Epilogue
CLEMENTINE
The scent of garlic and fresh herbs filled Rhett’s apartment as I sipped wine and watched him cook.
Snow fell steadily outside, making the city lights twinkle like scattered diamonds.
Frank Sinatra’s voice crooned “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” from the sound system. I felt like I’d stepped into a dream.
But it was my life. My Christmas Eve. My man standing at the stove, sleeves rolled up, completely focused on preparing what he told me was his mother’s traditional Italian Christmas Eve dinner.
My parents understood when I told them I wanted to spend Christmas Eve with Rhett. We were making our own traditions. I promised to be home tomorrow for our family Christmas while Rhett went to his mom’s house.
Next year, I had a feeling that would be different, but for now, I liked that we were easing into things.
“You know you don’t have to watch me like I’m going to burn the place down,” Rhett said without turning around, but I could hear the smile in his voice.
“I’m not watching you cook,” I lied, taking a sip of the wine. “I’m watching you period. There’s a difference.”
He glanced over his shoulder, those green eyes dancing with amusement. “Is that right?”
“Absolutely. You’re very nice to look at, Rhett Voss. And you know cooking turns me on.”
He chuckled. “So I’ve heard. Speaking of, you should probably sanitize that island.”
I blushed. He had me spread out on the island an hour ago. Naked. Moaning.
I quickly grabbed the cleaning solution and spritzed it over the marble surface. The man was insatiable. Or maybe I was. Together, it seemed like neither of us could get enough of one another.
“I’ll set the table,” I offered after cleaning.
I opened one cupboard and then another. The man had beautiful cookware and absolutely nothing else that suggested he knew how to entertain. I found cloth napkins still in their packaging and what appeared to be his only set of plates.
I set the table and lit a couple of candles. With the soft candlelight flickering and the snow falling outside those massive windows, it transformed into something magical.
I stepped back to admire my handiwork just as Rhett emerged from the kitchen carrying the first of what seemed like an endless parade of dishes. The aromas hit me immediately, garlic, white wine, fresh herbs, and the briny scent of the sea.
“This smells incredible,” I said, watching him arrange plates.
“Wait until you taste it,” he said, disappearing back into the kitchen.
By the time he finished bringing everything out, the table looked like something from a food magazine.
Linguine with clam sauce that glistened with olive oil and fresh parsley.
Stuffed calamari that looked almost too beautiful to eat.
Shrimp scampi swimming in butter and garlic.
And four other dishes whose Italian names I couldn’t pronounce but that made my mouth water just looking at them.
“The Feast of the Seven Fishes,” he announced, settling into the chair across from me. “My mother’s Christmas Eve tradition.”
I filled our wine glasses and we both sat down.
“This is perfect,” I said, twirling pasta around my fork. “I feel like I’m in another world.”
“You’re not,” Rhett said. “You’re in your world. Our world.”
After dinner, we moved to the living room, where a massive Christmas tree dominated one corner, decorated with white lights and elegant gold ornaments. A fire crackled in the fireplace, begging for us to cuddle in front of it.
I curled up against Rhett on the sofa, my head on his shoulder, watching the flames dance. “This is my favorite night of the year,” I murmured.
“Christmas Eve?”
“Mm-hmm. There’s something magical about it, you know? All that anticipation, all that possibility. Like anything could happen.”
His arm tightened around me. “What do you want to happen?”
I tilted my head to look at him. “This. Just this. You and me and nowhere else we have to be.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “Well, you’re easy to please.”
“Although,” I said, sitting up with a stretch. “I should probably get into something more comfortable if we’re going to spend the evening lounging around. This dress is gorgeous but not exactly built for snuggling. And you promised me Christmas pajamas.”
He groaned but put on the silly pajamas that matched mine.
We returned to the living room.
“What do you want to watch?” he asked. “And before you answer, know that I have very strong opinions about Christmas movies.”
I laughed. “Oh, do you? Let me guess. Die Hard is a Christmas movie?”
“Die Hard is absolutely a Christmas movie,” he said with mock seriousness. “But I was thinking more along the lines of It’s a Wonderful Life or Miracle on 34th Street.”
“Those are classics, but I was hoping for something a little more fun. Like Love Actually or The Holiday.”
“Romantic comedies,” he groaned dramatically. “I should have known.”
“Hey, it’s Christmas Eve and I’m the guest,” I said, poking him in the ribs. “I get to pick.”
“Fine, but I reserve the right to provide commentary throughout.”
“Deal.”
Before he pushed play, he stopped and looked at the Christmas tree. There was a frown on his face like something was wrong.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“There’s something in here I don’t remember putting up,” he said. He got up, walked to the tree, and reached into the branches. “Must have fallen from higher up.”
He pulled out a small, wrapped box, no bigger than his palm, tied with a delicate gold ribbon.
My heart stopped.
“Rhett, what is that?”
He looked at the box, then at me. I saw understanding dawn in his eyes. “Oh, shit. Clem, this isn’t—”
“I love you,” I blurted out, the words tumbling over each other in my haste to get them out. “I love you so much, but I’m not ready for… I mean, we’re having so much fun together, and I don’t want to rush things, and—”
“Breathe,” he said gently, crossing to where I stood. “It’s not a ring.”
“It’s not?”
“It’s not.” He was trying not to smile, I could tell. “Though your panic is very flattering to my ego. I’ve never imagined proposing to a woman, but I’m pretty sure this is not the reaction a man is going for.”
Heat flooded my cheeks. “I wasn’t panicking. I was just clarifying my position.”
“Your position being that you’d rather not marry me?”
“My position being that I’m very happy with where we are right now,” I said firmly. “And I don’t want to complicate things by rushing into—”
He silenced me with a kiss, soft and sweet and tasting like wine. “Clem,” he said against my lips. “Just open the damn box.”
With shaking hands, I untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. Nestled in white tissue paper was a small gold key.
“What is it?” I asked, though part of me already knew.
“It’s to this place,” he said, his voice suddenly uncertain.
“I mean, if you want it. I cleared out some space in the walk-in closet for your things, and there’s a whole drawer in the bathroom that’s just sitting empty.
I figured maybe you’d want to keep some stuff here. Come over whenever you want.”
I stared at the key, my heart doing complicated things in my chest.
“I’ll make you cappuccinos in the morning,” he continued, the words coming faster now, like he was afraid I might say no. “And martinis in the evening. I’ll rub your feet after long days, and we can cook dinner together, and you can fall asleep in my bed every night if you want to.”
I looked up at him, this man who had somehow become everything to me in such a short time. “What happens if I get into the culinary program in Vegas?”
The question had been weighing on me for weeks. I had applied to the Culinary Institute’s Vegas campus on a whim, but as the weeks had passed and our relationship had deepened, I started to worry about what would happen if I actually got in.
“Then I’ll get a place there,” he said without hesitation. “And I’ll make you another key.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.” He cupped my face in his hands. “Clem, I meant what I said. I’m not going anywhere. Whatever comes next, wherever you need to be, I want to be there with you.”
Tears pricked my eyes. “You’d really do that? Move to Vegas?”
“For you? I’d move to Mars.”
I laughed through my tears, holding the key tight against my chest. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” he said, leaning down to kiss me again. “So what do you say? Want to make this official? Not marriage official,” he added quickly, making me laugh again. “Just a drawer official.”
Instead of answering with words, I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him, pouring all my yes into the press of my lips against his. He responded immediately, his arms coming around me, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us.
“I take that as a yes,” he murmured against my mouth.
“That’s a yes,” I confirmed, then kissed him again, deeper this time.
The Christmas movie was forgotten as we lost ourselves in each other. I helped him pull my goofy Santa pajama top over my head, shivering as the cool air hit my skin.
He groaned, capturing my mouth in another searing kiss as his hands roamed over my newly exposed skin. I felt like I was melting under his touch, every nerve ending alive and singing.
“Bedroom?” he suggested breathlessly.
“Bedroom,” I agreed.
He swept me up in his arms like I weighed nothing. I laughed, feeling giddy and wild and completely, utterly happy. This was it—this was what I’d been searching for without even knowing it. This feeling of finding the person who saw all of me and loved what they found.
Tonight was ours. Just ours.
***
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***
If you loved this book, don’t miss out…
Check out book 1 in A Wedding Bells Alpha Novel called Say You Do.
My brother is an idiot—he’s getting married.
And I’m in charge of getting things together since our folks are gone.
Lucky me. The guy who thinks love is for the birds and worn-out 80s songs.
I honestly don’t have time for this drama. I run a billion-dollar company, have women to entertain, and am working on my plans to rule the world.
No, seriously.
And yet, when you least expect it, life kicks you in the balls.
The beautiful, snarky woman that runs the flower shop is perfect to help me pull off this wedding.
Just seeing her sends my head spinning with possibilities.
She’s perfect. To play my fake wife for an event I have coming up as a side deal.
My ex-wife will be at the event, and I sure could use someone to show her how well I’ve done since she ripped out my soul.
So my curvy new friend gets my ring and a chunk of my wallet before agreeing to the deal.
Funny thing is, I’m not so interested in taking it back by the end of the adventure.
I’m willing to go all in on what might be the best decision of my life.
And I’m demanding the same of her. No maybes. No I-don’t-knows.
No fear of what might be or might not be.
Open your pretty pink lips and utter the words.
Say you do.
I gotta have THIS