Epilogue
ABIGAIL
One year later
There’s arriving in Aruba, and there’s arriving in Aruba in style. For once, I accept the offer of using my family’s wealth, and as the seaplane curves around the island on final approach, I look down on the resort. I can see all the places we visited on our first trip.
“There’s the cove!” I point out, seeing the little postage stamp of a private beach. “Ooh, I want to go back there!”
“So do I,” Lorenzo purrs in my ear, his arms around me in our luxury seats. “In fact, I think we can do everything we did last time at the cove.”
“Plus some,” I promise him, tracing shapes on his hand. “In fact, I was thinking we could recreate several of the things we did all over the island. Yoga, cruise, and even the massages.”
“If you don’t stop, I’m going to have you right here on this plane,” Lorenzo promises me, “and I was going to save that for the private plane home.”
“Mmm . . . good idea,” I agree. Actually, I start looking around, considering whether we have time before landing to mark that off our week’s plans. But the engine’s whine changes pitch, and I realize we’re already losing altitude and getting closer to the ground.
Moments later, we’re standing in the resort lobby, the sea breeze blowing through the open doors making my skirt dance. Lorenzo wraps his arms around my shoulders and murmurs into my ear, “We made it. Back to where it all began.”
“No. Way.” I hear from off to my right.
A shock of horror jolts through my entire being, and Lorenzo stiffens behind me, and definitely not in the good way. I turn toward the voice.
“Emily?” I say softly, not believing my eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s our one-year anniversary,” she says as she holds up her and Doug’s interlocked hands. He looks like he wouldn’t mind sinking through the floor a bit. “You?”
“Us too,” I answer.
We freeze, eyes locked on each other for a long moment.
“We should get dinner or something. You know, like we did before,” she suggests, but I can hear the hesitation in her voice.
I relax, purposefully letting my posture lean into Lorenzo. If I said yes, he’d think I’m crazy but he’d do it. For me.
“Let’s not pretend anymore, Emily. We weren’t friends in school, we weren’t friends last year, and we’re not friends now.”
Blunt? Yeah. True? Also yes.
“So, let’s just not,” I offer with a shrug. “You do your thing, we’ll do ours, and hopefully, we won’t run into each other again, just like we haven’t back at home.”
“Wow,” she snarks. “Still the same old Abi Andrews, aren’t you?” Bitch is implied.
Lorenzo moves as though to defend me, but I don’t need him to. “You know what, Emily? I feel like you have some things you need to say. It might make you feel better. Go ahead and get it all off your chest.”
She makes a tight sound of dismissal, but then she opens her mouth.
“You always thought you were better than me, but you know what? I’m living my best life with a man I love, a happy life, with a baby on the way.
So what if Claire Johnson says it’s ‘totes adorbs’ that her floral designer and chef are in love.
Who needs that kind of ass kissing?” She points a finger at me. “You do, that’s who.”
She’s furious, so mad that tears fall down her cheeks, and Doug is trying to comfort her though he looks more confused than concerned.
“Anything else?” I ask gently.
She sniffles, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand as she shakes her head.
I wasn’t going to say anything, but her coldness tells me that maybe it’ll help.
“Emily, everyone’s the villain in someone’s story.
And they’re the hero in their own. Neither is actually true.
” Her eyes narrow, not believing me. “Congrats on a happy life, a good husband, and the baby. Enjoy it. I truly wish that for you.”
Doug dips his chin at me, trying to put together whatever he’s heard from Emily with what’s happening right now, and leads Emily away.
“That was sexy,” Lorenzo whispers against my ear.
“What? That?” I say faux-modestly. “That was nothing.”
He chuckles. “Last time we were here, you would’ve taken that challenge and had us out to dinner, doing crazy stunts, and battling it out like this was some game show. But you’re different now, stronger and more settled.”
I swat at his chest indignantly. “You take that back. I’m just as crazy as I always was. I’m not some old, can’t we just get along type now.“
“Never. You’ll be old and gray and still causing a ruckus wherever you go. I can’t wait to see it each step of the way.”
“Ruckus?” I question the odd word usage.
Lorenzo looks pleased that I noticed. “Courtney showed me an app. There’s a word every day, some obscure, some humorous, and some particularly unusual, but I like it.”
“I like you.”
“I love you,” he answers with all the heat and passion of the first time still burning in his blood. For me.
Lorenzo
The waves lap at the shore, the sun nearly touching the sea beyond the cove, but I barely notice as I kiss my wife, cupping her cheek and tasting her deeply.
We’ve been doing this almost from the first instant I spread the blanket on the sugary sand, kicking off our sandals and lying down, our hands going to each other.
Our picnic basket’s ignored, but we can get food later.
After all, the resort’s got twenty-four-hour room service, and Esmar would let me in his kitchen any time, day or night.
“You’re smiling,” Abi murmurs as I pull back. “Why?”
“I’m happy,” I admit, kissing the tip of her nose and then the point of her chin.
Abi nods, her chin pressing into the top of my hair as I kiss down her throat to the V of her blouse.
I’ve undone all of the buttons so it’s only gravity keeping her perfect mounds from being exposed, and as my tongue traces the edge of the cotton, her little hitching sighs tell me that her nipples are being slowly teased by the blouse as it gives up its touch on her skin.
“Mmm,” I moan, licking and sucking as she arches, pressing more into my mouth. I consume her, intoxicated by her.
Abi captures my hand, pressing it to the moist juncture between her thighs, and I grin around a mouthful of nipple.
I unbutton the top of her denim shorts, teasing her by sliding her zipper down so slowly it’s torture for both of us. “You’ll get what you want, mia rosa, but lovemaking is like cooking . . . best when you take your time.”
Abi growls, her fingers digging in the sand as I tease her other nipple, still not touching her warm, wet pussy until she’s writhing in want and need. I slide the fabric to the side, and she’s soaking wet, easily taking my two fingers and bowing up to meet me as I finger-fuck her rapidly.
I pump quickly, almost harshly, as my thumb rubs her clit, pummeling Abi until she cries out, her voice lifting above the crashing waves as she screams her climax.
She falls to the sand, completely relaxed, and I take this moment to slide my own clothes off. Kneeling next to her, I offer her my long, hard cock, moaning as she happily turns onto her side and sucks my head into her mouth.
“That’s it,” I rasp as she bobs her head back and forth. “Get it nice and wet so I can fuck you.”
Abi pulls back, letting my cock head pop out of her mouth, grinning. “Or maybe this time, we go slow and tender, make love all night?” She laps at my shaft, laying soft kisses to the most sensitive part of me.
“Any way you want it,” I vow and am rewarded by her swallowing me again. She teases my slit, swirling her tongue until my hips are moving on their own, thrusting in and out of her mouth.
“Abigail,” I warn. She pulls back, not letting me come, and flips over onto her knees, offering herself to me.
I grab her hair, pulling her back as I thrust forward, filling her in one deep thrust. Our hips slap together, and I retreat, taking my time relishing the velvety grip of her body before slipping back in an inch at a time, watching the way her eyelids flutter as I fill her.
Abigail meets me stroke for stroke, her hands clenching fistfuls of sand and pushing back into me. We’re moaning, crying out in a love language that isn’t Italian, isn’t English, but a private language that says more than either one.
I love you.
I need you.
You’re mine.
I’m yours.
Forever.
My balls tighten and I swell, teetering on the edge of falling into the abyss, but I won’t go without her. “Come,” I beg.
And she does, pulling me with her into bliss. She cries out as I explode into her. Eventually, we fall apart, collapsing onto the blanket and holding each other until the waves pass.
“What do you think of having a baby?” Abi ventures carefully as her fingers trace my tattoos. She has them memorized by now, could do it blindfolded, but she still does it every time we lie down to relax or after we have sex. It’s become one of our things.
Abigail tells me that every couple has things like that, but I prefer to think it’s only us.
“Is this because Violet’s pregnant again?” I joke, but I want to be sure.
“No,” she says, tears gleaming at the corners of her eyes. “It’s because I am. I’m pregnant, Lorenzo!”
“Oh, mio Dio, mia rosa,” I shout. “You knew and didn’t say anything?”
“Surprise!” Abigail replies with an uncertain smile.
“You have made me the happiest man to ever walk the face of the earth. To know that you carry our child is a miracle I never thought I’d be blessed with.
I hope he or she has your wild sense of adventure and my hair.
” I push my hands through Abigail’s mass of locks and lay a soft kiss to the tip of her nose.
“I hope they have your bravery and my eyes,” she adds.
“I think that sounds perfect.”
But we both know that whatever comes our way, we’ll greet it with a smile and a barely half-formed plan. It’s who we are, still spontaneous and slightly crazy but together, no matter what.