Epilogue #2
“What are you talking about?’ Cassidy responds.
We both bend to look out the small window, and I laugh to find Clementina, Issa and Carolina standing next to the limo.
Issa waves her fingers at us and I shake my head then turn to Cassidy who’s muttering to herself.
Then she looks at me and says, “We’ve been bamboozled. ”
“Have we?” I respond, my hand moving to the back of her head as I lean in, press a kiss just below her ear. “Or have we been blessed?”
Pulling away she gives me a sly look. “Rennick Logan-Rafferty, what have you done?”
I give her a sly look of my own as I respond, “Just my duty as your husband and biggest fan.”
She smiles just as the plane door thuds open, and “come along my babies” sounds from the bottom of the stairs.
Again, I peer out the window to see Clementina waiting excitedly, but now, Flora, Carolina’s oldest, is standing beside her, appearing equally as excited.
The door to the limo opens, loud thumping music flowing from the back as Mickey sticks her head out and yells, “Let’s get this show on the road,” before disappearing back inside, the door slamming in her wake.
“I guess it was a good thing we left Petal at home with Sabrina,” I murmur and Cassidy turns to me with squinted eyes and retorts, “Stop calling her that.”
I grin, not at all repentant for the silly nickname I gave our youngest daughter. “She definitely would’ve put a damper on the giant limo party with her nap times and constant bathroom breaks.”
Cassidy nudges me and asks, “How many people does that thing hold?”
“I don’t know,” I respond, still staring out the window in amazement as I watch our kids scurry down the stairs without even a backward glance. “Maybe sixteen or so.”
“They’re not even going to say goodbye to us?”
“Do you want me to stop them?” I ask, already turning toward the door, but Cassidy’s hand on my arms stops me as she hisses, “Don’t you dare draw attention to yourself.”
I choke on a laugh, a bit surprised by her vehement response, but understanding exactly what she means. It’s not often you can pass your kids off to people you truly trust. And to be able to do so for a full twenty-four hours is like hitting the parenting jackpot.
We watch from the window as all the kids grab their suitcases, then either carry or drag them to the waiting limo.
Clementina wrangles everyone like the professional she is, standing in the open door of the vehicle and obviously taking a headcount.
Then, she smiles and turns back to us, gives us a thumbs up before climbing in and closing the door.
“Is that it?” Cassidy whispers as we watch the limo departing. “Are we free?”
I laugh then tease, “Words said with the hope of tired mothers everywhere.”
She gathers her things, grins at me. “You know firsthand we can love another person with every fiber of our being while also needing a real break from the sound of their voice.”
“But not me,” I state with a grin of my own. “Right?”
She gives me an assessing look, waves her hand in the air as if she’s measuring her response. “I think that depends on where we’re going from here.”
I step out onto the stairs, turn to offer my hand. She takes it with a smile, allows me to assist her to the bottom and to the waiting car, where I help her into the back. We wait while our suitcases are loaded into the trunk, her hand still in mine, her thumb stroking the back of mine lazily.
The car finally pulls out of the airport, entering the freeway on the way downtown, and Cassidy releases my hand. Slowly, I move my hand to her leg, my fingers inching along her inner thigh.
“Ren,” she hisses, slapping my hands away. “This is not the kind of car for shenanigans.”
I chuckle, sliding my hand up her inner thigh. “Just wondering what we have going on up here.”
Again, she swats my hand away. “Nothing exciting enough to peek, I assure you.”
Sitting back, I snort, place my hand on top of her thigh. “You know I find literally anything and everything about you exciting, but I will admit that maybe we’re getting too old for car shenanigans.”
Her eyes narrow, her lips purse. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do, Rennick.”
I attempt to remain serious, fail miserably. ‘Hey, can’t blame a man for trying.”
“You gonna tell me what we’re doing tonight?” she asks, not at all trying to hide the fact she’s changing the subject.
“Well,” I respond, leaning toward her. “First we’re going to go to the hotel where you’re going to soak in a giant tub for as long as you want while I bring you the food and drink of your choice.”
“Ooh…I’m listening.”
“Then, I have reservations at one of your favorite restaurants, followed by a show you’ve been wanting to see, and ending the night with a nightcap at a new hotspot you’ve been wanting to check out.”
She turns toward me, her hand moving to my cheek. “You’ve got to be the most thoughtful man ever born; you know that.”
I smile and shrug. “I do the best I can. But you also do the same for me.”
“Will you be upset if I ask for some changes to the itinerary?”
I give her an incredulous look as I respond, “Of course not. The night is yours. We do whatever you want.”
“Let’s order champagne and strawberries from room service then take a bath together.”
I inch closer, pressing my thigh tightly against hers. “I’m listening.”
“After that we should order loads of food and have it delivered to the hotel. We can watch trash TV in our bathrobes, and you can fuck me at your leisure until morning.”
“Let me get this straight,” I respond slowly. “You want to cancel all the plans I made for us so we can laze around a hotel room, eating food and fucking?”
She gives me an awkward smile. “Yes?”
Feigning annoyance I say, “I don’t know.”
“We can order the cake you love.”
“Oh, now you’re trying to literally sweeten the deal with cake?”
She nods enthusiastically while I continue to eye her intently. She quicks a brow at me, so I lean in close, whispering near her ear, “Deal.”
A few hours later we’re in bathrobes, sprawled on the sofa in the living room, the table before us overflowing with food.
“Do you find it odd that we’ve been here for hours and all we’ve done is soak in a tub and fill our faces with food?”
“Odd how?”
“Well,” she goes on, “Back when we were younger, we would’ve had sex in at least two of the rooms we’ve lazed around in.”
“Are you insinuating that I’m getting old?”
She giggled, swats at my chest. “Of course, not. We both know you can still lay the pipe like nobody’s business.”
“Lay the pipe?” I choke out, laughing. “Seriously?”
Again, she giggles and I shake my head. “Don’t you worry, my wife. I’ll be laying pipe until you beg me for mercy.”
Now she throws her head back and laughs loudly. I soak it in, watching her smile, the sound of her joy enveloping me in a calm I never knew existed before I met her.
Her hand on my arm tugs and I follow her down, placing myself on my side between her and the back of the sofa. She squirms around in my embrace, and I give her a moment to get comfortable before tightening my arms around her, pulling her snug against my front.
She immediately rubs her ass on my dick. “Are you trying to seduce me, Mrs. Logan-Rafferty.”
“Maybe,” she responds, already a bit breathless.
“If we’re done with babies then we’re going to have to start actively preventing them.”
“I can get my tube tied,” she responds, pressing her ass back against me with greater intent. “May as well make it permanent.”
I freeze, my hands on her stomach, my face in her hair. “Like as in a surgery?”
“Yeah.” She nods, her hands moving to mine, sliding them up her front to her breasts as I say, “For you?”
“Oh my God, Ren,” she huffs, her hands dropping away from mine. “Yes, a tubal ligation is a surgery for the person who has at least one fallopian tube. That would eliminate you.”
“Absolutely not,” I respond with maybe a bit more feeling than is necessary. “No elective surgeries for you. My poor heart can’t take it.”
Slowly, she turns to face me. She slides her hands up my chest, fingers playing in the hair at the nape of my neck. Her smile is warm, her eyes twinkling as she responds, “It’s no big deal. I can handle it.”
I scowl, shake my head. “I know you can handle it, but you don’t have to and you won’t. I’ll get a vasectomy and that will be that.”
“But what if you want to—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” I grit out, knowing she’s yanking my chain, but still not wanting her to say it.
“Or what…” her words trail off, more a statement than a question, and her low laugh is husky, taunting.
Without warning, I use my bent knees to push her forward, rolling off the sofa, watching my weight with an extended hand as I hold her against me. She lands facedown, her arms pinned beneath her, and I lean into her, my face right by ear as I murmur, “I feel like we’ve been here before.”
She struggles slightly, but I can tell from her gasp that she’s not interested in getting away. And then she laughs humorlessly and says, “How about you show me something you haven’t shown me before.”
Without comment, I come up on my knees, wrapping my arms around her middle, so when I move to stand, she’ll come with me.
She yelps, her hands gripping my forearm as she swings slightly, and she flails, getting her feet on the ground. I loop my arm through her bent elbows behind her back, grip one firmly in my hand so she can’t break-free. She struggles halfheartedly, likely because she’s curious to see what I’ll do.
I maneuver her to the giant windows where the drapes are half-closed. Grabbing the control from the nightstand, I open them fully, then turn off the lights, so the lights from the city illuminate the room.
“Have you seen this before?”
“Well, sure,” she responds, breathless. “I’ve seen the city at night countless times.”