since they were intimate.

He got the impression that Claire chose this particular outfit to distract him. Owen gulped, his mouth going dry. Judging by the simper on her crimson lipstick, he knew Claire caught his lustful stare.

With great effort he raised his eyes from temptation. But found out, her eyes were way, way worse. The deep-set green orbs had a come-hither look— humorous, challenging.

"You are going home. End of discussion." He enunciated, his finger emphasizing every word on the table.

"Am I?" Her long, thick eyelashes fluttered at him again. Claire pushed herself off the table, my god, and sauntered over to him.

He knew loving her would bite him in the ass one day. This was one of those days.

Owen straightened up as well. But he stood his ground. He did not want to give her the satisfaction that everything she does, affected him. He threw her another scolding look, for good measure.

When she reached him, Claire touched the tail of his tie. With the dainty, soft hands, he missed, she twisted and arranged the fabric to a Windsor knot. He watched her, keeping everything within himself in touch. But a traitorous sigh escaped him. Claire's lips quirked into a small smile as she continued dressing him. He tried not think of her perfume, or how gorgeous she looked, how she was wearing his favorite shade of lipstick. He held on to his annoyance, when his eyes fell on the thin scar on her neck, just inches in length below the pulse point.

Owen felt his stomach drop at the memory.

Sweet, sweet air.

He could almost taste it on his tongue.

He gasped as they rose to the surface. He swallowed air back into his lungs, coughing water out. Owen looked down the weight on his heavy, aching arms.

Claire.

Dread enveloped his stomach.

He clutched her to him, wafting them towards the deck. Owen willed his body for one last adrenaline rush. But when he sunk, one of the swimmers behind them caught him. The other one pried Claire away and out of the water. A bunch of hands grabbed him out the water and he fell with a wet thump on the deck. He coughed lake water, his body convulsing from the cold and pain. The patches of black spots sidled from his eyes, making him dizzy and nauseous. His shoulders were hurting him even more.

Everyone was being so loud.

Everybody was coming from all different directions, that they're almost a blur.

Everything's a blur.

Every sound, distant and aloof.

People hovered him and covered him in a thick blanket. They were asking him questions, but he couldn't focus, his mouth, wired shut. On his left, he saw the yacht, the lake and the grim landscape.

A few feet from him, Claire was on her back. He swiveled his head in her direction. Her complexion was paler than the moon. The only color on her was the blood trickling down her neck, which was redder now that they're out of the water. Women, both wearing a large red cross over their uniforms attended her. One was closing the wound on her neck with a gauze. The other woman was performing CPR.

He sat up, the blanket falling to his waist. Zia and Barry was screaming at him to stop moving. He pushed past them. He stood up and staggered to Claire, the deck crunched beneath him. He pushed away the hands trying to get him.

He had to get to her.

He had to...

But his knees gave up and he fell. His arms caught him, preventing him from falling flat on his face. The sudden impact made him scream; the pain rushed, flowed to his shoulders. He dropped on his good shoulder, his body still facing her. Somebody grabbed him, laying him further down. Eyes up on the dark sky.

Owen turned his head to her direction again while the medic cut the sleeve on his shoulder.

The woman was giving Claire chest compressions.

He heard the medic counting. "One, two, three, four, five. Come on, come back, Claire!"

Without thinking, his thumb stroke the pale mark. Though the skin was smooth under his touch and didn't, whatsoever, affected her allure, Owen didn't like it. It was a haunting reminder that he failed in keeping her safe.

Claire must've finally noticed his distress. She dug her thumbs on his jaw, pulling his face upwards to meet her softened gaze. His anger seemed to stagger under her genuine perusal.

Claire tilted her head at him and spoke in the gentlest tone. "Hey. Where'd you go?"

He continued soft caress on her neck as he stared at her. "God, Claire, don't scare me like that again." Owen couldn't bring himself to point out that he wasn't thinking about her recent stunt in the hospital.

Claire skidded her fingers over his bearded jaw and to the little hair on his nape. Her touch, ever so easing.

"I'm sorry." She murmured, eyeing him with tenderness that never failed to make him give in.

He exhaled a long breath and pulled her by the waist, folding her in his forceful embrace. They stayed in their quiet bubble for a few moments, felt her chest rising against him. Claire burrowed her head on his shirt, her arms wound around his neck, while his, were on her waist. She sighed. Her breath deep and thoughtful. Her fingers were rubbing his back with a soothing attempt, he couldn't help but melt into. Owen loved her even more like this, with her guard down and pliant to his affection. It was a side she never showed to anyone else. Only him. It made him feel like he's on the top of the world.

But then, he stilled. Owen's eyes widened in fear when he remembered the square bulk tucked in his jacket. Owen felt nervous all of a sudden. He pressed his lips on her forehead and pulled away.

"Are you okay?" She whispered, her breath, tickling his Adam's apple.

He repeated his catchphrase to her question. "I am now."

Owen felt her kiss his throat before he felt her smile. Claire tightened her hug on him. "I missed you shouting at me."

"Well, I was mad at you."

"I know. I miss it. It's cute." She raised her eyes at him and pulled away at half an arm's length. Owen never thought, her soft green eyes could make him fall harder than he already was.

Without warning, the box got heavier — if that was even possible. Owen was afraid it will reveal itself, unabashedly, out the pockets of his jacket.

"You're cute."

He narrowed his eyes at her attempt. "Don't flatter me, Dearing. You're still going back."

It was Claire's turn to groan. "Please, don't make me." She pleaded. "I'm gonna die of boredom. Franklin locked me out of my own emails, as per your grand advice—"

He smiled, remembering that little hack he made Franklin do.

"— I can't keep still. Please, make me do something."

He frowned at her. "Staying in bed is—"

But she cut him off. "No. Staying in bed and lying down aren't doing anything, Owen."

He sighed and with a resigned tone, conceded. "Fine. I'll talk to Franklin."

She bit her lip, stopping the big smile that could erupt in her face. But then, her brows furrowed. "Wait, I thought you have that talk for the foundation?"

He didn't even tell her about that, but yeah, trust his girlfriend to know his calendar.

"I do."

Claire stepped out of his embrace and glanced down her watch. She turned aghast when she realized. Owen gave her a lopsided, conceited, smile.

"What the hell are you doing here?! You are the head speaker, Owen!"

"I am." He nodded. "But I told them to take a few minutes break because I had to fetch you first."

She looked horrified. "You can't do that!"

"I already did. Deal with it." He bragged, his smile ever so smug on his face.

Claire slapped his chest and he laughed, rubbing his shirt.

She grasped his sleeve. She yanked him towards the door, reprimanding him as she did so. "What do you think you're doing, Owen! The mayor's gonna be there! They're all waiting for you! You have to go now! You're driving me crazy! What the hell, Owen!"

He dragged his feet, unwilling. "I will go, if you will too. A little quid pro quo, Miss Dearing."

Claire released his clothing and glowered at him. "Unbelievable!" She opened the door for him. "Go!"

"I will, if you're promising to go home, now." He put his hands in his pockets, ducked down to her height and gave her a peck. "Now, do we have a deal, Miss Dearing?"

She rolled her eyes before she exhaled a petulant, "Fine!"

"Alright. Jasper is in the lobby. He'll drive you to the penthouse."

"You are the biggest idiot on the planet, Grady." Claire sent another peeved glare at his direction. But he knew victory when he saw one.

He kissed the little pout of her lips. "I know. I'll see you at five, honey."

---

As confounding as it was, it would seem that Owen could be terrifying when he wants to be. Zara and other employees practically threw her out the building. Jasper dropped her off at the penthouse before lunch. True to his word, Owen let her do her emails. She busied herself with it for the rest of the day and the days that followed.

Claire settled into, this easy routine. Working from home wasn't as dull as she anticipated it would be. Zoom calls were heaven-sent. Zara or another employee would come over to have her sign some papers,. Mid afternoon, she'll brew some tea or coffee for a quick break. Owen would arrive sometime after five. He'd greet her with an enthusiastic kiss, dipping her until the tips of her hair touched the floor.

She cherished evenings like this. The two of them alone at home, debating on whoever gets to cook dinner. Arguments were still a thing a between, for neither wanted to back down without so much as a fight. But this night, she let him win. Claire learned that compromise was the most important aspect of their relationship.

Claire perched on the bar stool, admiring the domestic air around them. He was garnishing their dinner and rambling about the events of his day. He's still dressed in his work clothes; a white dress shirt tucked inside his gray trousers and a belt. His jacket and tie lay abandoned on the couch.

Amidst their dinner and chatter, his phone buzzed. She extended her arm to answer as Owen happily munched on his steak beside her.

She beamed when she saw the Caller ID.

"Hello Gray!"

"Hi Owen!" Gray said with her.

"Oh." Her nephew paused when he realized who he was talking to. "Hi Aunt Claire!"

"Hi buddy!" She caroled and reached a thumb to wipe the sauce on Owen's chin, and licking her finger clean. "How are you?"

"I'm good! Mom got me this new video game! I, uh…" Her nephew trailed off, making her realize that she wasn't the one he needed.

She frowned and cast a disapproving look at Owen, who was grinning like the devil.

"I'm here, man!" Owen answered, swallowing the last of his plate before he took the phone from her.

It's happened quite a few times after she and Owen spent Thanksgiving with them. Claire didn't think it was a big deal. Not even when Karen and their mom only called her because Owen wasn't answering his. Not even when Zach invited Owen to a gentleman's lunch with his friends. The interactions warmed her heart. Seeing that Owen grew up to a very small family, it was endearing to see him have some semblance of it. And with her family too! Claire felt happy and proud that she was the one who gave it to him.

She remembered her mom's reaction when they flew over for Gray's birthday. After a good 2 minutes of gawking, pure perplexity and more gawking, her mom engulfed Owen in a teary hug and kisses.

"You are the first man, our Claire-bear's brought home! Ever! I thought she's gonna die alone! I mean, she's a terror! I am so glad! So glad you came, Owen! And you're real! I thought- "

"Mom!"

Claire never wanted anything but for the ground to open and swallow her whole. Throughout that afternoon, Owen, her mom and Richard were inseparable. Even after the months that followed, her family maintained good communication with Owen.

Yes, from time to time, even her dad calls him for a tournament of golf when he's in town.

Alan Grady's video message was the final push she needed to reconcile her family. She talked to her dad, her mom and Karen. A few days after, she and her dad flew to Wisconsin. It was better than what she expected. Her parents made up surprisingly quickly, they looked like old friends. However, weird that was. Ron met Richard, Zach and Gray. Whilst Karen was more conservative during, she finally came around a year ago. All was well for the Bryne- Dearing family, again. It was the proudest moment of her life yet.

It was hard not to eavesdrop, not when her nephew's animated voice was ringing off the speaker. Owen was teaching him the mechanics of the video game with meticulous attention, as he would in a board room.

Claire finished her supper while the two continued their catch up.

Gray heckled Owen with endless questions, but Owen didn't seem to mind and even indulged him. At some point, Gray asked (again) if they had already packed for the weekend, to which Owen laughed merrily.

"What time do you land? Are you gonna take a private jet? What floor are you staying at?"

"Of course, we are, buddy. We don't want to upset the bride, now do we?"

After years of dating and living together, her mom and Richard finally decided to get married. The nuptials would take place on Ian Malcolm's island (they still prefer to call it that). As Owen promised Gray, her family was invited to the resort re-opening. Margaret and Richard fell in love with everything about the island. Their plan to get married in a clandestine ceremony, ruined and forgotten after the day tour.

Owen almost sounded disappointed that Gray ended the call. He made her nephew promise to call him tomorrow to hear about the game again.

Claire got up to grab themselves a bottle of champagne and the carrot cake from the fridge.

"Wow, that's a new world record for you two..." She glanced at the clock in the kitchen and kid. "32 minutes. You're spoiling him."

He shrugged one shoulder. "He's a great kid. And I know what it felt like to be awkward at 14." He drank from his champagne glass. "Did you hear about Zach's new girlfriend?"

"Can't say that I did. How is it that you know more about them than I do?" she reproved, though, her tone was light and joking.

"Nothing wrong with a little gossiping among men."

Claire laughed and gave him a chaste kiss. She got up to gather their plates.

Owen fought her, "Na-ah-ah! You are gonna take a seat, Dearing. No extra movements from you." He lectured, stealing the stacked plates and pushing her hips away with his. "You're missing an organ now. You shouldn't move that much."

She rolled her eyes at his misplaced exaggeration, and filled another glass.

"You shouldn't drink either." He reacted before stealing the glass from her. The suds covering his gloves, soaking her lap. She protested with a "Hey!"

Sensing she couldn't drink in peace, Claire poured herself another glass and sat on the couch overlooking the kitchen. She toed off her slippers and tucked her legs under her.

"Oh, and Lowery would like me to remind you about the benefit next week? Did you review the sheet I gave you?"

"Yes, I did. Signed it too. I already forwarded it to Lowery an hour ago."

She smiled at the slight urgency in his voice. Owen really loved his new duties. It fitted him well, too. Observing how thrilled he always was on his new job made her regret that she almost stopped him from taking it.

"Anyway, why was Lowery sulking a while ago?" She started, remembering their friend's irritated look when he came up to deliver some papers. "When he came to get your computer. Did something happen?"

Owen gave a loud, short laugh. "The kids tackled him to the ground. One of the kids broke his glasses."

"Yeah?!" She propped her elbow on the back of the cushion and listened to him. Owen blathered on the commotion with Lowery and the kids as he washed the dishes. The smile was permanent of her face. Owen's energy has always been infectious. He was like a magnet. Oozing with effortless charisma that always enrapture anyone he's speaking with, herself included.

The unguarded and boyish expression radiated his features as he talked. Claire felt the familiar warmth spread in her chest the longer she stares at him. Claire thought it was impossible for her to love another person that much. But here she was, being proven wrong.

Claire allowed herself to really study him. She'll never get tired of seeing him like this, she thought with a sly grin.

His hair was even longer even though she cut it last week. It was some months ago when Owen had first coaxed her to cut his hair. She was against it, not having it done before. But Owen managed to persuade her to do it. (He also joked that he could just use the razor to shave it off.) In the end, it wasn't half as bad as she (or he) thought. Claire gained confidence after that she continued to trim it whenever he asks. His signature long stubble on his firm jaw made his visage look rougher, tougher.

The top buttons of his white dress shirt were open, allowing her a peek of his strip of chest hair. The sleeves were straining against his biceps, the cuffs rolled up to his elbows. The yellow gloves covering his hands made him even sexier, if that was even possible.

Claire could admit that she doesn't mind him looking like he'd been tinkering around the garage. The wrinkled shirts, denim pants grew on her. Even finding them as irresistible and sexier as when he's wearing his tailored suits.

Claire looked down to see her then- full glass, empty. A lightheaded, bold feeling powering her body.

Maybe, the champagne was a bad idea.

She had an early meeting and by the lewd way her thoughts were leading her, she won't be up to anything good.

He hadn't touched her ever since she got sick. Owen and his excessive worrying was sweet, but downright upsetting. A woman has needs! And if Business Insider deemed your boyfriend as one of the hottest in bachelors in the country, you ought to do something about it.

Claire couldn't help but think about the last time they deprived themselves of each other. Owen had been seducing her for days. But Claire, being the proud woman that she was, wanted to make him pay for a missed business deal. She lasted. All ten days of it. And all because of a single number sheet. She'd been at it for a week, trying to find the wrong numbers. Owen helped her out and managed to find the discrepancy in less than five minutes. The next thing she knew, she had him on the table, on the wall, on the floor. Then she was on her back, and one leg, both legs on his shoulders. Claire had never been more thoroughly debilitated in her entire life. The whole penthouse smelt of vanilla, sandalwood, and sex for the whole weekend. They haven't even made it to the bed yet.

I could still resist him, Claire thought with every determination. Owen was still talking about his day and she responded when she has to. Not that she was complaining, Claire loved seeing him so worked up.

But his melodious laugh racked his body, thus, frittering the last of her restraints. That moment, Claire decided that she could always set up two alarms for tomorrow.

Fired up by the memory and how ravishing he looked while doing the dishes, Claire walked back to the kitchen.

"Thank you for dinner."

"You're welcome." he smiled, his back still to her.

She was hopeless against him, she was very well aware of that. Claire already had come to terms that it wasn't a bad thing. Being with Owen helped her grow, he taught her how to emphatize and ride the rails. Owen broke down the walls tethering her to her broken life, mended it by loving her wholly and patiently. She was strong on her own, but Owen made her stronger.

He stuttered when she started raining the shirt on his back with slow, open and torrid kisses. Her tongue grazing and wetting the fabric, every time. Owen continued doing the dishes, but he was silent now. She could tell he was deliberately ignoring her. In retaliation, Claire pushed his body further on the counter. She felt more than heard the nervous chuckle from his chest.

"Claire."

"Mmm?" She kissed his shoulder blades, pressing her body further into him.

She placed her hands on his waist, keeping him still as she continued to torment him. He was still taut with restraint; she could feel it exuding off his burning skin.

The water from the tap stopped running, his gloves went off, and he gripped the counter. Claire ran her hands all over his back, the sides of his thighs, and up his chest and down his stomach. It still amazed her how large he was to her minuscule frame.

Owen cleared his throat. "Claire." He started again. His voice, was now turning gravelly. Her lips, never leaving a part of his shirt, un-kissed.

"Yes, Owen?" She allowed her hands to drift a little down his navel... And she moaned, biting his shoulder blade when she felt his arousal.

Okay, make it three alarms.

Her insides warmed up in carnal anticipation when he groaned and shuddered. Owen leaned his hips further back and away from the counter so she could sneak her hand around him. Claire palmed him, growing, feeling hotter with each of their languid breath.

She heard a thud and she opened her eyes to see him, leaning his forehead on the cupboard. His handsome face, scrunched up, his lips dry and ajar. She trailed a nail on the zipper, lingering them there, teasing him. He bucked his hips, pushing himself on her hand in permission. She undid his belt and grasped erected flesh. Hot skin on hot skin.

Her thoughts were getting scattered with each gasp of pleasure from him. Claire bit her lip as she gave him a long, tentative strokes. Her thumb wiped the pearlescent moisture on the tip and used it as a lubricant. His body jerked, his breath, getting harsher and harsher. Owen kept his hands off her as she continued her advances.

But it was that low-pitched grumble of her name again, that a ravenous hunger overtook her.

The hell with all these teasing and delayed gratification. She wanted him. Now.

Claire twisted his body to face her, her body throbbing with need. She took pleasure on how his hazel green eyes widened before she sunk to her knees.

"Claire—" he said with futile reluctance. But she had her tongue at him before he could even think of anything absurd such as stopping her.

Claire held his lust-addled stare as she licked him. The taste of him, salty, and masculine, making everything in her burn with desire. One hand was still pumping him, the other was on his thigh. His mouth parted every time she pushed him in. She had the urge to close her eyes, but fought against it; his clouded, barely restrained gaze wasn't to miss. Especially when she does that little thing with her tongue. He growled at her and jerked his hips, his hand holding the counter for dear life. Claire rubbed his head over her lips, her tongue darting out to tease. Owen hissed, before his damp hand flew to her hair in a soft grip.

Owen gripped the counter behind him, his eyes still on her and her hand. She hollowed her cheeks, taking him in further, deeper. Claire snuck a hand under his shirt and scratched his abs and the indent of V on his hips.

God, he's sexy.

His head fell backwards on the cupboards again as his fingers tightened around her head. She bobbed her head, her tongue swirling on his member. Her hands were on the back of his thighs, motivating him to jerk his hips to her mouth. His hands returned to the counter, knuckles turning white. She could feel him tightening under her lips and hands.

"Claire, if you don't want to…" he warned.

Oh, she does.

She moaned, the sound vibrating off her. Owen bucked his hip in a deep push and held her head as he cried. Her mouth remained on him, soft bobs, as he pulsed and spilled his climax. She swallowed, stilling his hips, as her throat worked to swallow everything. But a few still dripped down her top.

Claire released him with a wet pop. But she flattened her tongue and licked a long stripe on his length. His body followed it like a wave, cresting and falling. Pride swells in her veins.

Owen had an impish, satiated grin on his face.

"You… you jumped me." He chastised, leering down at her with bright eyes and teeth.

She smiled at him, like some cat that got the cream… which, if one had to think about it, was quite true and literal.

Claire exposed her neck, tipped her head backwards, as she licked the underside of his soft shaft. A guttural groan rumbled from his chest before he heaved her upper arms to stand. Her thighs almost gave out from the strain of sitting too long but he caught her.

She unbuttoned his shirt and slid it away with his broad shoulders. Her breath, still hitching, at the faded scars and miles of hard skin. She pursed her lips for a kiss, but he didn't grant her. Instead, his palms were flat on the wall, his arms caging her in. His mouth fell on her collarbone, sucking the sensitive skin. Claire's fingers weren't idle; it traced each contour of his torso, the dip of his spine, to his undone pants.

She could feel his body almost radiating with fever. Her underwear was soaking through her silk shorts and she thrust her hips for friction. But only met air. Owen slanted his torso away from her, distancing himself. Claire wanted him closer; she tugged at him. But he didn't stir, but continued unbuttoning her top with one hand. His teeth nibbling her earlobe. Claire bit her lip in frustration.

"Owen, come closer."

Instead of answering, Owen bit down on her collarbone, sucking the spot that made her convulse. Owen kept his distance and she tried her best to bring him closer. But the man has a will of steel. His arms, still on either side of her head. He licked the sweat trickling down her neck, down to her chest. His stubble chaffing her skin, rubbing them lusciously red and raw.

He removed her shirt and it fell on the floor with a soft whoosh. Cold air nipped her breasts, making her nipples pucker to the point of unbearable. Owen wetted his lips, his eyes turning a shade darker. Claire arched her back, craving him to close the distance.

"Baby, come on. It's been too long." She pleaded, not even the slightest concerned at how the tables have turned on her now.

And Owen practically leapt to catch a breast. His hands closed around them, pushing them together and upwards. He lapped at it like a starving man. She was sure, marks would soon bloom purple in the morning. Claire should point out that her dress for the wedding was low neck and that... That... That tongue.

Oh, that tongue.

Claire whimpered at the fierceness of his enthusiasm that a breathy yes escaped her lips. Owen finally pressed his body against hers, letting her feel every hard nook and crevice. Claire gasped at his half-hard manhood.

Where he got the strength and stamina, she wouldn't know. But damn, was she grateful.

She hiked her knee up and rounded his hips, her foot, shoving his pants down. Her short nails digging on his behind, pulling him further into her.

Owen removed his mouth from her hickey-covered chest, his tongue circling her chin, her jaw and her ear.

"If you don't stop doing that with your hips, babe… I'm gonna be beat."

"That's the plan." Claire nibbled her lip again, smirking. "Is that so bad?"

"Well, yes." He pulled his head to give her a serious look. "Especially when I'm planning to take you in every surface here."

She tilted her head at him, feigning playful innocence. "Didn't we do that already?"

A smirk formed on his sculpted face, distracting her from the fingers trailing down her body. Owen slipped his hand inside her shorts and a finger went in. "Why, are you complaining, Miss Dearing?"

Her eyes fluttered close and a whimper of need rocked through her. Her thigh tightening around his waist. "God, no."

"Good." He replied, adding another finger to torture her with. She moaned, loud and clear. Claire rested her arms on his shoulder before he snatched them and raised it above their heads. Owen then, lowered his mouth on a pink nipple and sucked. His deft fingers never once ceasing with their mission in her mound. The eruptive sensation coiled in her belly, ready to spring. And Owen must've sensed this, he pressed the heel of his palm on her nerves, curled his two fingers inside. His face was an utter look of concentration as his fingers fiddled, searched, and then…

"Owen!" Claire screamed, throwing her head back on the wall as he grazed the heavenly spot.

Jesus Christ.

"Don't dance with the wolf if you're not prepared to blush. As I recall, you said that to me, Miss Dearing." he panted in her ear.

"Bastard." She chuckled between heavy breaths, remembering their late night phone call years ago. His palm circled around her, halting previous and upcoming thought process. She tilted her chin up at the overpowering, knees-buckling stimulation.

Owen groaned, his fully-grown erection rubbing on her other thigh. Claire reached a shaking hand on his wrist, in case he decided to stop.

She was driving her hips as he ground his hand. Her hoisted leg dropped down to her side as she pulled Owen for a kiss. His fingers curled and twisted and pushed inside her. Her body jerked upwards from the motion. Her thighs shook as stars began to fill her vision and giant tides of ecstasy overwhelmed her.

Claire gasped his name against his open mouth. Her hands cupped the sides of his face, her eyes closed from the high. She gave a shaky chuckle when he started showering her face with hasty kisses.

Her eyes opened when Owen lifted her bridal style. She squealed and her hand went behind his neck on instinct.

"Wha—"

"You thought we're done, Miss Dearing?" He said in a cheeky tone as he kicked the bedroom door open.

She giggled as he laid her out on the bed, their bed. Owen grabbed the hem of her shorts and dragged them along her legs. His fingers caressing the skin as it went; she lay on the bed, fully nude. When he didn't join her, Claire propped herself on her elbows and found him standing over her. Despite the charged, sensual hunger evident in his posture, she couldn't help but feel awestruck by the reverence in his gaze.

But she's not craving chivalry, not this moment at least.

Feeling brazen, Claire raised her knees and spread her still-shaking thighs to him. She considered it mission accomplished when Owen's jaw dropped. Claire glided her foot on her opposite leg, as she waited for him.

His eyebrows shot up, amused and naughty. He removed his half undone belt, pants and boxers before he joined her. Claire felt her stomach clench at the sight. Unbeknownst to her, her legs parted, a little wider to accommodate him. The bed dipped from the additional weight.

Claire sucked in a breath as she watched him lower his mouth, down where she was still sensitive. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss below her abdomen. His lips lingered on the scar from her operation, all dried up and healed, as she said it was.

Still, Claire felt it right to console him.

"I'm okay, I promise."

Owen looked at her through his eyelashes before he dipped his tongue on her navel. "Okay."

Claire felt her insides clench at the affirmation. She felt her heart constrict at the over-pouring love she felt for him. Owen had been the most thoughtful, protective partner, she could and ever will have... But Claire didn't need gentlemen and thoughtful right now. She needed the Owen that could prompt the reckless side of her— a side only meant for him, and this, them.

The roughness of his beard was a beguiling contrast to her skin. He peppered kisses on her stomach, thighs and knees. Perfect, sensual, show stopping, in every fucking way. She squirmed, welcoming the renewed sensation. Her eyes flew open when she felt the flicker of his tongue on her folds.

Her body bowed off the bed, his name on her lips. Owen held down her thighs, keeping them immobile, as he buried his tongue in her. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as Owen probed, claiming everything that was already his.

Forever his.

Owen perched her legs on his shoulders, her hips bucking on his face. Owen added a finger… and then two... And then another... And she thought she's gonna lose her mind with need.

Claire's labored breath echoed in the room, her fingers tugging his hair, hard, spurring him on. He wrapped his forearms on her thighs, opening her wider, yanking her closer to his face. His lithe body, drove himself on the sheet, following every movement of his tongue.

Claire couldn't think, unbridled desire clouding everything rational in her brain. She was writhing. Her head twisting on the pillows, her hands using the headboard as leverage to push herself to him. His fingers didn't stop that corkscrew motion. His mouth sucked her bundle of nerves with salacious energy. He kept his hand on her abdomen, making her feel, absorb every pleasure.

His teeth scraped flesh, and that's when she finally wailed, garbling a chorus of curses and his name. Her back met the bed again as Owen crept north. His lips, kissing every pore of her hypersensitive body. Claire reached for him and kissed him with bruising force, moaning at the taste of her on his tongue. He balanced himself on his elbows as their lips devoured each other. Her legs circled him again. She crossed her ankles together, almost bringing his tip, to her entrance. Owen groaned and bit her upper lip in response.

She pulled back to take a breather, leaning her forehead against his, to whisper. "I miss you baby. I miss you. Please."

With half lidded eyes, she could see the smirk on his face. "I miss you too."

Claire forced her hips to him again, and met cold air once again. "Then stop teasing me."

"But it's so much fun." He rumbled, marking another hickey on her neck.

She slid her hands on the dimples on his lower back, trailing her fingers tantalizingly on his spine. She treasured the delicious shiver that ran through him.

Her hands delved upfront, raking blazing skin before it arrived to its destination. Her fingers gripped him in a demanding grip and she heard Owen hiss. A sultry chuckle came out her swollen lips.

Claire skittered her thumb on the moisture that escaped him and spread it out. A needy groan flee from his chest before he seized her hands, put them over their heads and finally rammed into her.

Her mouth opened in sweet rapture, her breasts squishing themselves into his. Owen nipped her jaw as he seated himself in her. She dug her nails on the back of his hands when he started long-draw-out, aching thrusts.

"Better, Miss Dearing?"

Claire bit his lip and met his strong thrusts as an answer. His smirk faded into something akin to predatory snarl before he kissed her again. His kiss was firm and reverent and wanton, all at the same time. Her tongue was wading, sweeping his in a thorough display of dominance he couldn't help but welcome.

As for Owen, he tried to restrain himself— he really did. She had an operation not more than two weeks ago! He always prided himself on his willpower, especially when it comes to her seduction. He could even say that he'd gotten better over the years.

But then, Claire gave him that come-hither look throughout dinner. And he's left asking himself why he'd ever resisted her in the first place.

He lost himself, as he always does with her. Her moans, the subtle, eager shift of her hips and his name on her lips was something he could never get tired of. He released her hands, grasped her waist as he angled himself to push her deeper. Claire eased up towards the bed at the penetrating motion, her neck arching. Owen pressed his lips on the column of her damp neck, vociferating his pleasure with every curse word he knew. He buried himself again, and again, and he felt her nails flayed his back.

Fuck, yes.

He slid his hands from her breasts to her ass, lifting her torso off the bed. Owen pressed her body more taut against him. He ceased his thrusts and her hips to seat himself, allowing her muscles to clamp down on him. A grating noise erupted from his chest when Claire bit his shoulder. He kept her still, wanting to feel her insides clench on him again, tightening… and tightening.

Fucking hell.

"Owen... So good… So full…" she gasped below him, her legs fell on either side of them. She keened, her back curving, jutting out her perfect breasts to him as she milked them both in her sweet juices.

It took everything in him not to come apart with her right then. Owen slowed down his strokes, sensing her sensitivity. He rounded his hips in a clockwork motion, calming her from her high.

Claire claimed a hand on his shoulder and Owen understood. Without disconnecting their bodies, he rolled them so she was straddling him. His knees rose to support her. Claire mewled and her hands immediately found the scant hair on his chest. She started to move her hips again, rocking them, without lifting her body off him. The sight of her, goddess-like, flushed and still hungry tightened his chest.

One of his knees fell on the bed as her fingers traipsed his stomach. She wriggled herself on him in slow, enticing circles, choking all the wind off him.

Owen held her hips in an iron grip as he tossed his head back. His mouth felt dry and he slipped his tongue to dab some moisture to his lips… only to feel another. Claire leaned down to do the task herself before propping back up. She gave him a raunchy smile before settling on a gentle gallop— reminding him of something familiar.

A chuckle bubbled from his throat. He only then realized that it was the look she's always giving him when they're out in the fields with the horses. It was an intended and deliberate leer to distract him in the fields. The look that he always shrug off, because he was so focused on winning. Well, next time, it would bloody hell work.

"Well, it's so rude to laugh at me like that when I'm on top of you, Mr. Grady." She berated, although there was no heat in her tone.

Owen couldn't help but smirk. "My apologies, Ma'am. It won't happen again." He prodded his tongue in the insides of his cheek.

With practiced and intention, he watched as she rose an inch (or two) before sinking back in. He moaned for all of California to hear, his eyes closing.

She continued with this rhythm, her fingers scratching his abs. Every downward push seemed to slack her jaw. He flitted his hands on her neck, shoulders, before massaging her breasts. He almost felt sorry seeing the fresh marks he left tainting her flawless skin. Owen flexed his stomach to press an apologetic kiss on the gnarliest one on her collarbone.

He heard her gasp at the change in position, before he clashed their lips again. Owen relished on her whimper, chased it down her throat, desperate to hear it over and over again. Their pace quickened. He could feel his heartbeat going off the charts as her own. He moved his head so it rested on her; her dilated pupils on his. Owen swallowed every mewl, every ugh, every breathy litany on her sinful lips.

In flashing movement, he laid her on her back again, her legs still hooked around him. Owen dove into her, plummeting, driving her, them, both to the edge. Closer, higher, deeper. Her spilled nectar making slurping noises on his shaft. Their bodies, clapping together in lustful harmony. His hand slipped under her shoulder blades, to push her down whenever he thrusts in again. Claire's quivering thighs fell down on the bed.

He willed his body to hold out, for a little bit longer. One more, he needed her to fall one more time before he'd let go. Claire breathed that tiny squeal, that sultry sound he knew by heart now.

Claire pulled his face to her as he felt her insides contract around him. She kissed him, each sloppy brush telling him the depth of her feelings.

Owen felt the pull of his release from deep within him, inevitable and powerful. He held on to her, knowing full well that she was the only person holding him together. The only person he needed in this lifetime, hell, maybe even after. It's hard to hold back, to make the moment last, not when she's looking at him like he's the stars and the moon and the sun. Owen never felt luckier and more unworthy of her love than that moment.

His mouth opened against hers. His body quaking in sweet, heavy aftershocks. She held her to him, her arms, pressing his shoulders to him. Every intake of breath mingled with each other. Satisfied smiles plastered on their bruised lips.

He rolled to his side, arms splayed out, his mouth still open and gasping for breath. Claire took a long, satisfied, smug look. Here was Owen Grady reduced to a mindless, boneless state because of her.

Then again, it went both ways.

They hummed contentedly in each others' arms, luxuriating in the golden glow of post-coital bliss. Legs, arms, tangled. The scorching heat of the bodies, simmering to embers.

After a beat and when she finally regained her breath, Claire lay on her stomach, arms folded beside her. She smirked, observing his still degenerated state. "Did I ruin you?"

Still with his eyes closed, a smile crept up his handsome face and answered her. "You always do. God damn it."

"Good." She chuckled, propping her palms and chin on his stomach.

"How did I last without sex for almost three weeks again?"

Claire rolled her eyes. Though his tone was rhetorical, she answered him. "You tell me. Think you just like driving me crazy."

His chest rumbled with laughter before he keeled over her. Owen held both her hands beside her head as he stared at her. "Glad to know."

She scoffed. "What am I gonna do with you, Grady?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something, Dearing."

"Oh, I would." She asserted, nodding.

"You would, huh?" His hand slid down her sides before it pressed on her stomach. And before she could stop him, Owen dug his fingers in her ribs— her tickle spot.

"No, no! Owen! Stop!" Claire yelped, their uncontrollable laugh cutting off her words.

She squirmed, trying to deflect him and his fingers. Owen pinned her down, his fingers, unrelenting in their task.

"Stop! Stop! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

After a final pinch, Owen released her. He hovered above her, his elbow supporting him. He swiped the strands that fell over her eyes. And just like that, she felt every ounce of her breath taken from her and she's floating in the air.

His happiness was exuding off of his skin, mirroring her own. His eyes, the embodiment of the stars in the midnight sky. His lopsided smile, the smile she always knew was hers, called the butterflies she still felt in her stomach.

His fingers grazed the side of her neck, her shoulders, before it settled over her heart. Claire felt it thud a thundering beat underneath his warm fingertips. She placed her hand atop his, keeping him there, close to what he owned and always will own. Owen smiled at her. His eyes, speaking a thousand loving language he had no trouble to always say.

Claire always let her actions speak for her.

A gentle touch, to say she's listening. A big hug to show she cared. A sweet kiss to tell him that she couldn't live without him. And that even just three years together, he had become her entire world, the best thing she never knew she needed.

Claire was aware that she doesn't say it often as she could. Nor had she let him hear it as often as he deserved. But even though Owen Grady reassured her that he didn't need words, she let her lips whisper,

"I love you." Her fingers skittered over his jaw, his lips and the sides of his face. "I think I may have loved you, much longer than I knew."

Claire couldn't think his smile could widen even further.

It wasn't like she hadn't said it before (she did). But Claire still reveled his expression whenever she says it. His mouth was open, a stuttering breath, before he closed it again. Owen gawked at her with his impossible eyes, Disarming, spellbinding, beautiful, hers. He was still silent, as if he's drinking the moment in.

Was it possible to love another person this much?

She laughed, crossing her arms across his shoulder blades, so he was pressing his whole weight on hers. "Did you hear me?"

He nodded, still mute and with that boyish, adorable look on his face.

She cupped his face with both hands, nuzzled his nose with hers and reiterated. "I love you, Owen Grady."

Then his demeanor changed, matching that of a supernova, bursting with light, love and everything good.

"And I, you."

---

An hour before the wedding he found himself spreeing for the rose garden. His phone, stapled to his ear and occasional looks back to the house.

"If Claire knew I was talking to you right now, she'll kill me!"

"You're right." Affirmed the laughing voice on the phone. "Then, why did you?"

"Uh, because you called me?" Owen stated, as a matter of fact.

"But you didn't have to answer."

He scoffed, but glanced at the vacation house behind him, vigilant and ready to throw the phone if he saw a sign of her.

"I am not supposed to be working Lowery. I am on leave, for Christ's sake." He scolded himself, more than his friend on the phone.

"I told you it can wait. You're the one who insisted— never mind. " Lowery clapped back with a resigned tone. "Anyway, I wanted to know, how's the family? Ready to run for the mills yet?"

Owen took an instinctive look behind him again. He could hear the distant clamor of voices. Karen, objects being lifted then set down, the service crew, catering crew and then Karen again.

He smiled.

Before they landed on the island, Claire did warn him that her family was… well, like Karen. But a thousandfold crazier. He laughed, every family member always assumed their family was crazy. But she wasn't wrong; the Bryne family was crazy, but in the best ways possible.

"They're great. Better than I anticipated."

Owen smiled to himself, not quite believing that he's so deep in and with someone else's family before. Yes, he attended a dozen weddings in his past, but never like this.

Owen never knew he longed for a big family until he's being smothered with hugs, kisses, shoulder pats. Everybody instantly warmed up to him. They've been effusive about him… and for Claire (they didn't think someone was worthy and was tough enough to take her on). Some offered him benevolent "Good luck with her, man". Some of them, for the lack of a better word, were star struck. A few of them even brought up his charity works, and he was happy to talk about it, if not, a tiny bit embarrassed. But Claire drew the line when Great aunt Joana brought copies of his Forbes cover issues.

"That's good, that's good. Any hotties you might wanna introduce me to?"

Owen smirked, thinking of Claire's loud, single, and older aunts. "Yeah, sure."

"Damn! I regret taking your place at this meeting right now. I should've been there with you, running errands and other shit!"

"Ha-ha! Anyway, thanks man. And thank you for updating me."

"No worries. Right, I shouldn't keep you. See you on Tuesday, boss."

"See you."

He continued his stroll around the landscape, enjoying the fresh, tropical breeze and the blooming nature beside him. Like her mom, Sarah Malcolm has a penchant for flowers. And it showed, considering the meticulous details of every fern, every shrubbery here.

From where he stood, he could see nature in its most majestic and humble brilliance. The late afternoon sunlight masked the sky in bright silhouettes of pink, orange and purple. The surrounding variety of rose bushes filtered an ambrosial and sylvan smell in the air. A macédoine of wreaths, vines spiraled around the arches and trellis. The south part of the garden was overlooking the ocean and lower untouched parts of the island.

Owen stopped to admire the view before he closed his eyes at the serenity.

Claire would love this.

At the thought of her, his fingers clasped around something burning in his pocket. Owen took it out. The velvet box was heavy against his person— as it had been for the last couple of months.

It was totally accidental when he found it. Honestly, it was.

A few months ago, he was grubbling the drawer in his home office for a pen. His fingers felt it, stashed behind his dad's other trinkets. He pulled it out and surprised to see the emerald ring box. Owen recognized it as his mom's engagement ring. It was a band of pristine white gold with two neatly cut diamonds side by side. He had a flashback to the night when his father told him about the story. The two nights before his 2-year contract for the NAVY.

Owen took the ring out and examined it under the light.

It was a merge of his grandmother's (Alan's mother) engagement ring and a new one. Alan had it customized and redesigned to make room another diamond, for Ellie. Owen remembered when he first pulled it out the cushion to ogle at it. That's when Nerissa entered the room and squealed. She thought Owen was proposing that night. It took a good ten minutes for her to calm down when he said he was not gonna, at least, not yet.

From night on, he started to carry it with him everywhere. No viable explanations in his mind as to why.

He and Claire had only been dating for a few years. And even though, he wasn't tiptoeing around her anymore, Owen doesn't want to get too much ahead of himself. He liked the pace they were on.

However…

It did make him ponder.

Owen knew that he was at his happiest with her. But he's more than willing to wait for her, no matter how long it would take. And he'd be honored in doing everything, (and then, some more) making her feel the same way. For the rest of his life.

If she permits.

The burning, most anticipating question had to bury itself in the back of his mind…

For the time being.

"Nice ring, Grady."

The intrusion made him jump in fright that the ring leaped from his hands. The world slow mo-ed as the ring tumbled into the air. He thought he's going to have a heart attack. The stone glinted under the sun. His slippery fingers were trying to catch it— to no avail. He was aware that he was standing too close to the fence…

To the edge…

Where the ring could drop to the thicket below..

Then to the ocean…

Lost forever.

Owen finally managed to snag the ring as it rolled down his jacket. He turned around at his assailant who hadn't moved an inch of her life.

"You scared the bejesus out of me!" His heart yammering inside its cave at the near slip. He closed it in his wobbling fist, and pressed it to his chest. "I thought you were—"

Margaret's sweet laugh filled the sudden cold air; he could feel the frozen sweat trickling down his neck. She took a step towards him, a hand, trying was trying in vain to control her laugh.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you!"

Of all the family attention he's been gaining from everyone, hers was his favorite. Margaret Bryne, soon to be Margaret Simmons, was a lady of class and undying kindness. Goodness, warmth and compassion seemed to radiate effortlessly from her. In an instant, Owen developed a fondness for her.

He breathed a sigh of relief before examining the woman in front of him. A genuine smile manifested his lips at what she's wearing.

Margaret was wearing her wedding dress— a short-sleeved dress with lace patterns. Her blonde hair was down and done, her makeup was simple yet it brought the blueness of her eyes. The only downside was the pink rubber Birkenstocks peeking under the hem.

"Margaret, you look… wow."

The older woman looked down her dress and smiled timidly at him. "Thank you, honey."

"What are you doing out here?" His eyes darted towards the house, now, a good 300 meters away from them. "Karen's gonna flip!"

"I know! It's rather fun, isn't it?" She whispered in a conspiratorial manner, winking at him. "The real question is, what are you doing?"

Without warning, he felt the roses' color seeped into his cheeks. Owen dropped the hand holding the ring by his side and stammered a reply. "I… uh…"

What was he doing, exactly?

Margaret beamed even brighter. "Can I see it?"

Owen nodded, laying the ring on her palm.

"It's beautiful." she cooed after a moment of examination.

"It's my mother's… and grandmother's." He explained, watching the woman gushed and turned the band in her fingers.

She returned it to him, her blue pensive eyes boring into his. "So?"

"So…" he faded, waiting for the next part of her sentence.

"What are you gonna do? How are we gonna do this?" Her hands clasped together in front of her.

"I… Um? What do you mean?" He stammered, even though he knew what she asking.

"Son." Margaret affirmed. Her voice, steady, strong but still motherly. "If you're waiting for a blessing, this is it."

"So, where are you gonna do it? Where do I stand? I mean, I want to have the best view as possible!"

His brain was short circuiting but stuttered the first words forming in his brain. "I… I haven't asked Ron yet."

"Please!" Margaret scoffed, waving a dismissive hand at him. "Do you know how long Ron and I have been waiting for this?"

She grinned at him, her excitement almost throwing him off guard. "Oh, we can call him right now!" She suggested, her giddiness and excitement made her look even more glowing. "Do you have your phone? Call him, tell him to come here."

He gave a quick laugh before a small sigh of anxiety made its way past his lips. He ran his hands on the hair on his nape. The nervousness came back, unwanted and unbidden. He could feel his stomach knot at the soft panic creeping his entire body. The silence didn't go unnoticed by the older woman. She tilted her head at him.

"What is it, honey?"

"Nothing... just..." He stared at her; grateful and nervous at the same time. "I… I'm scared." He finally confessed.

"Why?"

"I… I don't know." He said with a breathy chuckle.

He'd faced a thousand life-threatening situations, enough to last him an entire lifetime. Yet, this one felt like his most dangerous yet. One he wasn't sure to survive if he'd gotten a different answer.

"I mean, what if she says…" he shook his head and took a big inhale. He couldn't even finish the sentence. It still astonished him that his confidence and everything else that he prided himself with, wavered at Claire's mercy.

But Margaret was still beaming at him with the softest expression on her face. She spoke,

"Claire has been alone for so long. And I could tell that it was almost unsettling for her to have someone taking interest in her."

"Oh, she's more than interesting, Margaret. She's…" he trailed off as he thought of the right superlative that'd describe what she means to him. And still, the words that came out Couldn't suffice.

"… Out of this world, heaven-sent. To tell you the truth, I'm still asking myself why she's with me. I think, I've been subconsciously waiting for her to wake up and leave me. I mean, she's perfect and I'm…"

"A billionaire? A social reformer? The kindest, most authentic, most selfless, most considerate, funniest person I've ever met?" She listed, dipping her head to meet his descended gaze.

"Owen." Her tone held so much maternal inflection that he finally returned his eyes to meet hers.

"Have you seen the way she looks at you? Surely, you must have. You don't have anything to be scared of. I know my daughter. We all know Claire's a tough shell to crack, she became untouchable, distant. And I guess, that was partly my fault, but…"

Margaret clasped his hand, her eyes big and glossy. The love and trust emanating from them, overwhelming him. "What you did for her, what you're doing for her. You stripped away everything bad she's been tethering herself on to. You brought her back, to who she really was, Owen."

There were genuine tears in her eyes as Margaret said the last words. But he could only look, captured by her comforting and encouraging words. "And as a mother, I couldn't ask for a better person for my daughter."

The older woman pulled him down for a hug.

"And as if you don't already know, I haven't seen her so happy. And this isn't trite, but I've never seen her so... Bouyant. Not ever. I have a feeling that she's been waiting for you, as much as we all have." she sniffled, pulling away.

He felt warm all over. Margaret's words brought an unimaginable, soothing relief to him. A vast surge of confidence, powered him, shredding the last of his insecurities.

"Thanks for the pep talk, Mrs. Simmons."

"You're welcome, son."

A loud microphone static broke the air, and Margaret flinched. Back at the house, they heard the unmistakable voice of Karen. Owen squinted his eyes, grateful and lucky that he wasn't anywhere near the woman.

"Please, don't tell Karen I made you cry? She's gonna kill me."

"I won't." She winked at him again. "I better go though, before she kills somebody else."

Owen laughed, hid the ring in his jacket again. The weight, no longer bothering him.

Margaret watched him, hopeful and excited. "So, does this mean, you're doing it tonight, then?"

Will he?

Though his inner conflicts were silent and appeased, he kept the question hanging in the air.

Owen smiled, offering his elbow to escort her back. "I believe, we have a wedding to attend to. Shall we, Mrs. Simmons?"

---

Claire took a deep, giant breath. She tried to anchor herself from the surge of emotions threatening to engulf her. She held the bouquet of peonies to her stomach. Floral dew dripped down her hands from how tight she was cinching it. She promised herself that she wouldn't cry.

She wouldn't…

She wouldn't…

But as the glass doors opened to reveal one Margaret Bryne for the last time, she couldn't help the tears that shrouded her vision. The quartet started playing and her mom floated down the aisle.

Standing beside her on the altar, Karen sniffled, her eyes and nose red. Claire reached a hand on her back for a comforting squeeze. She looked across the aisle, to an equally radiant, ecstatic Richard. But as she took another quick gander about the room, Claire caught a glimpse of somebody in a dark navy suit. The person's turned towards her. Her eyes lingered and drifted upwards to see Owen fixated on her. He was standing in the third row with Zach and Gray on either side go him.

But it wasn't the familiar, lopsided smirk that alarmed her as much as the pure and loving countenance he was giving her. He gave her another once over, pouted his lips and half raised "okay" hand gestures. She was busy helping (and calming) Karen with the late preparations so he didn't get to see her before.

She slanted her head in a rebuking manner. He chuckled, but obeyed nonetheless.

Throughout the ceremony, she could still catch, Owen's intent look on her. Karen elbowed her once, twice… okay, thrice whenever she'd giggle at his sly winks.

But as the ceremony drew to a close, and the vows were being exchanged, she couldn't help but return his gaze. Claire found herself captivated by how consuming and tender his eyes were.

A prescience of a moment appeared heedlessly welcomed before her eyes;

She was wearing white and Owen was standing in front of her. His expression, as gripping and tender as he was now. Their family and friends were around them. Owen lifted the veil, her veil. And he pressed his forehead against hers. His hazel green eyes brimming with the same love she felt for him. And right before Prescient-Moment-Owen could kiss her, the bride, he mouthed, "I love you."

Just as he did now.

---

He was talking with her relatives. Wine glass in hand, expressive hand gesticulations and more laughter. His smile was contagious and more scintillating than the sun above them. Another relative called his attention and she recognized the high pitched squeal. Aunt Thea, the blonde old woman who pinched his cheeks upon meeting him. Owen gave her aunt a bright smile and wallowed in a light exchange.

Claire kept him at the corner of her eyes as she listened to her Dad and Lex's mother, Naomi. They were gushing about the new restaurant.

"You and Owen must visit us in Oregon!" Naomi claimed.

It came as a surprise to her that she instantly liked Naomi. She was sweet, thoughtful and a real regal lady. She reminded her a lot like Lex, with whom, even with Owen's unquestionable faith, she still felt jealous of. (That was the topic she tried not to ruminate. (Though, she can admit that it's cute and sexy when Owen was trying to reassure her.))

Their easy conversation fell into various topics. To Lex and his son. Then to Tim, who opened another diner, and back to work.

A few of her other relatives went over to catch up with Ron. It was nice to see her relatives welcoming him and Naomi to the family without a hint of a grudge. Claire took her leave to grab another drink at the bar. While waiting, her eyes observe Owen again. He was resting by one go the high tables, talking and laughing with two of her cousins.

"You know it's rude to stare, Claire-bear."

Claire spun on her heel and saw her dad holding two empty champagne glasses.

"I wasn't, Dad."

Ron quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Okay, fine." She reeled her back on her boyfriend and faced the bar. "It's not like it's illegal, you know. I mean, he is my boyfriend."

"That he is" Ron laughed and sat on the empty stool beside her. She noted that he made no move to request for the refill. "He's great."

"Yeah. Everybody seems to love him more than they ever did me." With that, they both twisted in their seats to take a look at Owen.

"Nah. Come on!" Ron nudged her elbow with his after a minute. "You're still my favorite."

"Thanks, dad. But you're supposed to say that."

The bartender slid her her Sangria and finally asked what her dad wanted. Father and daughter enjoyed the quick moment of silence that passed them. Claire leaned an elbow on the bar as she continued spying on Owen.

Owen was now talking to her nephews. Gray said something and Owen spat his drink; she narrowed her eyes at them. He set down his drink and neck-grabbed a laughing, squirming Zach.

What are they? Ten?

Gray decided to help his brother and flailed his arms around Owen.

A laugh bubbled from her lips at the sight. Even more so, when Karen went over and separate them from each other.

"I've never seen you like this."

"What? Close to tipsy? Horrified that my relatives kept embarrassing me by showing my boyfriend's magazine articles when I'm not looking?"

"No. No." Her dad shook his head. "There's something different, kind of freewheeling, spontaneous way about you. Something…"

Claire finally turned to scrutinize her dad's curious and pleased guise.

"Happy." He finished.

She followed his line of sight until they landed on Owen talking to Karen and the boys. Her dad stood up, with half full champagne glasses at hand. There was something odd about the way he smiled at her, something she couldn't put a finger on.

"See you later, Claire-bear.

---

Across the outdoor reception and under the orange sky, his eyes met hers. An unspoken language passing through them. Through the rim of his glass, he wagged his eyebrows and winked at her. The corners of her eyes crinkled before she dug her teeth on her pink cupid-bow lips. It reminded him of this morning, about how many times she had to re-apply it because he kept kissing it off her.

Owen had barely registered the words exchanged during the ceremony because of her. And even though he saw the dress when she first brought it home, he couldn't help but gawk at her now.

She was wearing a long sleeve, long dress. The décolletage was showcasing her light-freckled sternum, most ravenously. The loose curls of her medium-length hair appeared more vivid. Redder, like angry licks of fire on her shoulders.

He tried pushing the nervous jitters that ran down his spine. Tried not to think about how the sun coruscated her emerald velvet dress, eerily reminding him of his mother's ring box.

Claire was talking to her dad and Naomi. And by the concentrated look on her face, he'd guessed they were talking about business. May be he should join them, but Owen knew that she craved one on one conversations with her dad. So, he obliged.

"What do you think's gonna happen if you're just staring at her?" A squeaky, hoarse voice of a growing teenager chided.

Owen turned around and wasn't surprised to see Gray Mitchell. Behind him was his brother, Zach. Both were wearing the same penguin ensemble, no doubt, picked by Karen.

"He's right, you know." Zach said.

"Hey, boys." He greeted, riffling Gray's mop of dirty blonde hair. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Oh, we just overheard that oldies' plan to come over." Zach answered, putting his hands in his pockets and did a quick survey around. "We thought, we'd save you."

Owen laughed. He met Fatima and Nancy yesterday— Margaret's older sisters. And ever since, the two spinsters were hell bent on staying in either of his sides. They bombarded him questions after questions about everything. They were loud and loquacious for two women of their size. Owen felt like a ping-pong ball between them. Not that he was complaining; they were lovely ladies.

"And what were they planning about this time?" He asked, raising his glass to his mouth.

"They're gonna ask you when are you gonna make babies with Aunt Claire." Gray blurted out in the most casual tone.

Owen sprayed his drink, the champagne dripping down his chin. He coughed, reaching for the napkin as Gray and Zach laughed at him.

"Man, I told you to give me a warning before you say it. I should've filmed it!" Zach quipped, clapping his brother on the shoulder. Owen scoffed at them, initiating another bellied laughter from the brothers.

"Oh yeah?" Owen grabbed Zach by the neck and ruffled his styled hair.

"No, no, man! Not the hair! Come on! Let go!" The teenager chortled, wrestling out of his grasp. "Gray! Help me!"

The fourteen year old jumped and managed to wrap his arms around his shoulders. He laughed, releasing both kids.

"You three are just a handful, you guys know that? Cut it out." Karen berated, from behind Zach.

"Hey mom!" The boys said in unison.

"Karen." He acknowledged. "Nice party. Well done!"

"Nice?" She swatted him with a fan, offended and frowning at him. "You could do better than "nice", Grady!"

Owen swept the whole venue again; the large, white tent, the rustic tables and wooden bistro chairs. Rattan light fixtures, and plants, high and suspended on strings. The endless array of bouquet on each table. The intricate details of the cutlery arrangement. The dais dance floor. A fairytale, woodland wedding.

"Alright, fine. Very whimsical and..." he squinted his eyes, trying to remember what Claire said about the wedding theme. "Bohemian.. Cheeky? Was that the word?"

She put so much work in making this every rite perfect for her mom and Richard. And he knew that Karen deserves the highest compliment he could ever give. So he added,

"It's one of… nay… the best, most beautiful, bohemian cheekiest wedding I've ever attended. Truly."

"It's bohemian chic. Not bohemian cheeky." Karen's face twitched, fighting the smile he knew was inevitable. "Oh, I knew I couldn't stay mad at you!" The elder Dearing sister threw her arms around him for a hug.

The affection surprised him. Owen found his footing again and returned the hug, swaying her a little from side to side. Zach and Gray were ignoring them and currently digging in on the busboy with the tray of little burgers.

It startled him again when Karen all but whispered,

"When I told you years ago that I'm gonna cut off your balls if you ever hurt my little sister… I still mean it."

He pulled away, chuckling, but half unsure of where this was coming from. "I remember."

"Good. I've been waiting for this for two freaking years." Karen squealed, keeping her voice down and low.

"Wait." He gulped. "You— you know?"

"Shut the hell up, Grady. Of course!"

"How?"

"Grady, please..." She patted his cheek— a gesture that made him feel like she's scolding him. "If there's something I know, it's trying to be sneaky." Karen ranted, not even stopping for breath.

"And I saw you with Mom exiting the garden — oh! What the hell is that all about!" she swatted him with a fan again.

Owen rubbed the sore spot as he listened, all ears.

" We were all panicking that she ran... Anyway, back to my point. I saw you talking to Dad afterwards. Then I pieced everything together. I'm surprised Claire doesn't have any clue about it. You're not being subtle about it. I mean, you are acting more… lovesick and clingy than usual."

Owen let out a nervous chuckle.

"Don't screw this up or I swear to God, Grady." She jabbed a threatening finger at him.

"I won't. Jeez. Thanks for making me even more nervous than I already am, Karen."

The elder Dearing sister grinned like a Cheshire cat and kissed both his cheeks. "Welcome to the crazy family, Grady. It sucks, you're gonna love it."

"What are you two conspiring about?" A voice demanded from behind him.

"Nothing, sis." Karen swooped in as soon as Claire finished her sentence. "Owen's telling me about setting me up with Leonardo Dicaprio."

His mind clicked on the mighty save. "I'll give him your number."

He laughed, his hand immediately latching on Claire's hip.

"You damn better. See yah later." And she left, picking up another glass from the server that passed her.

Claire stood in front of him and regarded him. Her hands, going under the collar of his suit jacket. "Hi."

"Hello."

"I missed you."

"Took the words right our of my mouth." He murmured, pulling her by her waist.

"Yeah. Why do you have to be so likable?" The last part, she exhaled with an amused scoff. Claire took another glance around the revel. "I think they like-like me now, because of you."

"Well…" he clicked his tongue, turning his head to find his third favorite Bryne. He pointed his finger at her and the old woman shimmied her fingers at them. "Aunt Clara liked me more."

Claire rested her arms on his shoulder, as she threw her head back in a fit of giggles. "Oh, she does? My mom's best friend and my godmother likes you better than me?"

"Yup. She told me!" He said, proudly, still holding on her to him as she guffawed. He could listen to her laugh all day. "It's true, it's true! Ask her!" Owen made a move to lift his foot to prove his point. But she held him down

"Oh no. No, I'll take your word for it."

Up on the small stage, the band started strumming a slow rendition of Frankie Valli's classic. The glow of the lights brightened against the purple sky. The breeze —admittedly warm and mellow against their skin. The children puttering around the dance floor in a natured game of tag gave way to the grown ups. Claire turned her head to the side, at something behind him, before she tugged him towards the dance floor.

"Come on, I've shared you long enough."

Other couples took the dance floor as well. The music, the lights, the atmosphere emulating an almost modern fairytale. But they were nothing, inimitable, matchless to the goddess dancing with him.

He hefted her hand to their side, as they shift from foot to foot. Eyes, nowhere but each other. She was so close, he could feel the goosebumps rising on her skin as his thumb drew little patterns on her waist.

He pressed her even closer to him, like she was the only thing holding him together. That if he let go, he'd fall apart. (Owen had a strong feeling that that would be the case)

The nervous, chaotic, but excited energy found their way to his nerves again.

Something crossed her face, as if she was remembering a distant memory. "Do you remember when you almost gave me a heart attack when you showed up here?"

The reminder brought a smirk to his flustered face. "How could I forget?"

A few years ago, he slipped out and flew to the Ian Malcolm's island, only hours after waking up from coma. He could still recall her murderous reaction.

"I was afraid that the vein in your neck would pop. And if that car crash, didn't kill me, you would."

"I could have." she said, with her signature roll of the eyes.

"I think, I may have loved you then."

Claire beamed at him, looking more ethereal than he had ever seen her. The greens in her eyes, so beautiful, so safe... Yet, they were challenging, infuriating, but most importantly, home.

How was he gonna do this?

Owen swallowed the large lump in his throat.

"Can you believe that a few years ago, this wouldn't be here without you?"

He crinkled his eyebrows at her, but he was thankful for the distraction. "This? What do you mean?"

"If you weren't so damn persuasive and stubborn with the board, we wouldn't have this resort the way it is now."

"Yeah, but you helped me! Don't give me all the credit, babe."

"I suppose so." she smiled. "We make a great team, after all, don't we?"

"That we are."

They swayed, their bodies attuned with each other and the soft music. Everything and everyone seemed lost to him, nothing mattered, except her... And the ring, wriggling and hissing deep in his pocket.

"It's so crazy to think, that this extended garden were merely plans a few years ago." she mused, staring at something behind him."

He didn't reply, too indulged with his thoughts and the slight the vibrations on her body as she talks.

"—Too bad about the sanctuary, though."

Owen shook his head at her self-deprecating tone.

The three-acre rainforest sanctuary. The plan she's been administering ever since they secured the deal with his godfather.

It still remained underway. He and Claire visited the site a while ago, and he was glad to say that they're more than half in construction. He could tell Claire's disappointment for not complying with the target date. She was blaming herself, not that she should be.

"Don't beat yourself up, Claire. It's one huge glass dome, of course it'll take years. You're doing great, babe." he assured her.

"Thank you. I just thought it would make another great venue for events like these."

"There would be plenty more events. I promise. I actually have two… er... proposals in mind. "

"Oh yeah? Care to share?" she smirked, her hands slid up his shoulders to his nape.

"Well, I just talked to Lowery earlier—"

"You did?" Claire cocked a groomed eyebrow at him. "I thought you established that we're not supposed to work this weekend?"

He blushed, guilty as charged.

"Who's the workaholic now?" she teased in a singsong voice.

"I'm sorry, can't help it... Damn it, Lowery!"

"Please continue, Mr. Grady."

He cleared his throat. "As I was saying, Lowery had scheduled a meeting with the mayor…"

"And?"

"The Elizabeth Grady foundation would aid the Costa Rican Wild Life foundation. And with your permission, we'd love the formal announcement to be here."

Her dimples deepened when he finished his sentence. Claire clasped her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a hug.

"Of course! Of course! I mean, I'd still take it to management, but I'm positive they'll agree! That's so great, Owen!"

He kissed her shoulder as she embraced him. His heart was starting a sonorous, terrifying beat against her. His palms were sweating, his stomach was getting squeamish with nerves.

Claire was looking at him, happy and encouraging. He felt his chest tighten once again. The air was hot around him, almost to the point that he felt suffocated. Everything inside him was tense and shaking. All the oxygen threatening to leave his body.

"What's the other proposal, Mr. Grady?"

Owen steadied himself, readying himself for the inevitable.

Here we go.

He released a tensed breath, one he didn't know he was holding. Owen willed his brain, his mouth and his hands to work.

"You see, Miss Dearing, it's… just that."

They had stopped swaying, but they remained in each others' space. Claire was analyzing him, with that incredible emerald eyes of hers — curious and waiting.

"What do you mean?"

With his free hand, he clutched the box and pulled it out his jacket. He braced himself, closed his eyes, as if to summon all the courage he has.

"It's still up to you… Wherever, whenever you want it."

Owen pressed his lips to her forehead as he offered her the box. Claire took it, opened it, and he felt her fingers shake as she did.

All the reason that he should've waited plagued him. He should have not trusted his instincts. He should've planned this properly. He should've practiced what he was gonna say to her.

Owen knew there was something else he's supposed to do. Something his muscles were supposed to do. Something consequential, when asking the woman you love to spend the rest of your life together. But he couldn't, for the life of him, remember what it was. His mind and body were numb, numb with a rainbow of emotions… if that made sense. Owen forced his brain, his mouth and his hands to work. Finally,

"What do you say, Miss Dearing?"

He leaned his forehead against hers. Owen looked down between them.

The box was huge in her petite hands.

Claire was still silent.

Still dormant.

Still not looking at him.

"Be my wife?"

His heart was jumping up and down his throat, it was almost embarrassing. A weak, nervous smile smoothed his features.

"Drive me crazy for the rest of my life?"

He opened his eyes… to see hers, glistening. Claire crossed her arms behind his nape to press her nose to his. He could hear her stuttering breath. He could smell the signature vanilla on her skin that he could never get enough of. He could almost taste the wine of her lips. He could feel the raging and pounding of her heart, outmatching his own.

The dazzling, majestic smile that erupted on her face, made her brighter, more iridescent than the stars now dotting the sky.

He was too transfixed, too immobilized by her entirety that he barely heard the words.

"I will, if you will, Mister Grady."

Fin.

---

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

*insert Frodo Baggins "It's Done" meme*

I hope I didn't ruin the story. *bites fingers* I only read/beta-ed this once, so please correct me.

My apologies for the delay! I feel really, really bad, you guys have no idea. I actually got sick twice and had to self-isolate for a month. I'm good now. But remember, take your vitamins, drink lots of water and wear your freakin' masks. :)

Phew! I can't believe I wrote this, let alone, finish all freaking 20 chapters. This is an achievement for me. You have no idea. To be honest, I was stalling. A part of me doesn't wanna write this. I didn't want this to end. (Then I got a bad cough. Worst timing ever.)

I can't thank you enough for all your reviews! I appreciate all of you! Reading your comments really made my days. You guys are the best! I could not have asked for more amazing readers!

I have another Clawen story coming up, but I won't post it until I have the first five chapters or so. It won't be as long as this, I PROMISE! I don't want you guys waiting every month again for another update. LOL. So yeah, it may take a while. But I do have ideas for one shots, so... hehe.

Anyway, If you guys ever reread this, leave a comment/review for me that you did. Call me out on my errors or anything. It will still mean a lot.

THANK YOU AGAIN.

-J