Epilogue 6

Deviant — Epilogue 6

Cool fingers gently brushed aside the strands of hair that had fallen across her forehead. The touch felt both familiar and strangely new.

Only then did Miran realize where she was. The last thing she remembered was leaning against André’s shoulder.

Her tension must have snapped all at once; her vision had gone hazy, and apparently she had ended up lying down with her head resting on his thigh as she fell asleep.

“Wh… ahem, what time is it? How long did I sleep?”

Trying to steady her cracking voice, she pushed herself upright. The cashmere coat that had been draped over her slid halfway off her shoulders. Outside it was completely dark, and through the window she could see the entrance of the hotel where she was staying.

André checked his watch.

“Nine fifty. You slept a little over four hours.”

“Four…! Why didn’t you wake me!”

He snapped the cap onto his fountain pen and set it neatly beside the documents before answering.

“You looked tired.”

“Oh no, because of me you didn’t even get dinner…”

Miran’s face crumpled.

Every minute and second with André was precious. Even the blink of an eye felt too short, yet as soon as they met she’d burst into tears, then fallen asleep. She felt utterly pathetic.

What made it worse was that he didn’t look even slightly annoyed.

“It’s time. Take these.”

He handed her two shopping bags that had been sitting under the seat. One large, one small.

“…What is all this?”

She didn’t remember seeing them before she fell asleep.

“A dress and a bouquet. And dinner. I heard having wedding photos helps at the visa interview. So tomorrow, we’re doing a simple photo shoot.”

Miran took the bags, blinking in confusion.

Whenever she asked if there was anything she needed to prepare before coming to New York, André always insisted he would take care of everything and that all she needed to do was show up.

Those words reassured her. They warmed her.

But was she really allowed to accept this kind of care so easily? Every time she felt how much he loved her, her heart fluttered, yet part of her still couldn’t fully believe it. It felt unreal, almost awkward.

Biting her lip, Miran gave him a shy smile.

“…Thank you, André. And I’m sorry I slept so long.”

“Don’t say useless things.”

After studying her for a moment, André placed a hand on the back of her neck and kissed her slowly, deeply. Then he let out a short sigh, released her, and immediately stepped out of the car.

Startled, she leaned forward to follow him with her eyes.

He walked around the car, opened her door, and held out his hand.

“It’s ten. Go on inside.”

Miran took his hand and stepped down reluctantly. She didn’t want to go back into the hotel, but she had no choice.

With a voice full of reluctance, she said goodbye.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, André. I lo… mmph!”

Before she could finish the word, André pulled her in by the waist. Their lips crashed together again. The kiss was rougher than usual, and her heart pounded as if it were about to burst.

His palm slid up and down her back. Even through the trench coat, his heat burned. His solid body pressed against her, leaving no space between them.

After the tender and urgent kiss ended, a breath that sounded almost like a moan slipped from him.

“…I love you.”

With his forehead resting against hers, he murmured the words in a low voice. Then he stepped back heavily.

Her knees trembled as she forced herself to stand straight and look at him.

He lifted his chin slightly and tightened his loosened tie in one firm motion. The veins stood out along the back of his hand as he pulled. His Adam’s apple shifted sharply above the crisp collar of his tailored shirt.

Miran swallowed hard.

André lowered his gaze halfway, hiding his eyes behind an expressionless face. But she already knew exactly what he wanted.

Heat rushed through her entire body. Even with the icy wind snapping her trench coat hem, she felt flushed, too warm to notice the cold at all.

After a short, steadying breath, he spoke.

“Good night, Kang Miran.”

She bit her lip and glanced up at him, then quickly looked away as she murmured,

“You too, André. See you tomorrow…”

Blushing to the point of ripeness, she practically fled toward the hotel.

André couldn’t take his eyes off her until she disappeared inside.

The truth was, he wanted to seize her right then, drag her to his home, and keep her in his bed until she couldn’t even walk properly the next day, too overwhelmed to think about going back to Korea.

Reining in that violent, instinctive urge and sending her off gently made the back of his neck throb.

Damn…

He ground the curse between his teeth. If there were any way to end this cursed long-distance relationship sooner, he would do it without hesitation.

When he climbed back into the car, Enzo, who had been dozing off, jerked upright.

“To the Lafayette Residence.”

Instead of returning to his apartment near Columbus Circle, he intended to head to the family estate and dig through the Lafayette Rolodex.

Centuries of accumulated connections, politicians and government officials they sponsored.

He planned to pick whoever would be the most useful and put in a word or two in advance. But there was something even more urgent.

From a small case inside his briefcase, André pulled out a single business card and held it between his fingers.

He glanced at his watch, not because the time mattered, then opened his phone and dialed without hesitation.

Nathan Phillips, one of Manhattan’s top immigration attorneys, came from an old, prestigious law-firm family and had the kind of influence that even immigration officers treated with caution.

He mainly handled cases for ultra-high-net-worth clients, celebrities, diplomats, and political elites. He wasn’t just a representative; he was more like an architect of immigration strategies.

After only three rings, Nathan picked up. As expected, despite the late hour, he was still at the office.

― Phillips speaking.

“I need to bring someone into the country as quickly as possible, within legal limits,” André said.

There was a pause on the other end.

― …Who is this?

“Lafayette.”

― Christ. André, do you have any idea what time it is? And you’re calling my office line?

“You were at the office, weren’t you. What’s the problem.”

His tone was flat.

― I swear… Who the hell are you trying to bring in that the almighty chairman of the Lafayette Group is calling me personally at this hour?

Nathan’s voice held a smirk.

André picked up one of the documents on the tray table in front of him.

In the upper right corner of the marriage license, inside a small printed box, were the license number and today’s date and time.

“My wife.”

― Holy shit. The rumor was true? André de Lafayette is actually getting married? And to a foreigner? When?

“In precisely seventeen hours.”

― …Well. Congratulations, I guess.

“Thanks for that. Your associate told my secretary that a spousal visa would take at least six months, up to a year. Is that really the best you can do?”

Nathan snorted softly at André’s blunt, accusatory jab.

“I need her on a plane in under two months.”

The demand left Nathan momentarily speechless.

― André, are you aware of how reality works right now? Even a perfect CR-1 case takes four to six months minimum. And that’s assuming the INS doesn’t decide to be stupid. If the file ends up in Nebraska instead of California or Texas, it could take twice as long…

André cut him off, merciless and sharp.

“That’s exactly why I personally called Nathan Phillips. Isn’t it?”

― …Damn it. Thanks, I guess, for the compliment that doesn’t sound like a compliment, but being realistic, two months is impossible.

André exhaled quietly. He already knew that. He’d thrown out an impossible deadline merely to apply pressure.

“Two and a half months. I won’t accept anything longer.”