Epilogue
EPILOGUE
4 Months Later
ROSE
Maybe I’m biased, but I think I married the most handsome man in the world.
Especially in a suit.
Well. He looks pretty darn good in those shorts and T-shirts he wears to the gym. And shirtless with just a pair of the thin sweatpants he wears around the house. And naked.
Yes. Naked Ian is pretty spectacular, too.
But tonight? Wearing a tailored dark-gray suit that shows off his shoulders and biceps, another white button-down, and a navy tie that brings out the color of his eyes? Freshly shaven and smelling faintly of shower gel and shaving cream and toothpaste? Giving me that smile—the one that still makes my heart flutter—and gazing at me with so such love it literally takes my breath away?
Being married to Ian is so much more than I ever imagined.
Because something I learned about love is it just keeps growing. And every time I look at him—in bed, snuggling on the couch, over dinner—and think I can’t possibly love him any more, I’m proven wrong.
My love for Ian is like an endlessly expanding balloon. A universe going on to infinity.
And I’m so happy .
From those terrible, terrifying times to this . Being married to the love of my life, excited for the future, and feeling so lucky to have ended up here.
Serendipity? One heck of a silver lining?
Or what I believe—fate.
Like two matched puzzle pieces, we’re a perfect fit.
But looking at Ian now, I’m not just thinking about how our hearts align, but also our bodies.
I’m taking in his intense gaze, how it’s darkening the longer it lingers on me. The bulge in his pants that wasn’t there before. The way his jaw tightens the same way it does when we’re making love and he’s holding back his own completion, waiting for me to finish first.
I’m thinking about how much I want him, and whether we have enough time before we’re supposed to leave.
“Rose.” It’s rough and strained. “You’re doing it again.”
“Hmm?” My voice lilts up in question. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
He crosses the bedroom in a blink, coming to stand before me in the doorway. Palming my back, he draws me toward him, holding my gaze. “You know what that look does to me.”
“What look?” I widen my eyes at him. “I just came in to see if you were ready.”
“Mmhmm.” His hand slides down to cup my ass, his touch sending sizzles of heat and desire through me. “So you weren’t giving me the I want to have sex right now look?”
Dipping his head, Ian nuzzles the underside of my jaw before continuing, “You give me that look, and in this dress… Rose. Do you know how damn sexy you look? How irresistible?”
My nipples go hard, and my breath catches. “Do you like the dress?”
“My Rose.” A light nip to my neck, then a trail of kisses down it. “I love your dress. You’re stunning. Although… now I’m more interested in seeing you without it.”
Judging from his arousal jutting insistently against me, the dress Ari and Thea helped me pick out is a success.
Both of them insisted the twenties-style black cocktail dress would be perfect, but I wasn’t entirely sure. The neckline is a little deeper than I’d normally go for, and the same could be said for the shimmery accents. But for tonight, I wanted to wear something special, something to really wow Ian, so I put aside my hesitations and went with Ari and Thea’s choice.
Ian’s hand moves further down and slips beneath the hem of my dress. Then his fingers trace along the lacy fabric at the junction of my thighs, stroking and gently teasing. My inner walls contract, instinctively wanting to feel him inside me. His breath feathers along my neck as he murmurs, “Do you think we have time, sweet Rose?”
“Oh.” He finds my sensitive bud, rubbing and flicking through a layer of filmy lace. My hips jerk toward him and a tiny whimper of need escapes. “Maybe.”
“What if we were quick?” Ian suggests as he pushes the fabric aside and plunges one finger inside me. “If I hold you, we won’t mess up your dress.”
Another finger joins the first, and I gasp as my inner walls clench around them. “That”—my eyes drop to his arousal straining to get free—“could work.”
Ian removes his fingers, and I moan at the aching loss of them. “We’ll be quick for now. But when we get home… I’ll take my time taking this dress off you.”
First he pulls the now damp lace off me and drops it to the floor. Then he unzips his pants, his hard length springing free—gorgeous and velvety and slick with excitement.
I reach for him, but Ian lifts me in his arms first; effortlessly holding me up with one hand under my ass, the other at my back.
My dress lifts to my hips, and he notches himself at my center.
My heart thunders in anticipation.
With a groan, he sinks deep, filling me.
My lungs seize at the sheer perfection of it.
Ian inside me. Our bodies joined. A perfect fit.
Fate.
Then he moves, and it’s beyond perfect. It’s ecstasy.
I cling to him like a monkey—hands around the back of his neck, my legs around his waist. And Ian takes control, guiding me, tilting me back, raising and lowering my body onto his. Thrusting harder and faster in a frenzy of need.
Then he lifts me high and pulls me down onto him, filling me even more deeply than before, and the angle hits that magical spot only Ian has found…
It’s an explosion of stars. The creation of a galaxy. Bright flashes of heat and pleasure and joy all coming to life inside me.
A moment later, Ian lets out a guttural cry and pulses inside me.
As aftershocks ripple through both of us, I rest my head on Ian’s chest, hearing his heart pounding just as fast as mine.
His hand smooths down my hair, and he kisses the top of my head. “I love you, Rose.”
“I love you, Ian.”
“Now.” He slowly lowers me to the floor and says with a little quirk of his lips, “We’d better hurry. We have a fundraiser to get to, and the guest of honor can’t be late.”
I’m not really the guest of honor.
It’s just that my paintings were advertised as the big donation for the event. And given that my minor art-celebrity status got a boost after everything that happened with Diem and Reed, they’ve garnered a bit of attention.
In any other circumstances, I wouldn’t be happy to have my name mentioned on Page Six again, or worse yet, The New York Times . After everything settled down, I’d been hoping to sink back into relative anonymity, with only the art industry knowing my name.
But this is different. This is for a good cause, and I’m willing to put myself out there again if it means helping two organizations that mean so much to me.
Station 4 and the Sleepy Hollow Ambulance Corps.
The men and women who volunteer there have done so much for me, so when I heard about their yearly fundraiser, I knew I had to offer something to help.
It was actually a pretty ambitious task—creating six canvases for the fundraiser plus the additional ones I needed to finish for my rescheduled show in Manhattan. Ian kept telling me, “It’s okay if you can’t get everything done, Rose. Even one painting for the fundraiser is amazing. I don’t want you hurting your hand again.”
There was no way I was backing out. If it took some late nights and some days when my hand was sore, that was okay.
Painting isn’t quite the same as it used to be. The quality is the same, but I can’t work for twelve hours straight like I did before, not without my hand cramping up and being stiff the next day. But that’s alright, too, because I don’t want to work for twelve hours anymore.
Now I have so much else to do—spending time with Ian, helping out when he’s short-staffed at the gym, teaching my art classes, playing with Baxter, weekly trivia, and regular girls’ nights with Ari and Thea.
My life is so full now.
“Rose, hun. Are you ready?” Ian stops us just before the front door to Cash’s house and raises his brows at me. “Cash texted; he said it’s packed in there. At least a hundred people. And you know they’ll want to talk to you?—”
“I know.” My stomach’s a little wobbly, but I can do this. “Ari said we could go to the upstairs study if we need a little quiet time. And our friends are here. You’re here. It’ll be okay.”
Pride washes across his face. “It will be. And I can’t wait to see your paintings on display.” He squeezes my hand gently and kisses my cheek. “And later, when we get home…”
“I can’t wait.” Stretching up, I brush my lips across his. “Now. Let’s go inside. I’m ready.”
Sort of.
Stepping inside is a bit overwhelming. Heads swivel toward me and the buzz in the room rises. People start breaking off from their groups to head toward me. In under a minute, there’s a small crowd gathered around me, and more are still headed my way.
But it’s not as bad as it was in the city, because this is my town. My friends—not art colleagues, agents, and buyers—are here supporting me. Supporting a good cause.
And once I get talking, with Ian beside me, holding my hand, I find I don’t mind the party. It’s actually pretty fun.
I talk to Cash and Ari, who are enjoying an adult night to themselves while Ari’s mom babysits little Winnie in the nursery upstairs. “Bringing a one-year-old to a fundraiser?” Ari asks with a laugh. “Not a great idea. She’s walking all over now, she’d get into everything.”
“And Ari’s mom loves spending time with Winnie,” Cash adds. “So it works out for everyone.”
Ben and Thea show up with adorable Laila, who tells me very seriously that she wants to write and illustrate her own books so her mom can read them at story time. And two-month-old Elias is absolutely adorable sacked out in Ben’s arms, dressed in a teeny suit to match his dad’s.
“He’s still at the sleeping all the time stage,” Thea explains with a soft smile. “Until we get him home and put him to bed. Then he’ll be up all night.”
“He cries less when I read to him,” Laila says proudly. “Eli likes story time, just like I do.”
As we walk around the expansive living room, we run into at least two dozen people we know. All the firefighters and paramedics—except for the ones on duty—Chris and nearly all Ian’s employees from the gym, Oliver Kingston and Kane Montague, the entire Blade and Arrow team, and even Mrs. Plimpton.
Mrs. Plimpton, who I think is a lot more soft-hearted than she wants people to think.
While Ian’s talking to Zane about some upcoming self-defense classes, Mrs. Plimpton pulls me aside and says quietly, “I’m so pleased everything worked out for you, Rose. With your painting, and with your new husband. And—” She pauses, glancing at the nearest painting, an abstract rendition of a firefighter carrying a child to safety. “I’ve already bid on that one. And I’m going to make sure I win. It’ll be perfect in my living room.”
That, I wasn’t expecting.
If she doesn’t win it, I’ll paint a smaller one for her as a thanks for all those casseroles she brought over. And for the smoothie bar idea. Ian and Chris just had it set up and they’re already making a profit. Plus, I get as many smoothies as I want.
So, overall, the night is going well. People are bidding on all my paintings, plus all the other items that were donated. Grant’s donation of a custom-built gazebo is another hot item, and I hear two women arguing near the bid list in heated whispers.
One is saying, “But I’ve been single for over a year. I should win.”
The other snaps back, “He was a SEAL. And he’s gorgeous. I don’t care how long you’ve been single.”
Ian overhears their conversation and chuckles. “Glad I’m not Grant.”
I tug him over to a quiet spot by a window. Teasingly, I ask, “So you wouldn’t want women fighting over you?”
He turns, his smile shifting to something more serious. “I have you , Rose. Most days, I still can’t believe how lucky I am. That I found you, and that you love me.”
“Oh.” My heart squeezes. “I think we’re both lucky.”
Ian stares at me for a second, love shining through his gaze. Then a corner of his mouth quirks. “You know. We’ve seen everyone by now. What do you think about heading home? And we could get lucky there?”
I wait a beat before grinning at him. “Yes. Let’s go home.”
Home. With my husband. The love of my life.
Fate got it right.