Chapter 2
“She loved it. Of course she did. I know my woman,” I said to Chris, one of my college buddies on the phone.
He called to let me know about the updated plans for his bachelor party.
He had booked rooms in New Orleans right along Bourbon Street, and he’d mapped out all the prime drinking locations. I was exhausted thinking about it.
In college, I had been the “party animal”, and my friends had expected nothing less from me.
But I was a year into my thirties now, and I just didn’t recover like I used to.
I much preferred throwing back a beer on the couch, Rose’s legs overlapping mine while we caught up on the newest episode of The Bachelor.
God, when did I get so old? Once upon a time, the thought of sitting home on a Friday night would have disgusted me, but now I lived for those quiet moments with my girl.
“If you need help picking out a gift for Cynthia, I’m your guy,” I added, knowing damn well he was the worst gift-giver in the world.
Other than the engagement ring, the last thing he gave Cynthia was a waffle maker for Valentine’s Day, claiming breakfast in bed was romantic.
Not realizing that cooking and delivering breakfast was the romantic part.
Sometimes I wondered how he snagged a girl like Cynthia in the first place.
Rose said it was his six-pack. “Breakfast in bed,” I muttered.
Chris groaned. “Don’t start, man. She still hasn’t let me live that down. Worse, she uses it as ammunition every time she’s mad at me.”
I smiled as Chris went on and on. Rose and I always laughed at how our friends talked about each other. How they were so quick to complain. It just reminded us how lucky we were to have found each other.
“Next time just buy her a box of Ferrero Rochers and call it a day.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because they’re her favorite candy! Dude, how do I know that, and you don’t?”
“She eats a lot of chocolate.”
A sigh rushed out of me, and I pressed a finger between my eyebrows. “This is why men have a bad rap. It’s the details, man. Pay attention to the details. It’ll set you up for a happy marriage.”
“You’re so quick to give out marriage advice, yet Rose is still ringless. When are you going to make her an honest woman? It’s been what? Ten years.”
My fingers tightened around my phone. Here we go again.
“Eleven,” I corrected.
“Eleven?”
“First off, Rose doesn’t need me to make her anything. She’s already the most honest person I know. And secondly, we’re good. Happy. Marriage isn’t some ticket to ‘happily ever after.’ Not when you’re already there.”
I left out the part where I watched my parents get married after being together for fifteen years when I was eight, and how their lives completely fell apart shortly after.
They were fine until they took that next step.
Then it all deteriorated, and I lost my family and my sense of security.
Dad lost his mind, and Mom cried more than she smiled.
“We don’t need a piece of paper to define our love. Besides, we’ve already been together longer than most marriages. We’re solid.”
“I know that. Hell, we all know that. I guess we just want to bring the same energy you bring to all of us to your wedding.”
“Not necessary. However, when I turn forty, I expect a huge blowout. Massive. I want the whole shebang. I don’t care if you’re a bitter married dad of three. I want Jello shots, ice luges, and a DJ who only plays mid-2000s hits.”
Chris laughed. “By forty, we’ll be in bed by nine.”
“Bullshit. I’ll be on that dance floor with glow sticks and a coconut shell bra.”
“Why do I feel like you have an entire closet of coconut shell bras?”
“Maybe because I do.”
We laughed for a few more minutes, tossed around plans for New Orleans, and traded jabs before we hung up.
“What are you smiling at?” Rose asked as she came out of the bathroom, steam following her, hair wet, face bare, revealing her adorable freckles. It was moments like this when I realized how damn lucky I was. Not a lick of makeup, and she was fucking stunning.
“Just Chris being an idiot. New Orleans is booked.”
“Cynthia just texted me. Orlando is booked.”
I wrapped my hand around her waist and pulled her to me. “It’s not fair you get to go to Universal during the day then party at night. Why are your friends cooler than mine?”
Rose draped her arms over my shoulders, her wet brown hair with undertones of dirty blonde falling forward and dripping on my shorts. “Because my friends aren’t trying to relive their frat boy days with binge drinking and beads.”
“Hey, beads are timeless.”
She laughed, the sound soft and joyous, and brushed my hair off my forehead. I tightened my grip on her hips, drawing her closer. She placed her knees on either side of me, her towel pushing past her thighs. A simple tuck of the cotton was the only thing keeping her naked body from me.
Her fingers slipped to her towel, and she undid the knot, letting the towel pool at her hips. My eyes immediately dropped to her perfectly pink nipples. Eleven years together, and I never tired of seeing them.
“Do I get my beads?” she asked.
“You get whatever the hell you want.” I dipped my head, taking her nipple between my lips. A moan rumbled up her throat; her body arched into me.
Her hands pressed into my cheeks, and she drew me away from my feast and kissed me before pulling back.
“We have to get going soon.” We were having dinner at the vineyard with Rose’s entire family, including her parents, who had made a pit stop in their travels and would be leaving for Spain in a couple of weeks.
I turned my head, kissing her palm. “We both know I only need three minutes, tops.”
I stood with Rose in my arms. A mix of a laugh and a scream burst from her mouth as I lay her on the bed and came down on top of her.
She bit her lip, her eyes heavy with lust, and I knew I didn’t need to make this happen in three minutes. We were locked in.
“Liar,” she whispered, fingers sliding through my hair and sending a chill down my spine. “We both know you only need two.”
My jaw dropped. A gasp echoed through the room, and Rose fell into an adorable fit of giggles. My fingers attacked her sides, and she wiggled against me, my cock instantly turning to solid rock.
“Now I have to prove you wrong.”
“That’s what I’m hoping.”
I kissed her slow, savoring the way she melted beneath me.
Her legs wrapped around my waist, her foot urging me closer, until my hard length pressed against her.
She fumbled with my zipper, ripping it down and shoving my pants over my hips.
Gracefully, I kicked them off, bringing myself right back to where we were.
Everything else faded: the talk about New Orleans, the beads, Chris asking me when I would make an honest woman out of Rose. All that was left was us. Just like it had been since the first time we spoke—us against the world.
I focused on the softness of her skin beneath my fingertips, the way her hair smelled like her favorite coconut shampoo, the way my name effortlessly fell from her lips, sounding like a desperate plea but also pure contentment.
My mouth trailed down her throat, the steady beat of her pulse beating against my lips.
“Wy?”
“Hmm?” I murmured against her collarbone.
“We really do have to leave soon.”
“Shh. Two minutes and fifty-seven seconds to go.”
Her chest rose in an amused, quiet shake, her head falling back on the pillow, and her entire body relaxed beneath me. And for those remaining minutes, I rocked her world.
Thirty minutes later, give or take, we were at the vineyard, heading into the tasting room. It was closed today, so it was only the Grassos scattered throughout.
With Rose having two sisters and four brothers, it was never a quiet event, and I loved it.
Growing up, it was just me. My grandparents had been long gone by the time I came along, and neither of my parents had siblings.
Then, when my parents divorced, it was just me and Mom. Dad bailed on us completely.
I never realized how lonely I was until I became a part of the Grasso family. There was always someone to talk to, someone to help move furniture, to hand over a glass of wine after a rough day, or to roast the shit out of you if you deserved it. I deserved it plenty of times.
I loved it all. The chaos, the noise, the drama…
But most of all, I loved Rose.
She squeezed my hand as we stepped into the tasting room, centering and anchoring me to my person. Laughter greeted us, Rhone and his best friend Sutton, pointing at each other, their heads tilted in pure joy. God only knew what they were laughing about.
Franc was arguing with Chardonnay and Laurent over what wine should be featured in next month's club shipment. When they really should have been discussing that with me to make sure the bottles were in stock and ready to be shipped. I’d let them duke it out and catch them up later with the actual logistics.
Nero smiled down at his girlfriend, Lainey, and her cheeks were shining bright red, so I could imagine what was coming out of his mouth.
Franc’s girl, Quinn, Laurent’s wife, Phoebe, and Chardonnay’s boyfriend and honorary Grasso, Brady, were watching Franc’s son, Gio, see how high he could jump.
Brady—a solid, brick wall of a specimen, standing at 6’4 and two hundred and forty pounds of muscle—held his hand straight out in front of him.
Gio took a running leap but just missed by a fingertip.
“Almost there, buddy,” I said to Gio as we passed, ruffling his hair because I knew how much the now seven-year-old hated that.
He swatted my hand away, then got right back into a running position. Sherry and Ben hurried in behind us, Sherry’s shirt askew, and I debated whether I should tell her that her buttons were completely out of alignment.
The matriarch and patriarch of the family stood at the tasting bar, sipping wine, eyes wandering the crowd of people that existed solely because of them.
Rose turned to me, her lips that had roamed my body not even an hour earlier curving up. “If you’re lucky, I’ll let you pick the dessert wine we bring home.”
“Babe, I think I deserve two bottles.”
“A bottle per minute.” She winked a sultry eye at me, and before I could form a rebuttal, Mr. Grasso stepped away from the tasting bar and cupped my shoulder.
“The party has shown up!”