Epilogue #2
All I wanted was to be the best architect I could . . . under Max.
But that’s not my dream. That’s Max’s dream, with him standing at the top of the hierarchy.
One day, I want to be a Lauren Torres.
“Ready to visit your dad, darlin’?” Jack asks.
I nod. Dad got a suspended sentence for two years with community service.
Dad lives only a few streets over in the new social housing as part of Jack’s regeneration project. I still love to hear from Jack and Nisha about what’s happening on the project.
Dad greets us with a smile. It’s more genuine than the last visit.
“Frank,” Jack jumps off the motorcycle to shake his hand.
Someday soon Jack will get his apology.
But for now, we’ll just accept . . . progress.
Roughly one and a half years later
Jack
“Happy thirtieth, darlin’.”
We are dancing in the garden of our Greenwich home with fifty of our closest friends.
“Thank you, Jack.” She smiles up at me, eyes shining and emotion wells in my chest.
My girlfriend is making a name for herself. She’s working her way up in Lauren Torres’s company. Now she adorns more heritage architecture articles than gossip rags exposing so-called threesomes between us and Michelle Allard.
Next week we are attending the UNESCO Cultural Heritage Conservation Awards and Bonnie and her team have been nominated.
The body-hugging brown leather dress compliments her slender athletic figure perfectly. Her blond hair is swept up in a French braid. Wisps of hair escape, framing her jawline. My dad’s chain adorned with crystals clings to her collarbone.
My sexy Viking.
Her hips thrust in a steady sensual rhythm against mine and she has a gleam in her eye.
Blood flows south.
Fuck. Now’s not the time for my dick to pay homage to his favourite person.
I shoot her a warning look.
I have something much more important to do.
“You haven’t got your present from Lucy yet.”
“No.” She groans. “I don’t want any more dead birds.”
I chuckle. “I hope you’ll like this more than a dead bird.”
I nod over to the DJ.
The music lowers and my stomach squeezes tight.
Everyone goes quiet. Most of our close friends know what I’m about to do.
Poppy walks in with Lucy beside her, both delighted at being the centre of attention.
I eyeball Lucy. Don’t fuck this up for me.
Bonnie looks at me in confusion.
She scans the garden then turns back to me and asks in a lowered tone, “What’s going on, Jack? Is there something wrong with the sound system?”
There’s nothing wrong with the sound system, but my fucking heart might give in. This is definitely one of the most nerve-wracking things a bloke has to do. Or a gal.
“No, Bonnie, everything’s fine.”
With clammy hands, I untie the ribbon around Lucy’s neck as she gives me a lick. Attached is a small box.
Danny’s wife, Charlie smiles at me encouragingly. They finally got married a few months ago.
Bonnie’s hands go to her mouth when I drop to one knee. She looks like she is about to scream but no sound comes out.
For the first time in my life, I don’t know if I’ll be able to get my words out. It’s a risk doing it in front of everyone.
I look over at her dad and he nods. I’ve already asked him.
“Bonnie, I’ve waited forty years for this.
There’s a lot I’ve been blessed with in my life.
I was obsessed with building the most prestigious hotels, the tallest office blocks, the most luxurious apartments.
” I pause to take a breath. “The truth is all I need is you. So long as you’re with me, I’d happily leave it all and work on a construction site.
You are, and always will be, the love of my life. Will you marry me?”
She stares at me with wide eyes. Her lips part but she remains quiet.
Bonnie? Don’t leave me hanging.
“Yes!” she squeals, flinging her arms around me. “Of course, I will.”
The day after the proposal
Bonnie
The lounge room door bangs open so loudly I scream.
“Ja-ack?” I stammer, his name barely off my lips as a naked Jack barrels through the lounge pushing me backwards until he has my back pressed against the wall.
Everything about him is erect. He towers over me standing to his full height with his cock pushed against my stomach.
His piercing brown eyes blaze down at me as his jaw works. His hair is dishevelled, and his bare chest is glistening with sweat.
He looks unhinged. What the hell is wrong with him?
“Are you okay, Jack?”
He doesn’t answer. He grabs my wrists and forces my arms against the wall.
“There’s my little mate,” he growls. His teeth come down to graze the delicate skin on my neck.
His little mate ?
Doesn’t he mean fiancée?
His teeth continue to pull at my neck as his hands hold mine above my head. It’s like he’s swallowed a gallon of testosterone and Jack’s levels were already through the roof.
I yelp a little.
“I can smell your arousal a mile off.”
Oh, my God.
“You’ve been reading my books,” I gasp. “Which one?”
“Did I give you permission to speak?” His eyes darken in a predatory smirk. “The one hiding under your side of the bed.”
Oh.
A little shiver escapes down my spine.
I’ll never survive that epilogue.