Epilogue
EPILOGUE
brAM
ONE YEAR LATER
“ O kay, we’re going to need to set some ground rules for next year.”
The entire living room is covered in torn wrapping paper and newly opened gifts, most of them my girlfriend’s. Beside us, a magnificent, ten-foot-tall Christmas tree is bedecked in so many lights and ornaments that the branches are sagging. An embarrassingly terrible gingerbread house has slumped over onto its tray on the table.
Sophie is sitting between my legs, our limbs swathed in matching red plaid pajamas and fuzzy Santa socks. Far from our last hastily thrown together Christmas, this year’s celebration has stretched back to Thanksgiving. Everything from tree shopping to advent calendars was done with great enthusiasm, and Sophie only sighed in resignation when she came downstairs this morning to find a mountain of gifts waiting for her.
“That sounds boring,” I complain, though I’m smiling as I lean forward to kiss the patch of bare skin that’s exposed by her too-big pajama top.
Not all the things I got her were big or expensive. Some of them, like a collectible hardcover edition of the book she read and loved on her Kindle last month, are small, but Sophie was even more excited about them.
Tonight, Honor, Leni, and their partners will be over for a family dinner. I’m happy they’ll be here of course, but I’m grateful to have her all to myself for a while. Even if my stomach is churning with a combination of excitement and fear.
“You got me, like, way more stuff than I got you!” Sophie protests, gesturing around at the messy living room.
“You deserve to be spoiled.” I shrug, though my heart is beating a little faster as the moment I’ve been waiting for finally begins to make itself known.
I’ve never proposed before.
Truthfully, it’s not a position I ever expected to find myself in. Even with my daughters’ mother, marriage was never on the table. We were young, and aware—even if it was never said out loud—that we weren’t terribly compatible. Then came a series of short-term relationships based on sex and little else. There was never a woman I introduced to my daughters or who spent more than a few months in my bed.
Until Sophie.
I remember the first day I saw her at E that’s my wife.
Now, after a full three hundred and sixty five days of loving her in the open, I’m long past ready to be her husband.
Not that being ready makes this any easier.
Even if I’m confident she’ll say yes, there’s still the edge of fear. What if she doesn’t want to marry a man twice her age? What if she doesn’t want to be her best friend’s stepmother? What if she would rather start a family with a man who hasn’t already done that? There are a hundred reasons, valid ones, for Sophie not wanting to tie herself to me in this way.
Except, she loves me. Not puppy love, or a crush, or lust. I’ve experienced all that and been on the receiving end of it. This is different. More. Everything.
Pressing my lips to her temple, I ask, “I can’t give you one more thing?”
Sophie’s answering laugh is incredulous, and she glares at me over her shoulder. “Bram! There’s more?”
The box in my pocket seems to weigh much more than it did when I slipped it in there this morning. I crack a smile, my pulse racing so fast that it’s a miracle she hasn’t noticed. “It’s just one more tiny thing.”
Calling it tiny seems like a technicality when the ring cost more than all her other gifts combined. I commissioned the piece months ago by a well-known jeweler in New York, and paid extra to have it completed in time, because it had to be today.
My girlfriend groans, slumping back against my chest. “You’re so extra. Have you ever in your whole life half-assed something?”
I can barely breathe as I reach into my pocket, my fingers finding the soft velvet of the little box and pulling it out. “I hope you’ll let me get away with it this time.”
Then, before I can succumb to my nerves and fling the thing away for another day, I push the box into her hands.
Sophie stills, gazing down at it. “Bram,” she breathes, looking back at me through wide, shining eyes.
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Open it.”
Her hands tremble as she looks back down and pushes the lid open.
Nestled in the deep blue satin, the ring glitters up at us, stunning and unique, exactly like the woman it’s meant for.
Neither of us speaks as I pull it free and take Sophie’s hand in mine, sliding it into place on her left ring finger. The moment it’s there, some of the anxiety twisting inside me recedes.
It looks right.
“I love you so much, Sophie Nelson. Will you marry me?” My voice is quiet and choked, and the words are a plea rather than a question. I had other things I wanted to say, promises I wanted to make, but I can’t remember any of them.
She doesn’t make me wait, however, and her voice shakes as she responds, “Of course I will.”
Ecstatic relief and joy burst inside me, and the reality that she said yes has barely set in before Sophie is on her knees in front of me, diving for my lips. I can feel her smile when she kisses me.
“Oh my god, I can’t believe this is happening. I love you so much.” She laughs as we break apart, holding her hand up to admire the ring. “God, Bram.” Her voice shakes. “It’s so beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
That’s because there hasn’t been anything like it. “I designed it,” I admit in a hoarse croak, gazing at her beautiful, beaming face, so full of joy there’s not a doubt in my mind she was waiting for this. “Look from the side. ”
She does as I ask, tilting her hand to the correct angle, and I hear her breath hitch as she sees it; delicate, platinum snowflakes cradling each of the ring’s three main stones.
Sophie lets her hand fall back to my shoulder, diving forward to kiss me again. All the worry and tension I’ve been carrying for weeks is fading away, overtaken by the brand-new, ecstatic reality.
She said yes.
We’re getting married.
We break apart, panting, and there’s a telltale flush rising on Sophie’s face that tells me exactly how we’re going to celebrate. Maybe fucking her under the Christmas tree will have to become a yearly tradition.
“Are you going to be a groomzilla? Get all intense about the appetizers and the groomsmen’s tuxes?” She giggles, eyes on her ring again.
“You’ll thank me when there aren’t any microwaved miniature pizzas in the wedding pictures.”
“Hey now, those are incredible.”
I spank her, not that it will make any difference. This isn’t the first time we’ve had this discussion. “It’s a good thing I’m not marrying you for your taste in appetizers.”
Sophie squeals as my hand comes down on her ass again and I drag her close, unable to stomach even a few inches between us right now. “A very good thing. You would be horribly disappointed,” she teases, playing with the ends of my hair. “I seriously don’t care about the wedding details, Bram. Obviously my family won’t be there, so I won’t have a long guest list. We can do something small.”
“I haven’t put much thought into the wedding,” I admit. “I just want to be your husband.”
My brand-new fiancée melts, kissing me so sweetly it almost makes me forget about my next plans.
I guide her back onto the plush rug, skimming my lips over her neck and collarbone as Sophie’s hands move to the buttons of my pajama top. “I love you,” she whispers again, her fingers threading through my hair. “I’m so happy.”
This woman.
Raw, unguarded devotion has me lifting my head to meet her shining eyes. “Let’s go to city hall. Tomorrow. Or whenever they reopen after the holidays. I don’t want to wait.”
Her face splits in a smile that takes my breath away. “I don’t want to wait, either.”
I shift forward, covering her body with my own. As I do, I’m filled with the same deep sense of certainty I had the first night we spent together. The night I realized, without a shadow of a doubt, that I was going to marry her.
Thank you so much for reading Chilled and Thrilled! If you have a moment, please consider leaving a rating or review for the book. Your opinion is important to me, and reviews are vital to the success of indie authors.
xo,
Cleo