Epilogue
MIRANDA
Four and a half years later…
“W ait, wait, wait. They need their toppers.” I scan a long counter covered with flour, seeking the graduation caps I made earlier this week. “They have to be here somewhere.”
I squeal in excitement when I find them under a stack of paperwork I made Shiloh promise to leave in my capable hands during her long-awaited leave.
After bundling them into a container that will assist in maintaining their shape, I place them on top of the cupcakes Shiloh is precariously balancing, then guide her out of a stuffy yet delicious-smelling kitchen.
“The graduation caps are super cute, but I bet they were a fucker to make.”
Incapable of arguing, I blow a wayward hair out of my face before slipping into the driver’s seat of the catering van, forgetting I’m no longer the lead driver or head honcho of this business.
“Sorry. Old habits die hard.”
“Clearly.” Shiloh laughs. “It’s only been four and a half years.”
After playfully bumping her with my hip, I remove the carton of cupcakes from her arms and then switch positions.
I slot into the passenger seat as Shiloh slips behind the steering wheel.
Well, as well as she can with her rapidly expanding stomach.
She’s so close to her due date her stomach is almost touching the steering wheel. She’s glowing, and it has my thoughts shifting back to the day I was complimented about the same glow.
God, that feels like a lifetime ago. My life has changed so much since then. It honestly feels like decades have passed.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Shiloh asks upon spotting my white cheeks.
Peering at my heart-shaped face in the side mirror, I pinch some color into my cheeks before jerking up my chin. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
She squeezes my hand in support before she turns down a familiar street. My stomach does somersaults when she parks in a driveway across the street from the house I once shared with Roy.
I haven’t stepped foot in it in over three years, but I can still recall the floor space with ease.
“I’ll get her,” I say when Shiloh unlatches her belt and curls her hand around the door latch.
Her eyes are on me, misty and uneased. “Are you sure? I don’t mind. I don’t want things to get… awkward .”
“I’m sure.”
I’m not, but what else can I say in a situation like this? Shiloh is my best friend, but some things you need to keep to yourself.
“I’ll be right back.”
I straighten my coat before walking briskly down the paved path. The doorbell barely rings before it is yanked open so forcefully that it almost comes off its hinges.
“Mommy!”
Bella leaps into my arms and hugs me like she hasn’t seen me in weeks before she peers up at me with big, hungry eyes.
I’m a sucker for her begging stare.
“The cupcakes are in the car with Shiloh. I packed an extra one just for you.”
“Thank you, Mommy!” she shouts before she pivots on her heels to gather her backpack from her father, and her graduation outfit she won’t need until this afternoon, before she bolts past me.
I try to act like my heart isn’t pattering in my ears when her father joins me in the foyer. He smells divine, his scent unchanging even with him going through fatherhood. It is as dark and dangerous as ever, and it sets my pulse racing.
“Hey, butterfly,” Nero greets as his eyes rake my body. “You look pretty.”
“This?” I wave off his compliment as if it is one in a trillion I receive per day. “It’s nothing special.”
Nero appears as if he wants to say something, but the annoying honk of an impatient woman stops him.
“I should get going. I don’t want Bell late for her official last day of preschool.”
As awkwardly as I did the first time I left his presence, I wave like a fool, then follow the steps our daughter recently took.
Shiloh eyeballs me while reversing out of the driveway of Nero’s first off-compound purchase. Her stare is full of suspicion, and it makes me super-hot.
After a beat, she murmurs, “That went better than anticipated.”
She can say that. She can’t feel how sweaty I am under my coat. I’m a messy, sticky inferno.
My unease slips away when I peer back at Bella in her car seat. Her face is covered with butter icing, and her hands are as sticky as the cups of my new bra.
I’ve only just cleaned her up when we arrive at her school.
“Yoohoo! Miranda.”
Ms. Croft, Bella’s teacher, waves us to a reserved spot at the front of the drop-off line. That’s how desperate she is for my baked goods. Though she does treat me like a VIP every time I do a school visit, so perhaps it has nothing to do with the cupcakes I promised her class.
I’m pulled from my thoughts when Ms. Croft says, “Oh, Miranda. You’ve outdone yourself. These cupcakes are fantastic.”
“Thank you,” I reply, genuinely flushed from the sheer delight in her tone.
Needing to leave before the heat roaring through my body forces me to unbutton my coat, I kiss Bella goodbye before slipping into Shiloh’s van and demanding she floor the gas.
We’re barely two blocks away when I’m reminded daftness isn’t solely reserved for fresh-out-of-college women.
“I forgot the candle for the cake.”
Shiloh shrugs. “So?”
“It’s a birthday cake. You can’t have a birthday cake without a candle.” I take a moment to deliberate before saying, “Go to my house. It will be quicker than detouring back to the bakery.”
“Do you want me to call ahead and see if the hotel has a candle you can borrow? We’re already behind.”
I shake my head. “Just go back to my house.”
She huffs before giving in.
“I’m sorry,” she screams at the person she cuts off when she conducts a dangerous U-turn.
Shiloh’s lead foot sees us arriving home in under a minute, and I race down the footpath just as fast.
While Tempy dances around my feet, I check my baking stock in the massive walk-in pantry, and the junk drawer every American has in their kitchen, before I search for a candle in the cupboards above the refrigerator.
I find what I’m seeking just as a deep, delicious voice asks, “Don’t you think it is a little warm for a coat, butterfly?”
I swallow the lump in my throat before carefully stepping off the stepladder and turning to face the voice. “Nero, what are you doing here?”
He steps closer, unshadowing his devastatingly handsome face and forcing my thighs to touch. “This is my house.”
His dark and dangerous eyes lower to the daring flap of my trench coat for half a second before they slowly return to my face.
They’re brimming with lust and are very much possessive.
“And you are my wife. Where else am I meant to be?”
My confusion gets a moment of reprieve when I stray my eyes to the kitchen counter. The note I left there this morning appears untouched. Does that mean he’s clueless that I cleared his schedule so he could meet me at his latest hotel for brunch?
There’s nothing of sustenance on the menu I planned for him—except my husband’s most craved palette. Me!
“Did you not eat breakfast this morning?” I ask, my tone as stern as Nero is anytime Bella tries to skip a meal so she will remain as skinny as her favorite pop stars. I left my note next to his favorite mug. It was his Father’s Day present last year, and it showcases his three most valued things.
Images of me, Bella, and our unborn son.
“I ate.” I’m on the cusp of combustion when Nero licks his lips before he murmurs, “Twice.” His expression is a mix of emotions. I learn why when he says, “The second meal I was supplied wasn’t edible. Bell didn’t inherit her mother’s cooking skills. Let’s pray they can be taught.”
When he moves closer, incapable of not responding when he makes me smile, I fan my hand across his chest. “Stay back. You’ll ruin the surprise if you come any closer.”
“If it is my surprise, it is mine to ruin.” He couldn’t sound more possessive if he tried. “So get your fine ass over here now, printsessa , and feed your man. I’m fucking starved.”
It’s been like this our entire marriage. We can’t keep our hands off each other when we’re in the same vicinity. That’s why I went to the bakery Nero purchased me as a wedding gift to get ready for his surprise. He’d kick down the bathroom door if denied the opportunity of touching me for even a minute while we’re under the same roof.
The number-one bakery in Vegas wasn’t the ideal location to prepare his ultimate birthday treat, but since my baby brain had me forgetting the cupcakes I promised Bella’s classmates, it worked out well.
Nero is never suspicious of my early-morning starts at our now multiple bakery sites, because for the eight months of my first pregnancy, he was right there with me, making sure I didn’t lift a finger, while excessively doting on me.
Our joint business endeavor should have flopped weeks in. Fortunately for us, treats inspired by love are extremely profitable.
We’re in the process of expanding our franchise across the country.
Air hisses between Nero’s teeth when he tugs open the coat hiding his birthday present. I’m around the same size I was when we met, but my stomach is puffed out with our son, who is due in a little over four months, making Nero even more obsessed with my curves.
My lingerie leaves nothing to the imagination, and since it is edible and molded around my breasts to look like birthday cakes, it makes me incredibly grateful Bella struggled to make her father a bowl of cereal for his fortieth birthday.
Nero’s eyes rocket to mine when I say, “What do you say, birthday boy, bite for a bite, and lick for a lick?”
The End!