Epilogue （9 months later）
“Get up,” Kingsley said one morning, holding up a cup of pungent black coffee. “Let’s go.”
“Go where?” I asked, blinking.
We were in our new house, a massive California coastal manor with a private beach, massive swimming pool, recording studio, full library, and right next to a historically interesting graveyard.
He was wearing a pink collared shirt, but it was unbuttoned practically down to his pecs. So just your average everyday horny Saturday morning.
“None of your business, brat,” he said, kissing me. “You’ll know when we get there.”
“What am I supposed to wear?” I asked curiously, flipping over on my belly.
“Whatever you want, Ro. You’ve got five minutes.”
I threw on one of my most comfortable black dresses with a bustier and flowy sleeves, brushed my teeth, and followed him out.
Kingsley put the car into gear and we shot off down the highway. The wind whirled around my face, but I didn’t care, my heart bursting with joy.
The headlines had not been kind to Kingsley after his revelation, calling him fake, a poser. Is this the end of his superstar career? a very annoyed Eunice wrote.
But since Kingsley made no excuses and instead took every interview request to come completely clean and praise my songwriting skills, with that shit-eating grin, his concerts were selling out faster than ever.
Kingsley’s reputation as a singer-songwriter was in shambles but, again, his reputation as a dirtbag was stronger than ever.
People had been pissed to find out I’d written all his songs, but my requests for interviews and collaborations was off the chart and the drama hadn’t hurt his sales.
The sun was dipping down, and I still had no idea where we were going, his fingers tightened in my hair, stroking gently down my throat.
My curiosity was at a fever pitch now.
“Are we going to a spa? Out camping? We don’t have any shit for camping! A surprise concert?”
He looked at me, his eyes crinkling up as he brought my hand to his lips.
“Vegas, baby. We’re getting married.”
My jaw dropped. I was engaged and had the massive rock to prove it, but, but. . .
“We just got this custom made ring back! We’ve barely gotten engaged!”
“Baby girl, I’ve been working on getting you tied down ever since the idea of you leaving scared the shit out of me. And I want this done now.”
“I’m wearing—” I protested, but I could feel my insides turning to mush as the big lights of the city came into view.
He made a beeline for a little white chapel that was dripping with gaudy silver and gold trim.
“Get in here. I can’t wait a minute longer to lock you down. After all, I’ve already got my ring tattooed on.”
“Hey, hey there, bay-be!” the Elvis impersonator called out joyfully as we entered the chapel.
He thrust his hips in the air.
“Hell, yeah,” Kingsley said. “Let’s do this.”
“I haven’t written anything,” I protested as he unwrapped a piece of paper from his jeans pocket.
It was criss-crossed with marks and lines where he’d marked something out and tried it again.
“Listen,” he said, his chest heaving. “Rosalie St. James, you are not the sunshine in my sky.”
At this, Elvis gave an audible gasp, but I could feel a smile tugging at my lips. “Instead, you are the dark and deadly raven across my path. A panther waiting to pounce. You are the thing with claws. And that is hot.”
I attempted to keep my face looking earnestly at him. Must not laugh.
Oh, god, he’d worked so hard on this, adorable man.
Elvis’ eyes rolled around in a circle as Kingsley listed out various explicit things he promised to do on a daily basis as a loving husband, and then he cleared his throat.
“Almost losing you was the biggest damn mistake in my life and if you hadn’t forgiven me I would have probably fallen down and not gotten up. I love you so much and I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving it.”
My eyes filled with happy tears, and there could have been so many poetic things to say, but I just threw my arms around his neck and kissed him.
“I love you,” I whispered in his ear as I felt his tears leak onto my cheeks and he clutched the back of my head tighter.
And then it was done and Elvis was warbling away as we walked outside to a sleek dark limo, all decorated inside and out with dozens of scarlet red roses.
“We’re married!” Kingsley yodeled, sticking his head out of the top of the limo, and hollering at the top of his lungs.
“I love my wife!” he roared, ripping at his shirt, tearing it so it hung in shreds off his body.
Ever since he had not gotten the leading role in the Hosier biopic he had been a bigger dirtbag than ever.
“This is regrettable and unhinged behavior,” I said, but I didn’t resist when he pulled me up beside him, one arm firmly around my waist.
“Let’s get matching wedding tattoos.”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “That’s a pretty big commitment. I could get out of that quickie marriage pretty easily, but a tattoo? Give me a few months to consider it.”
“Hell no,” he growled as I put one hand on his muscular chest. “You won’t be going anywhere. We belong together. Forever. I love you.”
Then he propped up on the roof of the limo as I rolled my eyes.
“Say it,” he hissed in my ear, biting my earlobe.
“Fine, damn. You’re a lunatic. I love you.”
He grabbed the bottle of champagne and popped it open, then sprayed it all over the two of us.
I laughed as the sticky droplets landed on my hair, my face, my dress, and I opened up my tongue to catch them.
He yanked me closer, my dress riding up my thighs as he wrapped my legs around his waist and pressed our bodies together with sticky, lascivious heat.
Then he ran his tongue up my throat, collecting all the sticky drops on his tongue and making my nipples tauten.
“I’m going to lick and fuck every bit of this off you in this backseat.”
Just then, I saw someone I recognized over Kings’ shoulder.
It was Matt and Dolly, Dolly’s pregnant belly swollen big. She looked adorable, and like she was just about to pop.
Matt looked a little shocked, while Dolly only gave me a wink.
“Congratulations,” she called out. “I think things ended up pretty perfect.”
“Yes, they did,” I agreed. “If you want to come over for a little wedding supper, we’d be happy to treat you two to a steak dinner.”
I hollered back the name of the best hotel in Vegas as Kingsley drew me back down into the backseat, rolling up the window between us and the driver as he lay me down on the sleek leather.
“Who said I wanted to have one of your former lovers over for dinner, Mrs. Ames?” Kingsley said irritably.
“The man is about to be a father,” I laughed, “I don’t think he’s concerned with me. He’s very happy with his new wife.”
Kingsley still looked dark and furious.
“We’re getting that tattoo right now. Make sure everyone can see you’re mine.”
Then he bent down to my throat and began to unlace my bustier, undoing my laces with clever, strong fingers, his cock pressing at the wet and ready space between my thighs.
“I got you all sticky. Now I have to lick it off.”
“Every single bit of it,” I teased as he rolled up my skirt with heated, urgent fingers. You might even have to get it off my toes.”