Epilogue
Six Months Later
CARLY
To-do list—August 16
Pick up the platters from the caterers (Andrew got it)
Put on Chanel’s picnic-print bandanna
Check for dog hair on the rug
“ Oh, shit.” Literally.
“Chanel, why didn’t you tell me you needed to go out?” I dropped to my knees on the entryway rug and picked up the dog. Our five-year-old Cavalier King Charles spaniel was old enough to know better, but two weeks after we’d adopted her, she was still getting used to life outside a cage. She’d been rescued from a horrific life in a puppy mill, and her nipples sagged from her last litter.
I touched my nose to hers. “It’s okay, baby. Everyone makes mistakes. We’ll clean this up, and?—”
“What happened?”
I startled at Andrew’s voice and winced. The rug was new. Almost everything was new. We’d moved in together last month, and adding a dog so soon might’ve been too much.
“An accident. I was about to clean it up. I’m sure it won’t leave a stain.”
“Hey.” He scooped Chanel out of my arms and extended a hand to help me up. As usual, my knee popped. “I’ll take her outside, then I’ll clean it up. Our friends will be here soon, and I’m sure you want to check that everything is perfect. Again.”
I stroked Chanel’s soft, russet ear, then I rose on my tiptoes to kiss Andrew. “Thank you.”
I’m not sure how he managed it with the dog, but suddenly, his arm banded around me, and I pressed against his chest. His kiss branded me, urgent, demanding, possessive. Our hearts slammed toward each other, synchronized, reminding me of how he’d raised my pulse this morning, demonstrating the possibilities of the grab bars in our new shower. I opened to him, letting him pillage and conquer as he so clearly needed to do.
When we broke apart, breathless, I asked, “What was that about?”
He rubbed under my lip. “I needed to show you I love you more than I love that goddamn rug or anything in this house.”
Bubbles rose in my chest like champagne. “Chanel too?”
She’d gone limp in his arms. Smart dog. He stroked her white blaze. “I love Chanel too. But not as much as I love you.”
I scratched behind her ear and crooned, “You’re only second because I don’t crap on the rug, baby.”
He laughed. “I’d love you even if you did.”
“You sure you’ve got this?”
“Yeah. You’ll want to fix your lipstick.”
“You too.” I swiped a spot of my Dior Radiant from his lower lip.
He curled his lips inside. “Leave it. I want everyone to see that you can’t stop kissing me.”
He was holding the dog, so I didn’t swat him. Instead, I tossed my hair. “We’ll see who kisses who next?—”
He caught my wrist and spun me back toward him, capturing me again in a fierce kiss. I didn’t fight it. I gave it right back to prove with the destruction of my lipstick that I wanted him, needed him as much as he needed me.
When he finally released me, I took Chanel from him and set her on the floor. “Really, what’s going on? This is about more than the rug. Or the dog.”
He ducked his head. “I’m a little nervous.”
“Nervous? Not about me. ‘Let me give you a tip,’” I quoted. “‘I’m a sure thing, okay?’” We’d watched Pretty Woman a few nights ago, part of his continuing ’90s education.
“Not about you. About the party. This is my first time cohosting with the lovely Carly Rose.”
“It’s a dozen people, honey. Our friends. Though I wish Lucie could be here.”
“She’s on her big trip for her book, right?”
“It’s a huge interview. Though I wish…” She hadn’t looked so good the day before she left. “I wish she’d done it over video.”
“Her doctor said it was okay for her to travel?”
“She did. She’s only twenty-six weeks. She can fly until thirty-six.”
He stroked my cheek. “Don’t hate me, but I invited Danny.”
“I won’t hate you. I like him. But Lucie will definitely have something to say about it when she gets back.”
“He declined. So Lucie won’t be mad at me about that.” He grimaced. “She’ll be furious she missed this, though.” He slipped his hand into his pocket, and I noticed a bulge in his jeans (not that kind of bulge). This one was shaped like a cube.
“What’s that?” I asked, my eyes widening.
“I—I wanted to include all of our friends, especially your friends, when I…” He pulled the distinctive sky-blue jewel box from his pocket. “But now I’m nervous.”
“Andrew, are you proposing to me while I have lipstick smeared across my face and we’re standing next to a pile of dog shit?”
He opened the box, flashing the diamond solitaire with smaller diamonds set into the band. “Yes?”
My first marriage had been a nineteen-year descent into misery. But Andrew was nothing like my ex. He lifted me up and supported me through the highs and lows of entrepreneurship. He never tried to diminish me and loved me as I was, even when my priorities skewed too far toward work.
“Yes, I’ll marry you. But can we wait until after award season?” I was already finalizing Helen’s look for the Emmys next month.
“Of course.” This time, his kiss wasn’t so desperate. His warm, solid lips reflected how he understood me, how he loved me despite—or possibly because of—my career ambitions. “I’ll marry you whenever you’re ready.”
“Vegas? After the Oscars?”
“Absolutely.” He slipped the ring onto my finger. “Though we’ll have to have a big party afterward. Mother would never forgive us if we looked like we were trying to hide our marriage.”
“Don’t worry.” I winked. “We’ll throw something so big it’ll eclipse the Vulgar Bikini Boat Party.”
“I love it. And I love you.” He lowered his head to kiss me but stilled when the doorbell rang.
I glanced at the rug. “Oh, shit.”
Slipping Chanel under his arm, he tipped up my chin and swiped under my lip. “Team Rose-Jones. I’ll take care of the dog and the rug. Distract our friends. Okay?”
I lifted to my toes and pecked his lips. “On it.”
As Andrew knelt to clean the rug, I stepped to the door to welcome our guests. Teamwork. Equality. Respect. Love. This time, I’d chosen well.
T hank you so much for reading Frenemies and Lovers.