Epilogue
Charlotte
I Choose You
Seventeen Years Later
J une
“If my parents catch us sneaking out of their house like teenagers, I’m going to be mortified,” I whisper.
Arden, dressed in a pair of blue and green plaid pajama pants and a navy T-shirt, opens the door to his SUV and gives me a groping boost into the passenger seat. “Sneaking implies they could stop us if they caught us. We’re politely keeping the information that we’re going somewhere I can make my wife scream”—he snaps my seatbelt into place—“to ourselves.”
“What if the guards hear?”
“They’re on the perimeter making sure people stay out. We’ll be on the inside. They won’t be close to where we’re going.”
“We could probably go back in the house, hold hands, and watch TV until we fall asleep,” I tease. It’s what we’ve done for most of this week, and we’re both getting desperate.
Arden’s side eye is unimpressed. “I’ve had enough TV. Your mother has to be doing this to us on purpose.”
“I don’t think so. She just likes that the iron bed goes with her farmhouse aesthetic.”
“That bed squeaks so loudly that it’s like an alarm system announcing to the entire house that we’re making love. I’m tired of moving in millimeters and in slow motion. We’ve been reduced to sloth fucking . It’s inhumane.”
Snickering, I pat his knee in a “there there” gesture. I learned the so-called social graces with a tutor. Arden has etiquette bred in his bones. But . . . I may have corrupted him a little.
He puts the SUV in gear but doesn’t pull out of the driveway. Instead, he takes off through the mowed field to the rough-cut access road that leads deeper through my parents’ property and down to the pond. It’s a good idea. There’s no public traffic here at all.
When he parks on the hill and unsnaps my seatbelt, I lean over and reach for his waistband. He stills my hand with a gentle grip on my wrist. “We can do better than a front seat with a gear shifter between us.”
Arden gets out of the SUV, and I crane my head to follow his path. He opens my door. “We’re moving to the backseat.”
“You’ve thought this through.”
“Always.”
With a grin, I take his hand and step out onto the dirt road. “We’re about to make out in your car. It’s not that serious.”
He ushers me into the back, then climbs in behind me and shuts the door with a firm thunk . “We’re doing more than ‘making out,’ and I’ve never been more serious.”
Pulling me into a kiss, his fingers thread through my hair until his hand cups my skull. He tugs the stretchy neckline of my nightgown under my breasts. Tracing a single finger over each nipple, he leans away enough to admire his handiwork, then looks up into my eyes. “Sometimes, I still can’t believe you chose us.”
“I’ve never regretted it.”
Arden’s lips meet mine, and I tunnel my fingers through the steel-gray strands of his hair, sinking into the pleasure of his touch.
When I pull at his waistband, he leans away and pats the bench seat. “On your knees and face the window, sweetheart. Let me make you feel good.”
He guides me into position, flips my nightgown up over my back, and slides my panties down my thighs. “So beautiful.”
Then his mouth is on me, and he works me with skill that comes from years of knowing my body. Arden drives me higher and higher, then backs off before I hit my peak. Over and over, he uses his tongue and fingers until I’m nearly incoherent with need. “Arden. Now.”
Without a hint of hesitation, he rises up behind me and sinks deep inside. We both groan at the pleasure, and the relief, of being together after days of missing this connection.
He rides me, one hand playing with my nipple, the other working my clit, until I cry out in orgasm. When Arden follows, his cock flexes inside me in a way that’s now so familiar to me, and even more precious because of it.
He wraps his arms around me then hauls me onto his lap where we both catch our breath.
“I love you.”
We say it at the same time, then we make the same hum of contentment as Arden strokes gentle fingers up and down my spine.
“Did you see a light while we were in the middle of that? I could swear I saw something.”
“You must have been seeing stars from my sexual prowess. You’re welcome.”
I laugh, then drop my head to his shoulder, sleepiness creeping in, along with my worries. “What are we going to do about Bronwyn and that man?”
“Dean has a clean record. Marcus Harcourt would never have had someone guarding Clarissa that he hadn’t vetted personally.”
I shake my head. “I’m not talking about his record. I’m talking about her heart.”
“The kids will work it out.”
“How? There’s an expiration date written in their prenup. I don’t like to jump to conclusions about people, especially something like this, but I’m worried this is about money for him.”
“I’m not so sure about that. I think”—Arden shakes his head—“I think he’s in love with her.”
“Then what the heck is he doing?”
“Maybe he doesn’t trust her. Maybe he’s trying to protect her,” he says.
“If he doesn’t trust her, there’s something wrong with him.”
Arden chuckles. “I know, Mama Bear.”
“So we‘re supposed to sit back and do nothing?”
He rubs my back. “Maybe not ‘nothing.’ The boys and I had a talk with him.”
I straighten and glare. “Tell me you didn’t threaten our daughter’s husband with bodily harm.”
He shrugs and looks unrepentant. “It wasn’t a random threat. It was a clearly defined, specific reminder regarding her safety and well-being.”
“What did he say?”
“He shrugged and said, ‘Fair enough’ or something to that effect.”
I sigh. “She’s giving me gray hair. The way she thinks she can handle everything on her own is terrifying.”
“It’s normal at that age. I did it when I went to college. Henry point-blank refuses to use a driver. At least she’s in Blackwater most of the time. We have people here for her if she needs them.”
When I yawn, Arden chuckles. “Time to sneak back inside. I love your parents, but I can’t wait to get home.”
I sift my fingers through his hair. “You, Arden McRae, are my home.”