Epilogue
epilogue
ONE MONTH LATER
My fiancée steps out of the elevator right on cue, smiling to herself until she sees me lingering outside our door.
I take a moment to drink her in. A month of living together has done nothing to diminish her appeal. It seems to grow day by day… hour by hour, sometimes.
When Juliet left for work this morning, with her hair half-back, wearing her silky emerald dress, I thought she couldn’t possibly look any sexier. Yet here she stands, proving me wrong.
Her black eyebrows fold together as she glides over, coming close enough for me to kiss her cheek before she frowns at me. “What are you doing out here, amor ? Isn’t everyone inside?”
I press my nose into the jasmine-scented place behind her ear and inhale. The moment we reunite each evening has become my very favorite part of every day.
“I wanted a minute alone with you,” I admit, plucking her tote bag and purse out of her arms so I can wrap her up in mine.
Without giving too much away, I secretly read her features, searching for any trace of pride or elation or anxiety. My bijou has a one-track mind, though. She slides her arms around my neck and presses the length of her body into mine.
Juliet hums, golden eyes shimmering like champagne. “ Only a minute?”
God . Will there ever be a day when she can’t make my blood race with a single look?
I hope not.
On a quiet growl, I seal my lips over hers. Pouring my adoration into our kiss, I back her into the wall, bending my knee between her legs.
“I missed you,” I confess.
Her fingers comb my hair while her gaze flickers over my outfit—the notorious pink suit. A glimmer of amusement touches the sensual curves of her mouth. “Me, too, pinchao .”
Our gazes lock. I probe her depths, searching for some indication that she might have news for me… But damn if the woman doesn’t have a world-class poker face.
Finally, I break. “So?” I ask, raising my brows. “Anything to tell me?”
A slow grin stretches over her face. “What are you talking about?” she asks, a touch too shrill. “I didn’t say I had any news, did I?”
No, she didn’t. But I know .
“Come on, tell me,” I beg, bending to brush my lips over the sensitive spot at the base of her throat. “I’ve known for weeks, and I can’t fucking take it anymore. I’m horrible at keeping secrets.”
Another new discovery I’ve made about myself since acquiring a very sexy, very observant fiancée.
“I thought something weird might be going on when you started giving me the third degree every day after work.” She shakes her head, still smiling at me. “Why didn’t you just ask him when it was happening?”
I read between the lines. “So he did it?” I demand, holding my breath. “He told you?”
Juliet’s lustrous laughter fills the hallway. “Yes!” she finally bursts, gripping my shoulders. “He told me today. You are looking at the new head of Stryker & Sons’ legal department.”
I scoop her into my arms and spin her in a circle. I’ve never felt such pride. My gorgeous, brilliant future wife. She never ceases to amaze me.
“Actually,” I correct, bringing my face back to hers. “I’m kissing her.”
Jules lets me have my way with her for a few minutes before pulling back to give me my favorite scolding expression. “You knew and you didn’t tell me?!”
Yes. And I hated it.
“When Stryker told me he was going to promote you, I figured he’d do it right away,” I grouse. “I never thought he’d wait three weeks . I bet he did it on purpose, as revenge for me ever going after you in the first place. Asshole. I ought to punch him. It’s been a few years since we beat the shit out of each other, anyway. We’re probably overdue.”
Juliet giggles, rolling her eyes. “You’re absurd. Besides, he deserved revenge after what we did in Pod C.”
She’s right. As per usual.
“Well, we better go in soon,” I tell her. “Abuelita is here, ordering Christian around the kitchen. I don’t know what terrifies him more—being out of rehab for the night or the possibility that he might misunderstand one of her orders.”
Most patients can’t wait for someone to break them out of the treatment center, but my little brother clings to it the way someone lost at sea would cleave to a dinghy. I’ve only coaxed him out twice, and on both occasions, he spent the entire time twitching.
Jules’s mouth curves into a thoughtful scowl. “Poor guy. You hid all the wine, right?”
“I put the bottles in your boots,” I report, smirking at the memory. “I think Andrés is successfully distracting him, though. My brother loves babies.”
My fiancée purses her lips, attempting to hold back a smug grin. “And you don’t?”
I hold up my hands, relenting. “He’s pretty damn cute, I admit.”
“You love him!” Juliet accuses, bending to retrieve her bags. “You can’t deny it after last weekend. I caught you singing to him.”
I snatch her things, pouting. “It was one good song. Van Morrison. You have to sing to Van Morrison.”
But my bijou knows better. She gives a knowing chuckle. “Sure. And, if I remember correctly, didn’t you volunteer to change his diaper?”
Jesus . I’ll never get away with anything ever again.
Why do I love it?
“I didn’t want to change him! Lucia’s hands were full!”
“Uh-huh.” Juliet’s expression is wry as she nods at the apartment. “I’m sure they were.”
“Look,” I joke, pushing the door open, “I’m sleeping with the kid’s hot sister. It’s literally his job to give me shit.”
Juliet brushes a sweet kiss over my lips. “Don’t worry, pinchao ,” she murmurs, sauntering past me. “I won’t tell.”
Where I used to dread returning to my empty apartment, now coming home is my very favorite thing to do. Well, that… and pushing into Juliet. Both types of homecoming, I suppose.
We find Christian sitting at the island, diligently peeling potatoes with the same somber devotion to detail he displays in most things. On the red couch, Juliet’s aunt coos to little Andrés.
The baby looks zonked. He doesn’t even flinch when Juliet sails straight over to him, bubbling a stream of Spanish endearments before dropping kisses on his downy black hair.
Slipping out of my jacket, I lean into the counter to watch until I catch my own brother smirking at me. When I meet his eyes, he grunts, “Simp.”
Oh, completely.
“Fuck you,” I mutter on principle, rolling my sleeves. I take his peeled potatoes and reach for a knife. “ Abuelita , cómo quiere las papas ?”
“ Cuarteadas .”
I start to quarter them. Juliet slips up behind me and presses her face against my shoulder. “ Muy bien, pinchao . Have you been practicing?”
I nod. “I don’t want your mother to think I’m a bumbling idiot when we visit next month. And I can’t stand it when you talk over my head. You know how nosy I am.”
It’s more than that, though. Juliet and her family have become my own. I want to fully participate when we all get together.
Christian already fits right in, thanks to multiple years of advanced Spanish courses in high school. Abuelita took a shine to him immediately. She fusses over his pitiful ass, doting on him each week, sending Marco or Jules running to Chelsea with baskets of Colombian pastries.
Occasionally, I get special deliveries, too. They arrive at the temporary workspace I rented in the Flatiron District, often without so much as a note. But usually, Abuelita just invites herself over. More than once, I’ve come home to discover her alone in my kitchen, cooking up a storm.
Juliet is mortified by her grandmother’s tendency to help herself. I secretly love it. It reminds me of the night I found Jules making ajiaco in my sweats. It also touches that long-withered piece of me that only maternal affection can reach.
Plus, I mean, the food …
Juliet’s eyes fill with love and appreciation, beaming up at me. “At least your trainwreck of an accent has finally sorted itself out.”
Chris chortles again. “God, that was funny.”
The first time I took Juliet to meet him, a couple of days after our engagement, the two of them sank into Spanish almost immediately… then spent the rest of the morning gleefully mocking my attempts to keep up. I might have been put out if Jules didn’t distract me with a blow job the second we got in our car.
“How was the market today?” she asks, reaching down to remove her heels.
Before I can reply, Chris goes back to scowling at the half-peeled potatoes. “It dropped twelve points.”
Always a ball of sunshine, my brother.
Concern fills Juliet’s eyes. She definitely doesn’t have the stomach for investing—any small dip in the market sends her scrambling for “solutions.” I flash a reassuring grin at her. “All good, baby. Your pinchao knows what he’s doing.”
Secretly, my own success still surprises me. So does Ava’s. Her PR plan worked like a charm—turns out, there are a lot of young executives in Manhattan who understand my animosity toward my father. With the twenty-some clients I’ve onboarded since my feature in Time Magazine went viral, I’m set to clear about three million in my first quarter.
I owe a lot of it to Christian—now that he’s clean, his strategies are more coherent and inspired than ever. The work helps keep his mind occupied, too.
He isn’t an official employee or owner at G&C yet, but I feel more certain every day that he will be, eventually. If he can stop being scared of his own damn shadow…
That reminds me. “Are you sure you don’t want to come tomorrow night?” I ask Chris, wrapping my arms around Jules and tucking her head under my chin. “You could just be there for dinner and then take my car back to the clinic.”
At the mention of Grayson’s bachelor party, both Christian and Juliet stiffen. My brother looks as though I’m suggesting he walk a tightrope over a tank of piranhas. “Absolutely not .”
Juliet leans back, her face torn between wifely suspicion and her usual fire. “Are we sure that whole thing is a good idea?”
I shrug. “It’s tradition. And you girls will be out having your own party, anyway. What are we supposed to do, sit home and watch Bridgerton with a pint of ice cream?”
“You love Bridgerton , pinchao ,” she glowers.
I cross my arms, raising my brow. We doing this now, baby? Here?
My bijou’s golden eyes snap at me. We’ve already had this argument. Several times. I always win, but that doesn’t mean she likes it.
“ Fine ,” she sighs, cocking her hip. “I’ll try my best to be a chill fiancée.”
The idea of her ever being “chill” is enough to have me grinning again. I pull her into an embrace, making a mental note to spend tomorrow morning blowing her mind. She’ll be the most relaxed woman in the group when I’m through with her.
She reads the way my body responds to the idea and casts me one of her sexy, scolding glances. “This is serious, Graham. Their wedding is already a media free-for-all. If any of you make a scene, the whole thing will melt down!”
I hate that thought. Picking at my tie, I mutter, “It better not melt down. That tux he made me buy is an affront to my sensibilities. Boring-ass motherfucker. And let’s not even get started on those dresses Ella picked.”
Juliet’s laugh brightens everything. “How is it possible that you’re the diva in this relationship?”
“I am not .”
Beside us, Christian snorts some more. “Um, yeah, you are. Have you already forgotten the Mariah-Carey-level hissy fit you threw over your own wedding plans just two weeks ago?”
I regard each of them steadily, not the least bit ashamed. “ What wedding plans? This woman refuses to make any wedding plans.”
Juliet’s bright gaze flickers to Chris’s, sharing mutual amusement. “He’s pouting again.”
Christian rolls his eyes. “Graham, c’mon, I thought this was all decided. The elopement? June? That famous courthouse in San Francisco?”
Followed by a month-long honeymoon in Greece.
That’s the arrangement we came to. After fighting—and fucking—over it non-stop for weeks, Jules and I finally agreed that she would plan the wedding and I would plan the honeymoon.
Turns out, there are no wedding arrangements to plan. We’ll simply hop a jet to California for a simple ceremony at the country’s most ornate court house. Just the two of us.
While I like to complain about the elopement’s lack of pomp, I’m honored that my girl wants to spend our wedding day so intimately.
And I have to bite back my excitement at the thought of having her all to myself for four weeks. Our villa in Santorini boasts the best views on the whole island. Not to mention a private Infinity pool on the balcony, an indoor/outdoor hot tub, our own personal grotto, and multiple beds.
Juliet will be lucky if I ever let her get dressed. Though, just in case, I’ve pre-ordered some summer pieces from a few designer lines…
“And he gets to pick my dress, too!” Juliet adds. “I don’t even get to see it until the day of. He says he’s going to have Abuelita blindfold me for the fittings.”
She pretends to hate my love of dressing her, but I know better. Every time I come home with a new hand-picked purchase, she melts for me.
Besides, I know her body better than anyone. Who better to help design the most important dress she’ll ever wear?
Christian frowns at Juliet. “Do you get to pick his suit?”
“No!” we both blurt.
Jules smirks and scoffs simultaneously. “Please. El pinchao está loco por esa mierda . Do you honestly think I’d take that bullet?” She lifts her arm to eye my latest gift—the elegant gold timepiece gracing her wrist. “Speaking of bullets, where is Marco? Isn’t he supposed to be here? It’s almost seven.”
Abuelita interjects, shooting off a stream of less-than-flattering opinions about Marco’s recent odd behavior. I don’t catch most of it, but Juliet cringes. “ Sí , Abuelita.”
Then to me, she translates, “He’s late. Again. Abuelita says he better not flake on us, or she’s going to drive up to Hell’s Kitchen and wait for him in his lobby with a plate of food. Last time, she got in a fight with his doorman.”
I don’t dare comment. Marco and I have a strange, begrudging relationship—he doesn’t like me fucking his cousin and I don’t like his general air of moral superiority. But I tend to think his whole family expects way too much of the guy.
He’s only human. And I know how much shit the Strykers put him through. Can’t we all cut him some slack?
“He’s bringing a girl,” Juliet goes on, pitching her voice low for privacy. “ The girl. The reason he’s been so off-the-grid lately… I can’t believe he’s just going to waltz her in here after keeping her a secret for so long.”
Poor thing. I wonder if the chick knows she’s walking right into a den of lionesses. With a pork chop strapped around her neck.
“So long? It’s been, like, one month, bijou .”
“Which is about how long we knew each other before you bought this,” she shoots back, flashing her ring.
I gaze at her, unable to keep the stupid grin off my face. “Did you have a point?”
Christian shakes his head, interjecting with a mumble. “I think you’re all fucking nuts.”
Juliet worries the inside of her cheek as she touches his shoulder. “You’re not upset about missing our wedding, are you?”
Christian grimaces. “Honestly? I’m relieved. No wedding, no open bar, no excuse for me to wind up in an alley somewhere.” He blows out a breath. “And the Strykers are going to throw you a big party when you guys get home, right? Kind of like a reception?”
Jules nods. “Yes. Against all my protests. Ella is quite insistent.”
It reminds me of the other piece of news we need to celebrate. Sweeping Jules into another hug, I settle my arms around her waist and murmur quietly, “Should we tell everyone about your promotion now? Or after dinner?”
My fiancée’s glowing grin never fails to steal my breath. She smiles as she peers around my shoulder and then turns her golden gaze back to me.
“Abuelita made a merengón ,” she replies, nodding at the beautiful pavlova-like stack of meringue and strawberries sitting in the center of our dining table. “Let’s announce it during dessert.” Her beaming smile takes on a mischievous shade. “I’m sure we’ll be busy interrogating Marco’s girl during dinner.”
Her sly expression reminds me of my favorite photograph—taken on our first date. I’ve since taken dozens of other pictures of her, but I suspect that one will always be special to me.
Framing her gorgeous face with my hands, I bend to kiss her as thoroughly as I can in mixed company.
…or so I thought.
A spatula spears the space between our bodies, flicking back and forth to separate us. Abuelita’s stern face suddenly looms just beyond Juliet’s. “No married yet,” she huffs, frowning at each of us in turn. “No Pees-Dees-A.”
Juliet’s eyes fill with love as she stares up at me, sharing a conspiratorial smirk.
“PDA,” we correct in unison.
Abuelita swats the backs of our necks before shuffling past. “Is what I said!”
An hour after everyone finally left, I find Graham standing at our kitchen sink, washing the last of the dishes.
I lean my hip into the island, absently running my fingers along the hem of my favorite purple robe while I watch him for a long moment. In his blush shirt and matching pants, he’s as dark and delicious as ever. More so, maybe, because he’s doing housework.
Familiar gratitude rushes over me. How did I ever find my one-of-a-kind man?
I wait until he turns off the faucet and starts to dry his hands before sneaking up behind him and slipping my arms around his waist. It’s a bit thicker, thankfully. Eating regular meals and keeping up with my voracious appetite for him has his body more solid and sexier than ever.
Graham plucks up one of my hands and presses a reverent kiss into my knuckles. “ Bijou ,” he murmurs, gruff. “I was just thinking about how proud I am of all your hard work and your promotion. I can’t wait to brag about you to everyone I see tomorrow.”
I let him turn and back me into the island, moving my arms up to wind around his neck. “Funny, I was just thinking how lucky I am that you stalked me into that elevator.”
He flashes one of his feral grins before leaning down and trailing a series of kisses from my collarbone to my ear. Dios . My knees tremble every time he does that.
“Wouldn’t have mattered,” he tells me, brushing his lips over my temple until I quiver again. “Even if I missed you in the lobby, I would have gone after you the second I saw you in that meeting.”
I turn to catch his mouth with mine, kissing him until he lifts me onto the counter and steps between my bare legs. Leaning back, I capture his eyes and whisper, “I love you more.”
A boyish smile fills his handsome features. “Starting this fight again, are you? I won last time, if I recall.”
I giggle, remembering. “Pretending you’re going through a tunnel and hanging up on me before I can argue my point is not winning, pinchao .”
“Mmm.” He nuzzles his face into my throat. “Fair enough, bijou . Luckily, I have a new strategy for this round.”
Then, Graham Everett—my future everything—picks me up and carries me to our bed. Where we happily spend the rest of the night…
Proving our points.