Chapter 20
Jules’s eyes softened at my admission. In that moment, he wasn’t the feared mafia lord or the dangerous criminal mastermind–he was just a man looking at me with such tenderness that my heart ached.
“Jules,” I whispered, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I think I’ve fallen in love with you.”
His breath caught, genuine surprise flickering across his face. For a man who seemed to anticipate everything, who planned for every contingency, this confession had caught him off guard.
“You love me?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically vulnerable. “Even knowing what I am? What I’ve done?”
I smiled, cupping his face between my palms. “I love you because I know who you are. Not just what you do or what people call you. I love the man who remembers my birthday when I’ve forgotten it myself. The man who carries me up stairs to protect my stitches. The man who looks at me like I’m the most precious thing in his world.”
Jules pulled me closer, his forehead resting against mine. “I’ve loved you for so long,” he confessed, his voice rough with emotion. “Every day watching you from afar, making sure you were safe, was torture and bliss all at once. I never dared hope you could love me back.”
“Well, I do,” I said simply. “I love you, Jules Prime.”
His lips found mine then, gentle at first–a question, an offering. When I responded, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him closer, the kiss deepened. Years of longing, of waiting, poured into that single moment. His hands tangled in my hair as mine clutched at his shoulders, both of us desperate to erase any remaining distance between us.
When we finally broke apart, breathless, Jules’s eyes were dark with desire and something deeper a reverence that made me shiver.
“I’ve been waiting to do that for eight years,” he murmured against my lips. “It was worth every
second.”
Suddenly, he pulled back, a determined expression crossing his face. “Wait here,” he said, pressing one more quick kiss to my lips before disappearing from the room.
He returned moments later, something clutched in his hand. Before I could ask what he was doing, Jules lowered himself to one knee before me.
“Monica Wells,” he began, his voice steady despite the vulnerability in his eyes. “I know on paper we’re already engaged. I know this arrangement started as something formal, something arranged. But nothing about what I feel for you is arranged or formal.”
He opened his palm to reveal a stunning emerald ring, the deep green stone surrounded by diamonds that caught the light and scattered it like stars.
“This belonged to my grandmother,” he explained. “She made me promise I would only give it to the woman who captured my heart completely.” His eyes locked with mine. “That’s you, Monica. It’s always been you.”
Jules took my hand, his touch reverent. “I’m asking you now, not as part of any arrangement, but as a man who loves you more than life itself–will you marry me? Will you be my wife, my
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partner, my queen?”
Tears blurred my vision as I nodded. “Yes,” I whispered, then louder, “Yes, Jules. I will.”
He slid the ring onto my finger, the weight of it unfamiliar but perfect. When he rose to his feet, threw my arms around him, laughing through my tears as he lifted me and spun me in a circle.
“I love you,” he murmured against my hair. “I will spend every day of my life making sure you never regret saying yes.”
The weeks leading up to our wedding passed in a whirlwind of preparations. Jules insisted on sparing no expense, transforming his already luxurious mansion into a palace fit for a fairy tale. White roses and orchids adorned every surface, crystal chandeliers were installed in the garden pavilion, and a small army of staff worked day and night to ensure everything was perfect.
My mother fussed over my dress–a custom creation of silk and lace that made me feel like royalty when I tried it on. My father, still recovering from his ordeal but determined to walk me down the aisle, practiced his steps daily, growing stronger with each passing day.
Throughout it all, Jules remained my anchor. Each night, we’d steal away from the chaos of wedding planning to share quiet moments together–sometimes talking for hours about our hopes and dreams, sometimes sitting in comfortable silence, his arms around me as we
watched the stars from the terrace.
“Are you nervous?” he asked the night before our wedding, his fingers tracing lazy patterns or my bare shoulder.
I shook my head, nestling closer to his warmth. “Not about marrying you. Never about that.”
“Good,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Because tomorrow can’t come soor enough for me.”
The wedding day dawned clear and perfect. Five hundred guests filled the gardens–some friends, many business associates, all watching with varying degrees of surprise as Jules Prime, the feared underworld king, looked at me with undisguised adoration as I walked toward him on my father’s arm.
Our vows were simple but heartfelt. When Jules slipped a second ring onto my finger–this one a band of diamonds to complement my engagement ring–his hands trembled slightly, betraying the emotion he usually kept so carefully controlled.
T pronounce you husband and wife,” the officiant declared, and the gardens erupted in applause as Jules pulled me into a kiss that promised forever.
The reception lasted well into the night, a celebration worthy of the Prime name. But the best moment came when Jules whisked me away to his private jet, destination unknown.
‘Where are we going?” I asked as we soared above the clouds.
Jules smiled mysteriously. “Everywhere. I’ve waited eight years to show you the world, Monica Prime. We have a lot of catching up to do.”
Our honeymoon stretched across three continents–private villas in Santorini, a secluded chalet in the Swiss Alps, a beachfront bungalow in Bora Bora. In each place, Jules showed me not just the luxury his wealth could provide, but the simple joys of experiencing new places with
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someone you love.
One year later, I stood on our bedroom balcony, my hands resting on the gentle swell of my stomach where our child grew. Behind me, Jules wrapped his arms around my waist, his hands covering mine protectively.
“How are my treasures this morning?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my neck.
“We’re perfect,” I replied, leaning back against his chest. “Your son was quite active last night.” “Son?” Jules’s voice held wonder and pride in equal measure. “You’re sure?”
I turned in his arms, smiling up at him. “The doctor confirmed it yesterday. We’re having a boy.” The joy that transformed his face made my heart swell. Jules dropped to his knees, pressing his lips to my belly. “Hello, little one,” he whispered. “Your mother and I can’t wait to meet you.”
As I ran my fingers through Jules’s hair, I marveled at how completely my life had changed. From the broken woman who’d walked away from Hank’s betrayal to the fulfilled, loved woman I was now–the journey had been unexpected but perfect in its way.
Once, I’d told my father that romance was dead, that all I wanted was to win. I’d been wrong. Romance wasn’t dead–it had been waiting for me all along, watching over me from the shadows, ready to step into the light when I needed it most.
I
In Jules’s arms, I hadn’t just won–I’d found something infinitely more valuable.
I’d found home.
THE END.
