Wiped (18 page)

My eyes met Trent’s. He offered a small, crooked smile.

Typical.

He’d been the leader of a rebel army. He’d freed not only Wánměi but the world.

He’d almost died trying to protect me.

Not once. But many times now.

And he’d traded his anonymity and what would no doubt be a large part of himself for a bottle of sparkling wine.

“It was a celebration,” Trent groused.

“For us,” I whispered. He smiled.

How could I be mad when I was so very proud?

“For us,” Trent whispered back, taking the last few steps to reach me.

I didn’t hear Beck leaving. I didn’t hear anything else.

Just Trent and how much he loved me, and my own fervent words of requited love.