I could hear the ocean lapping at the shore outside of the window. I rolled over and felt Carter’s spot, still warm from his body, but empty. The sun had just risen, and I slowly got out of bed, my back aching.

I got up and went into the bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror. I was so damn pregnant, practically ready to burst, and I couldn’t wait. I wanted to give birth so badly, but I still had a few more weeks before I was really due.

The stones were cold under my feet as I padded down toward the kitchen. The old house was gorgeous and had been modernized, but eighteen century French countryside houses didn’t typically retrain warmth very well, even when they get gutted and rebuilt.

I found Carter cooking breakfast like he always did.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he said.

I kissed him on the cheeks. “What’s on the menu?”

“Eggs,” he said. “Fresh from the coop.”

“Delicious.”

“Told you raising chickens wouldn’t be hard.”

I made a face. “It’s easy for me because I won’t go near them.”

He laughed. “Exactly. I do all the work.”

“They’re still gross.”

He put a plate of eggs, some fried tomatoes, and orange juice in front of me. “But so delicious.”

I sighed. “So, so delicious.”

He laughed and sat down across from me, sipping from a steaming mug of coffee. I ate my breakfast, sneaking glances at him as he opened a local paper and started it read. I was still amazed that he could speak and read French fluently, but Carter was full of surprises.

We’d lived in the south of France for the last year, hiding away from the media. After everything dropped, especially the bits about our relationship, the mansion was inundated with reporters and drones at all times. We stayed there for a year only because there were still interviews to do, plus there were some pending legal things to deal with. But as soon as we were cleared to leave the country, we got the heck out of there.

Things were better in France. Mom was still back in the States running Carter’s charitable foundation, but she called and Skyped all the time.

I didn’t miss home, not at all. Not when I had Carter. We got pregnant a few months after coming to France, and although he wanted me to go back to the US to have the baby, I refused. I wanted a baby with dual citizenship, and maybe we could have him or her learn some French, too.

I didn’t need more from life. We weren’t married, but neither of us wanted that yet. We had money and comfort and each other, and I didn’t need much else.

Carter was incredible. He was working as a contractor for local French schools helping with their internet and technology departments, mostly doing it for pennies. He just liked getting out of the house and helping people. I was helping at a local daycare for ex-pats like us, but I had to cut back as the pregnancy got further and further along.

“You look extra gorgeous today,” Carter said to me.

“You always say that.”

“It’s always true.”

I smiled. “You always say that, too.”

He grinned. “Don’t pretend like you don’t love being doted on by a gorgeous hunk like me.”

“I do love it. But I’d love it if I had this kid as soon as possible.”

“It’ll come when it comes,” he said, nodding.

I sighed and stood, putting my plate away. “I’m going for a little walk.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No, it’s okay.”

He frowned. “You know you shouldn’t walk alone.”

“Carter. We’ve been here for how long? They didn’t follow us. We’re safe here.”

“I know, I know. I just worry. And you’re so fucking pregnant.”

I laughed and walked over to him, kissing him softly. “I won’t be far, promise.”

“Fine. Take a sweatshirt, it’s cold.”

I nodded and grabbed a shawl, wrapping it around myself, and then left.

The media had been brutal, truly horrendous. We were stalked and threatened mercilessly. Carter was accused of some really horrible things, and I was called a whore with daddy issues. For a while, Carter was genuinely afraid for me, and the mansion had a small private army working security for us.

That all changed when we came to France. The media in France didn’t care about us at all and let us live in peace. Back home, the media got bored and moved on to newer and better stories.

Like the slowly unfolding saga of Valor Tech. Valor’s stock was plummeting as the public learned how they’d been selling tracking data to advertisers, including personal information. People were aghast at some of the more awful practices Valor was doing. Carter told me that he didn’t have anything to do with any of it, and part of the reason he wanted control of the company again was to stop that shit. Unfortunately for Valor, it looked like they were going to be forced to stop anyway.

He didn’t talk about Bruce Walker, but I knew what happened to him. He resigned from the board, disgraced, when details of another blackmail campaign he ran against some minor secretary that turned him down sexually came to light. He was apparently barred from many of his old companies, and retired in shame. I didn’t know how much of the story Carter knew, but I got the feeling that he felt pretty damn satisfied about all that.

I watched the ocean lick against the rocks and took a deep breath.

I was going to give birth soon. We didn’t know the sex, but that didn’t matter. We had money, comfort, and each other. We’d move back to the States one day, as soon as the Valor stuff was forgotten about. Maybe in a few years.

Until then, we were living in paradise. I never finished college, but I could always go back. There were so many possibilities lined up ahead of me, and I couldn’t wait to try them all with Carter by my side.

He was my perfect partner. I was so happy that everything happened the way it did, because I might not have met him and been with him otherwise. Carter was my family and my life now, and that was more than enough.

I listened to the ocean, the sun bright on my face, and I felt happy, content, and incredible. It was the perfect ending to an insane and messed up story.

I wouldn’t have had it any other way.