Epilogue Two
EPILOGUE TWO
RAE
“Y ou’re joking,” I blurt.
“I’m quite serious.”
My hair blows around my face, and I brush it away to look around the deck of the yacht. “You wanted a boat for your birthday? Why the hell?”
Harrison follows my gaze, the wind tugging at his half-unbuttoned shirt. “Fond memories,” is all he says, his mouth twitching in a cryptic smile as he takes my hand.
“You guys going to come and get drinks or what?” Beck calls.
Because, yeah, our friends came too. With Tyler and Annie, a one-year-old Rose, Elle and Beck, it feels more like my birthday than Harrison’s.
When Ash showed up, I knew this was a big deal. He flew over from the UK for only a couple of nights, arriving at the port thirty minutes after the rest of us given traffic from LAX.
Interestingly, Beck gave Ash more than his share of shit—probably because Ash did the same to Beck on my birthday when he’d been late. But as soon as they started sparring, it was impossible to stop them.
Something’s up . I only found out we were going on an overnight trip when Harrison told me to pack a bag and then drove us to the port at Long Beach this morning.
I don’t have a chance to press him as we set out to Catalina for the day, exploring the island together on bikes and on foot.
Harrison doesn’t seem to be feeling any ill effects from the yacht—or maybe he’s okay because we’ve spent more time on land than at sea.
After exploring Avalon and the Catalina Casino, we come back to the anchored yacht for a delicious chef-prepared dinner of swordfish, followed by cake.
“How fucking old do you think I am?” Harrison demands, taking in the dozens of candles interspersed with real flowers on the beautiful white cake.
“Don’t blame me,” Ash retorts, lifting a brow. “They know when you were born.”
Annie, Elle, and I crack up. Even Rose gurgles, half-asleep in Annie’s arms.
“You think this innocent act is gonna work forever?” Beck’s arm leans across the back of Elle’s chair, but his smirk is focused on Harrison’s brother.
Ash leans over the table. “Not an act, Hollywood. What you see is what you get.”
“The baker didn’t want us to put candles on it, but we insisted,” Tyler says, bringing the attention back to the cake.
Harrison shakes his head at me. But he’s grinning.
I shift my chair closer to his.
“Wait. You have to make a wish, remember?” I prompt before he can blow out the candles. “And it’ll only come true if you get them all in one breath.”
He cocks his head. “You never told me what yours was.”
I feel the flush crawling up my cheeks. “Maybe someday I will.”
“In that case, I’ll tell you mine when you tell me yours.”
He blows, and every tiny flame extinguishes.
* * *
I wake up to a gentle rocking motion.
It takes a moment to recognize the stateroom in the dark.
The bed next to me is empty, and I frown. It can’t be that long since we came down here.
After long looks over cake and drinks, we didn’t even make it to the bed before Harrison lifted me up against the door and pressed inside me, his scent making my head spin while his hot breath fanned my throat.
But when we lay down together, me soaking in the perfection of this day, he seemed like the one locked in his head.
Now, sliding out from between the sheets, I tug on a shirt and shorts and head above deck, trying to be quiet so as not to wake Annie and Tyler or Rose or Elle or Beck.
At the top, the moonlight kisses the boat. The lights of Catalina are glittering jewels on the horizon.
Harrison leans over the railing, shirtless and in drawstring pants.
I take a moment to admire the view—of our surroundings, but equally, of him.
“Thinking of jumping off?” I tease, wrapping my arms around me against the breeze as I cross the deck to him.
He turns at the sound of my voice, chuckling. “Not seasick, love.”
“Right.” I lean over the railing next to him, staring down at the waves lapping against the yacht. “Men like you charter yachts to fuck on them,” I tease. Hard to believe it was more than a year and a half ago we had that conversation.
“It’s not the only reason.”
I sigh out a breath, relaxing into the evening.
He shifts off the railing, and it’s only moments before I miss his company.
“Where did you…”
When I turn back, my words dry up.
Harrison’s not standing behind me.
He’s on one knee.
My heart stops. “Um. What are you doing?”
I grip the hem of my shirt, twisting it nervously in my fist.
I want to look around to see if this is some joke, but can’t tear my eyes from him.
“Making my birthday wish come true,” he replies.
He pulls out a small box and lifts the lid.
The blue-diamond teardrop, surrounded with white diamonds, sparkles back at me.
“I lived by my own rules until I met you. You were impossible and stubborn and…“
My eyebrows rise further.
“And I never want to live a day without you by my side.” The breeze ruffles his hair, his throat bobbing with emotion. “You’re already my queen, Reagan. Be my wife.”
Holy shit.
I never thought of myself as the kind of girl to be swept off her feet, but there’s no deck. No earth. Nothing stable to hold on to, except the commitment in his eyes.
I reach for the ring, lifting it out of the case and turning it in my fingers. The blue diamond is the size of my fingertip. He knew it was huge when he bought it. He probably doesn’t know it’s the same color as his eyes when he’s inside me.
The band is wide enough for an inscription on the inside.
Through everything.
My throat tightens.
“Not because I merely want to survive what life throws at us,” he murmurs, noticing me reading. “Because every day with you is an experience I will never take for granted.”
I press my lips together.
“I want you with me always,” he finishes.
I never thought much about a ceremony, but the idea of marrying him feels so damn right.
He’s still larger than life, but maybe I am too. And it’s the quiet moments with him I love the most—the teasing, the appreciating where we’ve come from, what we’ve been through together. When he tugs me against him at night.
“Well?” he prompts, looking agitated.
I take a breath. “Yes.”
His grin flashes in the dark before he rises, towering over me again in a heartbeat. I’m already overwhelmed before he slips the ring on my finger, the cool metal feeling strange against my skin.
He pulls my lips up to his and kisses me with so much devotion and love and happiness that I’m speechless when he pulls back.
A noise has me looking up.
“Did it work?” Annie’s head sticks up from the stairs that go belowdecks.
My jaw drops. “You were in on this?”
She tries to look innocent and fails.
“The best birthday gift,” Harrison calls, loud enough for her to hear.
“You didn’t like the bookcase?” I protest lightly, and he winks at me.
“It was stunning”—I had the custom furniture made to display his books in our place at the Wynn—“but this is even more beautiful and rare. And while that was something I didn’t know I needed, you are quite simply someone I cannot live without.”
Damn.
Suddenly our friends pour out of the stairway, surrounding us with love and congratulations. Elle carries a tray of bubbling champagne flutes while Ash claps his brother on the back and messes up my hair with a grin.
My heart is so full I can barely breathe.
“How are you guys going to do this?” Beck demands.
“Huge wedding,” Harrison murmurs, wrapping an arm around me.
“Hell no,” I retort, even as I rub my thumb over the inside of my ring to get used to the feel of it.
“We’ll sell rights to People magazine,” Beck promises.
“I’ll sell your balls to them first.” My eyes narrow. “If this is all some trick to get me to agree to honor and obey you?—“
“I don’t need that.”
“Because I love you?”
He strokes a thumb along my jaw, reverent and possessive.
“That. And I still have a favor.”
* * *
Thank you for reading ENEMIES ! I hope you loved Harrison and Rae’s love story as much as I do.
This was such a personal story for me. I wanted to write a heroine who was as at once bold and afraid, ambitious and cautious, strong and vulnerable. And I needed someone strong, challenging and insightful to match with her.
So many readers have asked what’s next for this ruthless billionaire and the woman who tamed him…so I’m excited to share that they now have a happily-ever-after book!
To find out what surprises are still in store as they make their life together read Beautiful Salvation .
* * *
If you’re not ready to let go of these characters…
Click here to join my VIP newsletter for an exclusive Harrison and Rae bonus scene!
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PSST! Did you know that Sawyer Redmond, Harrison’s mysterious friend, is the hero in a hot new forbidden romance?
Forced into exile after falling from grace, reckless Sawyer has one chance to redeem himself by teaching at his former college. But when he meets a woman he craves like nothing else, will he risk his future to claim her?
Find out in Crave!
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Read a short excerpt below
CHAPTER ONE
Olivia
Gravel scrapes the soles of my Louboutins as I trip across the parking lot in the dark.
“The shoes are fucking hot,” Kat says.
“They’re not rated for off-roading.” I send up a silent prayer for forgiveness as I dodge the empty beer cans and my roommate laughs.
The sign on the single-floor building in the middle of nowhere says “Velvet” in pink neon. The glow lingers in the corner of my vision when my friends line up at the bouncer, whose eyes have been on us since I was halfway across the lot.
He glances at Kat’s ID, then Jules’, but frowns at mine. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. You’re drunk.”
“I’m the designated driver. I haven’t had anything harder than soda tonight. You try walking across gravel in these.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so.”
“I’m better behaved than anyone in there,” I insist. “Not my fault these shoes were designed with smooth surfaces in mind.”
He stares at me like I’m nuts. We’re running low on options.
I look around, assuring myself there’s no one else watching. “Fine. Would a drunk person be able to do this?”
I reach for my shoe and bend my knee, pulling my foot up to the apex of my thighs. Then I take a breath and lift it higher, straightening my leg so it’s extended alongside my upper body.
His eyes round. He might’ve snuck a peek or two at the strippers who work the stage, but I’ve got moves he’s never seen.
Releasing my leg, I grab my ID out of his hands and follow my friends inside.
“That was badass. Where have you been hiding that?” Kat shouts over the music as we head inside.
“Don’t worry about it,” I toss back. “Tonight’s about celebrating your birthday and living life like a normal”—a glance back at the bouncer, grateful he didn’t notice or care that our licenses were fake—“twenty-one-year-old.”
I reach into my bag to pull out the Queen B tiara, and my roommate’s eyes light up.
Kat’s been bugging us for the past year to visit a part of town that’s the opposite of the one starring in the glossy university recruitment brochures.
My corporate father and socialite mother would lose their shit if they saw me in a place like this. But we’re here for Kat, and as much as this isn’t a place I’d choose to spend my night, it’s not about me. It’s about friendship.
Kat sets the crown in her dark hair and tugs us toward the bar. There’s no point trying to score a booth around the perimeter since Velvet is full. We wedge in, Jules calling for vodka sodas for her and Kat, and a Diet Coke for me.
On stage is a woman who looks too beautiful for this place. She winds around the pole, shifting toward the edge of the stage to drop her hips into a seductive slide.
A piece of hair escapes my tidy top knot to tickle my neck, but as I reach up to tuck it back in, I realize there’s no runaway hair. Only a bead of sweat.
When the dancer finishes, a woman dressed in a black T-shirt with the Velvet logo claims the mic.
“Shh, this is it,” Kat breathes, and I arch a brow.
“This is what?”
“Amateur night!”
“You’re not going up,” I say, horrified.
Kat grins. “The prize is five hundred bucks. That’s a hell of a birthday present.”
She brushes off her hands and joins the throng of girls by the register, returning a few minutes later with a white “Hello my name is” sticker that says “Cherry” stuck to her low-cut black tank.
“Subtle,” Jules deadpans.
I turn back toward the stage but end up doing a double take on the way.
Down at the other end of the bar is a man who’s so beautiful I nearly swallow my straw. His navy dress shirt is rolled to the elbows and tugs over broad shoulders as he reaches for his drink. Dark hair extends past his jaw. Add that to the straight nose, firm mouth, eyes that scan the room…
Those eyes stop when they meet mine.
It’s electric, the connection. I swear he looks into me, through me. Fire grabs my core, making my breasts tighten.
“Liv. You okay?” Jules asks.
I blink, ripping my gaze from his. “Yeah.”
I shake off the unsettling attraction.
He’s the opposite of my boyfriend, Adam, who’s blond and athletic with an easy smile. He’s from the right family, has the right hair, and is point guard on the basketball team.
“No fucking way.”
Kat’s pointing at a booth in the back, where a couple of guys from the basketball team sit, plus one I don’t want to recognize.
Adam is sprawled across the bench with a half-naked woman bent over him, her boobs swinging dangerously close to his face.
My throat tightens as I wait for him to push her away.
Instead, he shifts back, grinning, and invites her closer.
“Unbelievable,” Kat bites out. “I’m going to fuck him up.”
Jules squeezes my shoulder, and I shake her off.
“Don’t, Kat. It’s probably some basketball team thing.”
I turn toward the front, ignoring the back of the room and the burning behind my eyes.
What I didn’t tell Kat or Jules to avoid spoiling the birthday vibes is that when I showed up at his house yesterday morning, a girl was slipping out of his room.
Something in my chest popped like the cork on bad champagne.
I told myself if I dated Adam, at least one part of my life would go as planned. After twelve years of wasted ballet, I couldn’t be a dancer like my mother, but I had him.
We’ve invested three years. We’ll figure this out. Maybe he screwed up, but he loves me.
I wonder if love feels the same for him as it does for me. If it’s that dull reassurance I dig my fingers into when I’m feeling lost or if it’s something else entirely.
The MC calls the contestants to the stage to explain the rules. “Each contestant has two minutes to dance, then the crowd will vote. First up is Brandy.”
The first girl stands up as they play “Pour Some Sugar on Me.”
She gyrates her hips, swinging around the pole, clearly drunk.
The next is a little better but not much.
At one point, a woman in the crowd yells, “Camera!” and security descends on a guy filming from inside his jacket with a phone to drag him out of the club.
It’s comforting to know they enforce the “no videotaping” rule. The idea of dancing here on a dare and a few shots of vodka coming back to haunt you in perpetuity thanks to the internet is horrifying.
“Cherry!” the MC calls after a few minutes.
“That’s you, Kat,” Jules says, jarring me out of my numbness.
She gets up from the bar but trips. “Whoa. I can’t, guys.”
“You didn’t pre-game that hard,” Jules points out.
But Kat holds up a flask inside her bag I haven’t seen before.
Shit .
Jules motions to the bartender for a water, but movement catches my eye. In the back, the woman dancing on Adam takes his hand, and he follows her with a shit-eating grin toward a doorway with a beaded curtain.
Bile rises up my throat.
I slept with Adam three months into my senior year of high school, after his parents’ party for winter break.
He said he liked that I made him wait.
Apparently, he likes that this woman won’t.
I pull out my phone and type out a text.
Liv: I can’t do this anymore, Adam. I want to break up.
After I hit send, he glances at his phone, shakes his head as if he’s the one who can’t believe me , and follows the woman through the curtain.
My chest squeezes. I told myself I’d let him off the hook if he convinced me what happened with the blonde was a one-time thing.
But it’s not.
That callous dismissal of my text burns more than the jealousy. I’ve always tried to be the daughter my parents want, the girlfriend Adam needs, and none of it matters.
“‘I Love Rock and Roll,’” starts up, its catchy hook emanating from the speakers.
The MC shouts for Cherry one more time.
“Liv?” Kat’s peeling off the sticker and holding it out, her eyes imploring. “Do it for me?”
I’m not the girl who takes her clothes off when she’s angry.
I’m the one who makes the other person feel comfortable, especially if they’re the person who screwed up.
But the crowd’s sneering faces blur together, and that cork in my chest is back in place, the contents of the bottle under more pressure than before.
I take the sticker and press it to my sleeveless white D