He heard Athena’s young voice. “Drew, you’re not alone. I’ll always, always be here for you. I love you. I’ve always loved you. We’ll always be together. You’ll never be alone again.”

In the darkest part of the night he heard her woman’s voice. “We can’t fix this.”

They rounded the Fastnet Rock off the west coast of Ireland and back to England. The winds were good, strong and cold on his face, calling to him like they always had. Now they were taking him back to England, the finish line of the Fastnet.

His debt paid. A sense of peace about his parents; their choices and his own washed over him. At last he closed the door on the past.

He’d never close the door on Athena. He needed her, loved her, and nothing, not Clayworth loyalty or Smith loyalty, would keep him away from her.

Athena knew the instant she saw the deserted docks at Cowles that she’d missed Drew. The Fastnet fleet had sailed.

Fear drove her to ask everyone she could find for news, a way to reach him, tell him she’d come.

Late in the day she felt adrift, weighed down by fear and regret, but she refused to give in to it. Every few minutes all day she’d watched the sky, willing clouds, rain, anything but fair winds away.

Finally she headed back to the hotel Bridget had booked for her to find someone, anyone, who could help her.

Connor stood waiting for her in the small lobby.

“I couldn’t believe it when Aunt Bridget told me you were here. Why the hell have you come?” Connor’s eyes blazed at her.

Hers blazed right back. “Because I love Drew, and I want to be with him whether you like it or not. If you aren’t here to help me, get out of my way so I can find someone who will.”

She shoved past him.

“Wait, Athena.” Connor touched her shoulder.

Her chin jutting to the low oak ceiling, she turned back to him.

“They’ve already rounded the Fastnet Rock and are heading to Plymouth.”

Tears sprang up in her eyes, making Connor look blurry. “Thank God, it’s almost over. How can I get there?”

“There’s a chartered jet taking a few of us to the finish line, but it’s booked solid.” He ran his fingers through his hair and studied her with his lawyer look. He reached into his pocket and thrust a white form at her. “Here, take my pass. I know Drew would rather see you at the finish line.”

In Plymouth, Athena waited with the crowd, cheering as each yacht sailed into the harbor. She raced to the dock, fighting past other women greeting their men home from the sea.

She twirled around, not sure which way to look, where to go. She swung back to the pier, and there at the end, she saw him.

Like Daniel Day-Lewis in Last of the Mohicans, she raced toward her love, except without causing any bodily harm.

Only in the case of the two unfortunate men—one carrying fish, the other cleaning them—that she accidentally knocked over so they both lost their footing and most of their catch ended up back in the sea.

The commotion got Drew’s attention. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she didn’t miss the powerful movements of his body as he raced toward her.

Among flopping fish, their slimy parts, and men cursing in at least two languages, Drew pulled her into his arms, kissing her with a passion that honestly made her light-headed.

“You’re here.”

She smiled through her tears. “I love you. Despite everything.”

He held her tighter. “I’m never letting you go. To hell with family loyalty. Yours and mine. If it takes another fifteen years, I’ll convince you we can fix anything together. Believe it.” His eyes told her he meant every word.

She clung to him, smelling of dead fish, and laughed when he swept her up in his arms. “I do.”

EPILOGUE

Opening night of the Founding Families Exhibit, highlighting Bertha Palmer’s exquisite gowns, had been promoted by Kathy Post’s PR firm as the black tie affair of the season.

Beside Athena, Drew, not the winner of the Fastnet, but the winner of her heart and soul, stood with his arm draped around her shoulder.

Just as Athena had wanted, people were laughing, dancing, and congratulating Makayla on her scholarship and the museum on the brilliant exhibit. Chicago society at play to support a worthy cause.

Dazzling in a red Valentino gown, Rebecca strolled everywhere, covering the event for both the Journal and Courier and her television program.

Her husband, David, stood to the side of the room, talking to Dr. Harry Grant, Kate Carmichael, and Athena’s father. But very little time would pass before David would glance up to find Rebecca in the crowd and, smiling, return to the conversation.

Connor, looking uncomfortable but devastating nonetheless in black tie, prowled around the room making young and old feminine hearts flutter. Just generally being a Clayworth male, infinitely desirable because he seemed so very unattainable.

But her Clayworth male was within reach.

Athena lifted her head to look into Drew’s eyes and saw the wealth of love, tenderness, and desire there.

Yes, together we can, will, overcome whatever life deals us.

He smiled down and pressed a kiss on her nose.

Maybe her high emotion made her more in tune with others.

Her father still seemed uncomfortable, and the problems he predicted for Clayworth’s hadn’t made their appearance yet, but she sensed they would. Whatever happened, she would be by Drew’s side.

The way Connor and Venus so studiously ignored each other’s existence seemed strangely powerful tonight.

Leaning into Drew, she felt his chest move in a deep chuckle. “For better or worse. They’re family,” he whispered into her ear, before gently biting it.

She twined their fingers together and raised his knuckles to her lips. “For better or worse. Always. I promise.”

THE DISH

Where authors give you the inside scoop!

From the desk of Susan Crandall

Dear Reader,

After a good friend of mine finished reading one of my suspense novels, she asked my husband how he could sleep next to me at night, knowing how my mind works. After I’d given her a good dose of stink-eye, I really started thinking. Not about how dangerous it is for my dear husband—although that could probably be debated. Many of us do it every night without pause, but think about how much trust it takes between two people to fall into innocent, blissful, and completely defenseless sleep next to that other person.

But more important to SLEEP NO MORE is the question: When in our lives are we more vulnerable than when we’re sleeping? I mean, it starts when we’re children with the monster in the closet or the bogeyman under the bed. And for sleepwalkers, that vulnerability multiplies exponentially; their fears are real and well-founded, not imaginary.

Think about it. You go to bed. Fall asleep… and never know what you might do during those sleeping hours. Eat everything in your refrigerator? Leave the house? Set a fire? It would be horrifying. Even worse, you will have absolutely no recollection of your actions.

As they say, “From tiny acorns mighty oaks do grow.” The disturbing vulnerability induced by sleepwalking was the seed that grew into SLEEP NO MORE.