Reine stopped in the middle of the wet sidewalk and turned the hand-written invitation over again. She had no idea what the head of the Order of Westminster would want from her, but she also couldn't ignore the opportunity to finally meet him.

Two days ago, Noor had succeeded in persuading her to quit her job. Leaving her with lots of free time, Reine used it to find out as much about Emery Wescott before Wednesday as she could.

Luckily, the man wasn't shy about publicity. There were plenty of online articles touting his various business deals, but the tall, sixty-something looking man with gray hair and a constant smirk also knew how to enjoy himself. From polo matches to evenings at the opera, Emery Wescott was somehow at every major social event in London.

Sticking the card back in her pocket, Reine saw she was closer to the Savoy than she thought. It was one of the top hotels in the city, and the silver Rolls Royce wedged between two black Range Rovers conspicuously parked in front made it even more conspicuous.

As she approached the entrance, a top hat wearing porter reached to hold the door open while greeting her with a friendly, "Afternoon, Miss."

The interior of the hotel was just as lavish as the taste of its clientele. The simplicity of the black and white checkerboard flooring contrasted well against the lobby's fancy Victorian wallpaper. The bouquet of fresh, purple hydrangeas in the middle of the space also effectively drew Reine's eye to the grand, crystal chandelier above.

"May I help you, Miss?" asked a man, but absorbed by her surroundings, she hadn't even noticed the concierge next to her.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Reine answered as she blinked at the stout man in the snazzy tuxedo. "Yes. I'm supposed to be meeting someone here. Emery Wescott?"

"If you'd follow me this way." He ushered her without question to a side hallway leading to French doors with a discreet, but unambiguous plaque reading "Members Only."

Strategically placed side lamps lit the spacious room, giving it a warm glow. Small clusters of plush chairs and two-person tables sat out of earshot from each other, while a musician in coat and tails softly played the grand piano in the corner.

The concierge handed Reine off to the maître d', who glanced toward a table in the back. "I believe Mr. Wescott is almost done, Miss. He'll be right with you. May I take that for you?" He motioned toward the unused umbrella in her hand.

"No, I'm not staying for long," she said with a smile, hoping he wouldn't consider her rude for saying so.

She'd seen where the head of the Order and his companion were sitting, so while she waited by the door, Reine tried to listen to their discussion. Wescott was facing her, and she could simultaneously read his lips and - thanks to her keen senses - hear the tail end of his conversation.

"Are you sure you won't reconsider the railways contract, then?" Wescott's deep, British accent matched his aristocratic looks.

"I'm afraid that's out of my control, Emery. Besides, our recent upgrades have already raised the safety standards to the highest level in the EU," the man with his back to her replied.

"Well, that's quite a shame. Not about the safety, of course. You can never be too careful when it comes to the lives of our fellow citizens. But at any rate, it's always a pleasure, Lord Mayor." Wescott rose from his seat and extended his hand.

The other reciprocated and quickly took his leave. As he rushed past her, Reine saw what appeared to be a look of relief on his pudgy, middle-aged face.

An expert at his job, the maître d' immediately led her to Wescott's table.

"Miss Baldovini. How lovely that you could make it," he said before, in an antiquated gesture, he kissed her hand.

"How could I refuse an invitation from such an important man as yourself?" She sat in the floral patterned chair across from him without removing her fashionable - and concealing - trench coat.

Wescott theatrically threw his head back and laughed. "What does important even mean these days?"

"Well, that was the leader of one of the most influential cities in the world who just walked out of a meeting with you. I'd call that being important. But tell me, Mr. Wescott. With being . . . how should I say this? Well, with possessing such longevity, how can you get away being so--"

"Confident?" he asked, cocking his head to the side. "And please, call me Emery."

"I was going to say cavalier regarding your identity, but I suppose confident also applies." Reine shrugged.

Wescott leaned forward and lowered his voice, as if he was about to tell her something in great confidence. "The masses have their own lives to worry about, while the rich just want to get richer. You see, Miss Baldovini, that's the nice thing about having a virtually endless supply of money. Everything has a price, and you can buy off anyone to keep your secrets."

The man's reliance on wealth and power reminded her of Max, and Reine briefly wondered why - if they were so similar - was there such animosity between the two. She was tempted to outright ask, but Wescott sat upright again and resumed the conversation at the previous level.

"But I didn't ask you here to talk about me. And you've almost made me forget my manners. Would you care for a drink?" He picked up his martini glass and swished around the contents before taking a sip.

The unmistakable smell of juniper hit Reine's nostrils, and she almost gagged. Raising her hand to her nose, she tried to breathe through her mouth, instead. "I thought we were having tea," she said between breaths.

"How quaint. You actually thought that tea meant tea?" He laughed again. "Well, I shan't disappoint you then. Let's get this young lady some Earl Gray over here." He motioned toward one of the tuxedoed servers silently waiting just outside of view for instructions. "And I suppose you take it the American way - with honey and lemon - do you not, Miss Baldovini?"

Reine nodded. "You keep calling me by a name I haven't used in a hundred years. And your note - you used the word 'reacquainted.' Tell me, Emery have we met before?"

"Oh. I'm a bit disappointed that you don't remember me, my dear. But I suppose a lot has happened since then . . . especially to you," he added, making Reine immediately wonder how much he knew. She didn't have time to dwell on the details because he continued. "It was - what - about a century ago, maybe more? You were dining with a young man and planning your future together."

Reine knew he was intently looking to gauge her reaction, but she still couldn't contain the sudden gasp escaping her lips at the memory. "Cooper."

"That is correct." Wescott smiled. "Timothy Cooper had just proposed to you, if I remember correctly."

Her heartbeat accelerated at finally putting a name to the face of the man who nearly ruined her life. "And you told me to refuse. Why?"

"Because your husband was still out there looking for you," Wescott said as he spread his arms, emphasizing his words. "And if I would have allowed you to marry into the Order, it would have given Max the excuse he needed to destroy us."

The revelation that Wescott already knew back then she was alive and still didn't tell Max turned Reine's stomach. Even if she hadn't already felt a certain disdain toward him for his general smugness, hearing he willingly extended their separation by one hundred years caused her to now truly hate the man. That was likely the reason Max did so, as well.

The fine, bone china cup the waiter placed in front of her gently clinked against its matching saucer, but Reine wasn't going to delay her departure to drink its contents.

"Is that all?" she asked through gritted teeth.

"No, it actually isn't. I also wanted to invite you to a little get-together we're having at my country house this weekend." Wescott searched his breast pockets before pulling out a small card from the second. "It would be lovely if you could attend. Everyone is dying to meet you."

She suspiciously searched his face before taking the card. "You mean 'we' as in the Order of Westminster?"

"From your hesitation, I'm assuming Max told you about us." Wescott crossed his long legs. "Well, you needn't worry, my dear. I assure you we're quite benign."

Reine stuck the card in her purse and prepared to go, but Wescott wasn't quite finished. "Oh, I do hope you're being careful these days."

Wanting nothing more than to just leave, she scooted to the edge of her chair. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"Well, apart from any prudence on your part, that child is the only thing keeping you safe now." He nodded toward her torso with the first indication of this knowledge.

He knew about the baby, and a shiver ran up Reine's spine. Although his delivery was congenial, the words implied a threat. "Safe? Safe from what? The Order?" She furrowed her brows with confusion.

Wescott clapped his hands together. "You didn't know? Of course! How could you? Your kind rarely find yourselves in this predicament because you go out of your way to avoid this wonderful little berry." He held up his now empty glass.

She gasped. It no longer mattered how he found out her secret - the man most likely had spies within the confraternity's Council - but maybe he could reveal much more. "You know how I was able to get pregnant?"

"Of course, my dear." Wescott grinned wickedly. "You had gin in your bloodstream when you died. That should have made you mortal, but getting pregnant soon after reversed that."

She had her doubts about why he'd would be truthful with her, but Reine was hungry for answers. "How?"

"I don't know. I'm not a doctor." He laughed. "I do know that the only time this happens is if your child is also destined for immortality."

Hoping he was right, Reine inadvertently smiled and rubbed her stomach.

"But I'm afraid I also have some bad news." Wescott put his glass down again. "The extension of your immortality only lasts until the child is born. He is transferring his gift to you right now, but as soon as you are separated, you'll-"

Guessing the rest, she cut him off and quietly finished the sentence. "Become mortal . . . for good."

* * *

If Wescott's revelation was supposed to scare her, it didn't work. In fact, Reine felt like a giant weight had been lifted from her shoulders. At least now she knew what to expect in just a few months' time.

She'd have the chance to grow old alongside her best friend and experience the natural progression of life that comes with aging. Her child would certainly outlive her, but that was how it was supposed to be. The only thing she regretted - and the one thing out of her reach - was not being able to spend the rest of her life with the man she'd chosen.

Gabe was now on her mind more than ever. While she had many wonderful memories of him, the night they met was the most special. She remembered every detail as if it was just yesterday.

They'd been stuck inside a powerless, snowed-in hotel, unaware of each other's true identity. His all-American, boy next-door looks caught her attention, but it was his sweet disposition that kept it. Although Reine rarely took an interest in strangers, there had been something about Gabriel Moran that drew her in.

With a lean, yet muscular build, slightly tanned skin and messy, blonde hair, even a winter sweater had made him look like he belonged on a California beach. He definitely wasn't like the countless consultants or politicians that Reine was used to seeing in the nation's capital. But it had been his easygoing, natural laugh that really made him stand out. It was present not only in the gentle curve of his lips, but it had also spread to his remarkably blue eyes.

And then there was Max. Although her love for Gabe was still painfully obvious, Reine just couldn't reconcile her feelings for the man who was once her beloved husband.

She knew she should hate him, if for nothing else, then for abandoning her at Sylvana's trial. But there was also the inexplicable effect he still had on her. The way that he could confuse her with just one look, one word, one touch.

She remembered that night in Blois after the outdoor opera performance: the feel of his body as he pressed her against his car, the softness of his lips on her neck, the tickle of his fingertips against her skin. She couldn't resist him, and worse yet, she didn't want to.

Reine should have hated him for all of those reasons, yet she didn't.

Even if he was somehow more responsible for Gabe's death than she wanted to believe, Max was still the one who set everything in motion. Without him, Reine may never even have met Gabe. She would have never gotten the chance to experience life through his eyes. She would have never known what it was like to truly be alive.

This is what she owed Max. And this is what she would always be thankful for to him. Thanks to his machinations - no matter how self-serving they may have been - her life would never be the same again. And she was finally at peace with that.

As a mortal, Reine was now free to live as she pleased. She didn't have any more secrets; she didn't need to hide. No one - not even the Order of Westminster - could dictate her future. And that realization made her not only accept Wescott's newest invitation, but happily look forward to it.