Epilogue
April
Seven months later …
I change into the outfit I’ve been planning for the past month—a casual cream cashmere lounge set paired with intricate lace lingerie in James’s favourite colour on me—ivory. I tousle my hair, teasing volume into the roots, and swipe on a layer of black mascara, finishing the look with a coat of pink lip balm. I decide to keep my skin bare and natural. I spritz my new perfume over my neck and in my hair, and do a final sweep through the house, ensuring everything is just right.
Basil is curled up on the sofa, purring away. Scented candles flicker across the room, filling the space with aromas of vanilla, popcorn, and cinnamon. Once-empty photo frames now hold snapshots of my new life—me with Anna and Gemma, photos of Basil, and of course, James. I pause in front of my favourite: James smiling wide as he shakes hands with Phoenix Riley on-stage. Yes, the Phoenix Riley from Bound to Oblivion. Since the tour started, they’ve become close friends, and having that moment captured is an ode to how hard he’s worked, and how wonderfully talented he is.
The bookshelf is now overflowing with more classic titles, thanks to James, and my wardrobe houses variants of his oversized T-shirts and ripped jeans. We decided that he would move in when he returns from tour, and Caroline has been helping shift his belongings while he’s been away. I understand why some people might think it’s too soon, but that phrase when you know, you know has never felt truer. I’ve missed him with the same desperation as needing air to breathe.
Why waste time when you know exactly what you want?
Between my work and his overwhelming schedule, we only managed to spend one incredible week together in Vienna back in April. We ate our weight in apple strudel, and toured old concert halls and opera houses, immersing ourselves in the cities impressive history and music. James couldn’t believe he was standing in the same buildings where composers like Mozart and Beethoven once performed.
After that, we decided we didn’t want to waste a single moment. I can hardly believe he’s finally coming home.
No more late-night FaceTime calls or rushed texts squeezed in between work hours and shows.
No more waking up in the middle of the night clutching his pillow, or coming home to a dark, empty house after a long day.
I can’t wait to hear the rumble of his bass as he plays or walk downstairs to the mouth-watering smell of bacon and eggs frying on the stovetop.
I dart outside to bring in my latest clay creations—fruit bowls, vases, and a set of matching coffee mugs. When James left, I decided to take my ceramics seriously. I opened an Etsy shop, created an Instagram, and started sharing my work. The girls got behind me, posting about my pieces, which led to an influx of custom orders. I reached out to a few of the market stalls Gemma and I frequent, and they agreed to stock my work. We started with just a handful of pieces, but word spread and it took off. Now, I’m scouting small spaces to rent, with plans to open my own shop.
Mum would be so proud and excited. She always believed in my skills before I even did. She used to say that ceramics are beautiful in all their imperfections, that no two pieces could ever be the same. If the last year taught me anything, it’s that our imperfections are what make us unique. Whether it’s a dent in a bowl, a curve you perceive as too large, or a scar on your skin, they set us apart from everyone else.
I hope I’ve made her proud.
I quickly check the utility room before leaving and, as always, spot a stray poop right next to the tray. “Bad Basil,” I mutter, grabbing paper towel and disinfectant spray to clean it up. Nothing says “welcome home” after months on the road quite like a fresh turd waiting on the floor.
Once everything’s cleaned up, I race upstairs to the bathroom to check on the surprise I’ve been keeping to myself for twelve weeks. I can’t wait to see the look on James’s face when he sees what I’ve been hiding.
Confident that everything is as it should be, I snatch my keys off the kitchen counter and head to Heathrow Airport. It’s late, so thankfully the traffic isn’t too congested. My heart thumps erratically in my chest as my excitement builds. The velvety voices of the narrators fill the car as I crank up my latest audiobook, hoping to make the time pass faster.
Twenty-five minutes and two chapters later, I pull into the car park. My hands shake as I lock the car, and my legs are jelly as I head towards arrivals. My fingers twist anxiously as I watch person after person pass through the gate.
When a pair of worn combat boots appear, my stomach drops, and I freeze. I watch, motionless, as James wheels his suitcase beside him. He’s wearing a grey beanie, a Bound to Oblivion concert T-shirt, and dark jeans. He’s nibbling on his guitar pick, his eyes scanning the crowd until they land on me.
My lip trembles and tears begin to spill. He smiles, a megawatt grin, and his left dimple pops as his entire face lights up. Before I can fully process it, I’m moving towards him. He stops, bending slightly as I leap into his arms and wrap my legs around his waist. I bury my face into his neck, inhaling a deep, shaky breath. One hand supports me under my bottom, while the other tangles through my hair to hold me close.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he says, his warm breath lighting a spark inside me. I cry harder, holding on to him as if he might float away if I let go. I pull back to look at him, releasing his neck as I gently cradle his face in my hands. His eyes still hold the same sincerity and warmth they always did. His hair is longer now, falling just above his shoulders, the ends curling beneath his beanie.
“Did you miss me?” he whispers. I lean forward, crushing my lips to his. Slowly, I pull his beanie off to run my fingers through his waves, tugging gently at the ends. He chuckles when I finally release him. “I’m taking that as a yes,” he says.
“So, so much.”
James
“I love you,” I say, holding her close and breathing her in, jasmine and something else, something sweet.
“I love you too.”
Right here, this is where she belongs—in my arms. The smell of her perfume is the only thing tethering me to the reality that this is happening—she’s really here.
I’m home.
I slide my hands from her soft hair and slowly lower her to the floor. People passing are smiling, a few even crying, at our reunion. I’m having a hard time keeping my emotions at bay myself. I hold her at arm’s length to take her in. My eyes sweep from her trainers to her cute lounge set, the waves in her hair, and finally, her porcelain face. The one that’s occupied all my dreams. She’s barefaced, which is my favourite look.
I grab my suitcase with one hand, threading her fingers through the other as we head towards the car park. Once we’re loaded, I buckle in, and as soon as she starts the car, we’re met with the sound of two raspy, breathy narrators going into detail about a shower sex scene. I roll my lips inwards to keep from laughing. April’s face flushes the sweetest pink as she quickly hits the off button.
“That was good timing,” she mutters.
“I’d say.”
“How was your flight?”
I exhale, sinking into the seat. “Long, but good. Very smooth. I had plenty of legroom, which made all the difference,” I say.
The record company booked business class. I’m used to curling into myself and enduring cramped seats and screaming kids, but this return trip, after months on the road, was total bliss. Kicking back, enjoying a film, and snacking on everything they offered.
“That’s great! I’ve never flown business before,” she says.
“Well, when we have a holiday, I’ll make sure we fly business.”
Her smile is radiant as she bounces up and down excitedly in her seat. “Really?!”
“Of course,” I say, placing my hand over her thigh, giving it an affectionate squeeze. Fuck, I’ve missed her. I’ve missed her beautiful mind, her gorgeous body. After spending seven months having phone sex and masturbating, I never want to wank myself off again.
“This is so exciting!” She wiggles her eyebrows. “So. Tell me. How does it feel?”
I drop my gaze to my hand, inching higher and higher up her thigh. “Just as good as I remember,” I say.
She smacks my hand playfully. “I meant finally being signed. You guys have a record deal!”
It’s true. I can hardly believe it. Four months into the tour, Bound to Oblivion’s manager approached us and asked if they could add us to their portfolio. The obvious answer was yes. Shortly after being listed under their management, Star Records, the biggest rock record label in the UK, contacted us after a show and wanted to sign us. We have eight weeks off before we hit the studios and start recording our debut album.
I’m determined to spoil her rotten. I’ve already gone ahead and bought Mum a new car. It feels good being able to provide for the two most important people in my life.
I spend the rest of the short trip home talking about the various countries we visited and the crowds we performed in front of, while April fills me in on everything at home. Mum and Dad have been visiting her quite often, which they all enjoy. I’ve spoken to my parents here and there while I’ve been away, and they’ve been so excited to have April back in their lives. She’s a ray of sunshine, spreading light everywhere she goes. Her happiness and joy for life is infectious.
She’s spent a lot of free time with Gemma, Anna and Mason, and her ceramics work has been keeping her busy. She’s extremely talented, and I’m so fucking proud of her. I’m excited to see what she does with her own shop. She has such a unique vision, so I have no doubt she’ll succeed. Now that we have the means for her to leave her job as a personal assistant, I can’t wait to support her as she nurtures her passion.
We pull up to the kerb outside April’s townhouse. Sorry— our townhouse. That’s going to take some getting used to. I’m so excited about living together. It never made sense to keep packing bags and travelling back and forth between each other’s places when we could just share a home. She’s it for me. I know she is. So, the moment she suggested it, there was no hesitation—I said yes without a second thought.
The door clicks open, and as I step inside, I’m instantly enveloped by the warm, comforting scent of vanilla and cinnamon. The place looks incredible. She’s replaced the old photographs with new ones, and my heart flutters as I scan the images. She looks so happy, so at ease.
This is the April I knew—her laughter in every snapshot, her eyes shining with that same spark that first captivated me the moment she walked through my parents’ door all those years ago. That woman, the one who stole my heart without even trying, is still here, and I can’t believe I get to be a part of her life now.
The sight of my books next to hers makes something inside me shift. She’s transformed this place into a home— our home—and I can’t wait to wake up beside her every morning and return from the studio to her each night. I’m a lucky bastard.
“Home sweet home,” April says, flashing me a bright smile. I wheel my suitcase in, discarding it at the door before pulling her into me. I rock us side to side in a slow dance, unable to wipe the grin off my face.
“What?” she asks.
I shrug. “I’m just so lucky that I get to come home to you. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, sweetheart.”
The corners of her lips tip up. “I feel exactly the same way.” At once, her eyes widen, and she takes a quick step back, waving her hands in front of her. “Oh my gosh! Your surprise! Stay here, okay?”
“Surprise? Baby, you didn’t need to get me a surprise.”
She’s already halfway up the stairs when she calls over her shoulder. “Trust me, you’ll love it!” I stay frozen, listening to the sound of her footsteps hurriedly moving around upstairs. A door creaks open, then shuts, and she shouts, “Okay, close your eyes!”
I do as she says.
“Keep them closed,” she adds, her footsteps drawing nearer. I can feel her presence before she speaks again. “Okay,” she whispers. “Open them.”
I open my eyes to find what might be the cutest thing I’ve ever fucking seen in my life.
She’s holding a puppy.
A chocolate labrador puppy.
My mouth pops open, and I instinctively reach out to take the puppy from her hands, cradling him against my chest. “And who’s this?” I ask, scratching his ear.
“This is Loki,” she says, stroking his velvety coat. “He’s eight weeks old. I signed the paperwork twelve weeks ago … I’m sorry I kept it a secret, but I really wanted to surprise you. Isn’t he divine?” she says, brushing his soft fur affectionately.
“Loki, the God of Mischief,” I say, looking into his pale green eyes. He excitedly licks my face. “I can already tell you’re going to be trouble,” I laugh as he paws at my chest. “Does he get on well with Basil?”
“They love each other.”
We sit on the floor together while Loki bounces between us. “This is perfect,” I say, barely believing it, as I look at her, feeling more at home than I ever have before.
April
We settle Loki in the utility room for the night before heading upstairs.
As I pull back the duvet, James steps closer, wrapping his arms around me from behind. His fingers sweep my hair aside, baring the curve of my neck. His lips dust lightly across my skin, which pebbles at the contact. My breath catches, and I reach back, threading my fingers through his hair to pull him closer. He grazes his teeth along my earlobe, nipping softly before peppering feather-light kisses across my jaw.
My hands move to the buttons of my top, one by one, slipping it off my shoulders and letting it glide down my arms until it falls away. Turning in his embrace, I meet his jade gaze.
The corner of his mouth tips up and he gently brushes his knuckles over my collarbone.
“Did you wear this for me?” he asks, tracing the line of my bra strap.
I nod.
He drops his hands to the elastic of my lounge bottoms. “And under here. These too?”
I nod again.
“Show me.”
I tug the bottoms firmly, letting the fabric pool at my feet before stepping out and kicking them aside. His jaw tightens, a muscle ticking as he swallows thickly.
“Sweetheart,” he says, “look at you.”
His gaze sweeps over me appreciatively, and I press my thighs together, desperate for friction.
“I want this,” I whisper. “I want you.”
He leans down as I rise onto my tiptoes, our lips pressing together. I sigh into his mouth as his hands trail around my back, unhooking my bra. His palms find me, weighing my breasts in both hands.
“April,” he murmurs, his voice strained.
“Don’t stop.”
Reaching forward, I grab the hem of his jumper and tug it upwards. It catches around his head, and we chuckle as we work to tug it free. Once it’s off, I make quick work popping the button on his jeans and dragging the zipper down. He takes over from there, leaning back to shove his jeans off. The bulge straining against his briefs begs to be touched.
I lean in, running my hand over his length, earning a deep groan. He quickly tugs the briefs off, tossing them without hesitation. He hooks his fingers under my thong, dragging the lace over my legs until nothing is left between us. I settle back, and he adjusts between my legs. I push my hips up, grinding myself against him. He hisses, reaching down to grip his cock and guide it to my entrance. I’m already slick with anticipation and need.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he says.
“Me too.”
He captures my lips at the same time he presses into me. Leaning on one elbow, he lifts a hand caress my cheek. We lock eyes as he starts to move, rolling his hips and thrusting into me. I’ve thought about this moment for seven months, and now that it’s finally here, the ache of his absence evaporates. Every nerve comes to life and heat floods my veins, filling me with a new kind of love I didn’t know was possible. The kind that reaches into my soul and awakens the deepest parts of me. The kind that paints my world in a kaleidoscope of colours and a haze of emotions. Emotions I haven’t confronted since the passing of my parents. Emotions I’d forgotten were real.
Until him.
We take our time. Cherishing every touch, every kiss, his movements matching our heavy pants. I can’t look away as we lose ourselves in each other.
He picks up his pace, and I drop a hand to where we’re joined, rubbing myself as he drives into me.
“Faster, James.”
“You want more?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, breathless.
He picks up speed, fucking me hard, and our moans deepen. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, pulling and nipping and suckling, and my core clenches. Sweat breaks out across his forehead as he pumps, and I clap my legs around him, urging him deeper.
“Fuck, that’s good,” he says, groaning as my climax builds low in my belly. I bow my back to press our bodies closer, feeling the beat of his heart against mine. I lift my hips as our bodies slap together, meeting his tempo.
“Say you’re mine,” he groans.
“I’m yours.”
His mouth crushes mine as we come undone. His body tenses before he grunts, releasing inside me just as I clench and quiver.
We collapse together, and he pulls me close, scooping me into his arms. His hand comes up to brush my jaw, and I comb my fingers through his hair as we catch our breath.
I don’t know how long we lie there, watching each other, kissing, touching, feeling. But it’s perfect. He’s perfect.
This man is it. He’s my home.
My forever.
“Always?” I ask.
He presses a kiss to the tip of my nose. “Always.”
THE END