Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Spencer
“You need to stop moping.” Mama Murthi swatted at Moses who’d decided to leap onto the kitchen island and try to nab some of her crab dip.
With a yowl, he scampered away.
“Sorry. He knows better.”
She pointed the serving spoon at me. “You do as well, my young friend. They’re back in about an hour.”
“He wouldn’t let me pick him up at the airport.”
“Because a fancy limousine is driving him here.” She continued stirring the dip as I tore up slices of pumpernickel to dip in it.
“They’re all coming here, my little one.
That tells you something. They could have all gone to their respective homes, but they’ve chosen to come here.
And they asked the two of us to be here. No one else.”
“That doesn’t strike you as odd?”
“He’s not going to dump you in front of a roomful of people. He’s not going to dump you at all. Here.” She put a fork into the mix and apportioned enough for me to try.
My eyes closed as I moaned in bliss. “You know, I think your cooking is how I survived this.”
“Ha!” She grinned. “Papa loves you almost as much as I do. I’m glad you stopped turning down my requests for visits and started honoring your elders.”
I snickered. “You’re not that much older than me.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re closer in age to Malik than to me.”
“Not by much.”
“Pfft.” She pointed to the bread. “Finish with that.”
“Yes, Mama.”
The first couple weeks after the band left, I moped around the house. Aside from work, I had nothing to occupy my time. Mama kept inviting me over. I kept making excuses. I wanted to feel sorry for myself. I’d finally met the man of my dreams—the love of my life—and he’d abandoned me.
Which was total bullshit.
He’d been presented with the opportunity of a lifetime and had left me installed in his mansion with everything my heart might desire, to pursue his lifelong dream.
I didn’t have the right to feel sorry for myself.
Which Mama reiterated in spades the Saturday she arrived on my doorstep, battered down the barricades—imaginary, not real—and demanded admittance.
We’d become fast friends. And every Friday night from that week on, I was expected at the Murthi household for dinner.
Abrianna commented, about three months into the arrangement, that she saw more of me than she usually saw of Creed—and he lived there.
I’d wondered if I was supposed to be offended, but she quickly clarified that she liked having me around—much better mannered than her brother. Also, she considered me a better conversationalist. Okay, I took that compliment with grace.
The Murthis were more like my parents than my own were by the end of the seven months. Never was I more grateful for people—both that they had invited me in, but also that Malik had them in his life. That even if something happened, and I wasn’t around anymore, that he’d be cared for.
“Stop moping!” Mama barked in a voice she rarely used.
“Sorry.” I met her gaze.
“He still wants you. Every other week he asks if you’re still living here. If you’re still happy. If you still want him.”
I frowned. “I tell him those things all the time.” Well, when communication was permitted.
This Keriakos dude might be a fantastic producer, but he was also a little on the quirky side.
Everything was strictly controlled for the band.
When they could call, when they could write, when they could hear from us.
Pauletta regularly assured me things were going well. She refused to share the footage Lydia shot, but promised it was good shit.
Whatever that meant.
“You, my child, need to let go of some of your vigilance. Did they not text fifteen minutes ago to say they’d landed?”
“Well…yes.”
“Did they not say they had to taxi the plane to the airport, disembark, and go through customs?”
I rolled my eyes.
“Hey!”
My gaze snapped to Mama’s.
She wagged her finger at me.
Shame heated my cheeks. “Yes, Mama, they said all that.”
“And did they not say the limo is there waiting for them?”
“Yes…?”
“So what are you fussing about? The roast chicken is almost cooked. You have hamburgers and hot dogs for the grill. Heck, you even ensured the gas was set up to flow to the grill—even though it has never let you down before.”
“The entire three times I’ve used it.” I’d invited the Murthi clan over three times since spring had sprung, and each time they chose barbecue. My vegetable kebobs were a particular favorite.
“You worry too much.” She pointed to the fridge.
I pulled out the plate of vegetable kebobs as well as the meat one. Then I handed her the marinade.
She got to work. Twenty minutes later, she hustled out to the barbecue to cook everything, even planning to start on the burgers and dogs.
I remained in the kitchen to watch over the chicken while mixing the salad dressing with the lettuce and croutons to make the Caesar salad.
Then I pulled the plate of cut veggies from the fridge and added a container of dip to the platter as well.
I restrained myself from checking the fridge for the tenth time to ensure I had everyone’s favorite drink. Mama was right—I was going overboard.
Just…seven months was a fucking long time.
As the sound of the front door opening reached me, Malik’s bellow of, “We’re home,” resonated.
I took a deep breath before I headed toward the front hallway.
He met me halfway.
For just an instant, we stared.
Then he threw himself into my arms.
I vaguely noted everyone else coming in, even as his lips pressed to mine.
The kiss was graphic, dirty, and everything I hoped for.
He grabbed my ass and hauled me against him. He pressed his erect cock against mine. He didn’t even pull back when Mama Murthi tsked her disapproval.
“Hi, Mama.” Creed’s tone was part amusement, part relief. Even I could hear the love as he embraced his mother.
“Do I smell barbecue?” Freddie toed off his sandals and headed toward the kitchen.
Reese did the same.
Pauletta stepped into the house and immediately to the side so Lydia could film the reunion.
We agreed today would be informal shooting—nothing scripted or pre-planned.
So when Malik dropped to one knee, I couldn’t have been more shocked.
He grasped my hand. “I wanted to propose before I left. I didn’t want to tie you down, though. I wanted you to feel free to meet other men—”
“There’s only ever been you.” I wasn’t going to mention Paul the asshole or the few other guys—what I felt for them paled in comparison. I could barely remember wanting to marry Paul and start a family with him. Thank Christ we never had.
Malik grinned. “Well, that’s good. It’s the same for me.”
Since he’d dated more than I had, his words carried a larger impact. He’d sampled what was out there and had known he wanted to come home here. To me.
I knelt.
“Hey.” He tried for indignation, but that totally fell flat as he continued to hold my hand, this time looking into my eyes. “I’m a bad bet.”
“You’re not.”
“I get into all kinds of mischief.”
“You won’t.”
Mama’s snort had us turning toward the kitchen. All the band members, Mama, and Pauletta stood watching us.
Heat flooded my cheeks. I forced myself not to look at Lydia with her camera or Mickey who stood just behind her. “You just had to be public.”
“Our relationship hasn’t exactly been a secret.”
“Hell, no.” Creed—always having to stick his nose in it.
“I didn’t want you to feel like you could say no.”
I glared at Malik.
He shrugged. “Hedging my bets?”
“As if all those emails and letters weren’t full of sap and goop. You know I want you. Have practically since the first time we met.”
He chuckled.
As did Mama.
“Will you marry me?” He leaned closer. “Lydia has promised to destroy the video file if you say no.”
As if. “Yes, I’ll marry you. Sheesh, sometimes you can be a dumbass.”
“For proposing in semi-public or for thinking you might turn me down?”
“Well, frankly, both.” I took his cheeks in my hands and drew him in for a kiss.
“Give him the ring.” Creed—ensuring he played a large part in this.
I pulled back from the embrace. “Ring?”
Malik shrugged. Then he dug into his pocket and pulled out a little ring box. “Will you marry me?” He shoved the box at me without opening it.
Curious, I slowly opened it. The ring appeared to be platinum. “Is that…?
“White gold.” He pulled the ring out of the box.
“With Celtic knots. I mean, I tried to think of something British. Or from my culture. I kept coming back to these because they’re like…
I dunno…infinity? Something that’ll keep forever.
” He grasped my hand and slid the ring onto my right finger.
“When we get married, I’m moving that to your left hand. I want everyone to know you’re mine.”
“And what about me?”
Freddie hooted. “Told ya he’d want one to give to you.”
Malik winced.
Mama stepped up to us and handed me a box.
I cocked my head as I met her gaze.
She pointed toward her son.
I opened the ring box and gasped.
The ring was onyx black with the same raised Celtic pattern, only in sapphire blue. A truly unique piece of jewelry that totally matched Malik’s personality. “How…?”
“My son has a big mouth. He found a picture on the internet of one similar to the one Malik bought for you and he hinted strongly you might appreciate my help.”
Creed, in turn, hooted. “Now, can we eat?” Without waiting for a response, he headed toward the kitchen.
Good thing I’d turned the heat in the oven down—otherwise we’d be eating very rubbery chicken.
“Are your knees starting to hurt?” Malik caressed my cheek.
“Are you suggesting I’m getting old?”
He laughed. “Uh, no. I just think we should’ve knelt on a rug rather than the marble entryway.”
“Agreed.”
Together, leaning on each other, we rose.
“Where are your bags?”
“I asked the driver to put them in the garage—we’ll sort everything out when people are willing to leave. Seeing as we last ate about eight hours ago, I’d say they’re starving.”
“Better believe it.” Reese approached us.
She held out her arms for a hug.
I embraced her warmly. “You know?”
“We’d always known. From the moment the plane took off from Vancouver heading east, we knew. This guy took some time to come around to the idea, though.”
I gazed at Malik.
He shrugged. “I didn’t know if I was worthy of you. I had…a lot of time to figure myself out.”
“Which definitely shows in the music. I can’t wait to play it for you and Mama.” Resse offered a genuine smile.
Malik grinned as well. “Wait until you hear the audition tape we sent to the Rocktoberfest organizers.”
I stilled.
“Yeah, we kept that under wraps as well. We’re in!” He threw his arms around me. “We’re going to Black Rock in October.”
I held him close to me, basking in his evident joy. “I love you.”
“Yeah, me too.” He chuckled. “I mean I love you too.”
“It’s okay to love yourself, you know.”
He pulled back to meet my gaze. “Working on that.”
Which was all I could ask for.