EPILOGUE #2
La Lune Noire works more magic when one of the band members revs up the crowd about our presence. “It’s a rare night and a huge treat when we have so many of the owners with us. Rumor has it, the Noires might be willing to kick off our dance portion of the evening before they head out.”
He can’t even manage to ask if they’d be interested because the reception is too enthusiastic.
When we all swagger to the dance floor, he hands me the microphone.
Giving toasts is kind of our thing, even though we rarely deliver them at events with the general public or in situations that require something PG.
But surrounded by my family—except for Rena and her crew—and immersed in carefree joy, I gladly address the restaurant.
“Café L’Ambroisie has always been one of our family’s favorite atmospheres at La Lune Noire, which is due to the vibrancy the band and guests infuse, so thank you for that warm reception.
It is an honor to be here with all of you and my beautiful new bride.
” I thread my fingers with Zara’s and kiss her knuckles.
“May you sing like you’re in the shower, dance like no one is watching, and drink like there’s no work tomorrow. Welcome to La Lune Noire.”
And the whole restaurant lifts their glasses and shouts in unison, “Drink and conspire!”
With “Uptown Funk” as the conclusion to our night, we grace them with a carefree jitterbug.
Zara smiles ear to ear the entire time, laughing at the over-the-top moves from Maddox and Cash, Jax’s lazy steps that never miss a beat, and Remy getting down in the middle of all of us.
I worried living in a fishbowl would be a challenging adjustment for her, but my girl thrives in the spotlight.
She’s been thrown into the Noire life, and true to her strengths, she’s killing it.
“What’s the occasion?” she asks an hour later.
“We’re celebrating.”
“Because …”
“It’s Saturday.”
“And on Saturdays, we fly over the city?” Her attention flits from me to the Big Easy lit up below as my private helicopter circles it.
This is a luxury model I purchased not long ago.
The main draw is that the cockpit is separated from the cabin, so Zara and I have complete privacy, and it’s quiet enough that we don’t need headsets.
The pilot can’t hear us, but he can alert us to any issues through the com, and we can press a button to connect to him. Otherwise, it’s just us.
“On Saturdays, like every other day we get to be together, I intend to spoil you. And we haven’t done this yet.”
Thankfully, we’ve been attached to one another—from our morning workout to climbing under the sheets together and everything in between. My days have never been so full.
“You’re going to run out of ideas soon.” She pins me with a sardonic smirk because she can’t resist mocking me. “You’ve already showered me with endless gifts. I’m still not over my secret library. I wander into a new section every day.”
Her whole face brightens at the mere remembrance, which is precisely why it was the most important project of my life.
In the corridors connected to our penthouse suite, I had bookshelves and reading nooks built along the walls of all the passageways that are for our use only.
And I filled them with every classic I could get my hands on, along with some newer romance and thrillers.
The idea had come to me before our wedding, and it took root in the long days when she was missing, though it wasn’t presentable until a week after we came home.
It’s not complete yet. Books are still arriving, and shelves are still being added.
But our literary communication has already been enhanced by it.
We leave each other notes in the margins of our favorite novels, highlight quotes, and spend evenings discussing them, so that even our separate time lost in stories belongs to us both.
Her insights are my daily treasures, and I know she shares that sentiment.
That space calls to Zara like a gravitational pull, which only fills me with the aspiration to keep it going for the rest of our days.
Her enthusiasm spurs me on now as well. I watch her for a beat, captivated by the way she soaks in the scenery with awe, seeing it for the first time through a fresh lens.
Evidence that she’s finally living. Even her father and brother acknowledged the change in her on a video call with us last week. She’s glowing.
I promised that her dreams and desires would become my only mission, and I’ve never felt a greater purpose.
She’s intent on helping me carry my load, and I love her for that.
But she doesn’t see how she’s freed me. I haven’t had a flashback since we returned.
They’d never been something that dominated my life, but they were always simmering beneath my skin, lying in wait.
Having her by my side washes me with greater peace than I’ve ever known.
The privilege of giving her this, my family, and the start she deserves—of loving her well—has smothered a lifetime of flames and let me breathe.
Palming her head, I kiss her temple and pour her a glass of champagne with some Amarena wild cherries in it. “I have a long list to work from, but let’s enjoy this tonight. Forever is composed of Nows, remember?”
She quoted Emily Dickinson the night she agreed to marry me, and based on how we’ve been through it, nothing could sum up our journey better than leaning into the here and now.
She takes the drink, sipping it as she returns her gaze to the view. “It’s amazing, Axel. Magical.”
“It’s all yours.” When she dismisses that with a chortle, I reiterate it. “Remember when I took you through the city and told you I owned it?”
“Yes,” she deadpans, admiring the Mississippi River, speckled with the illuminated confetti of NOLA nightlife. “The whistling.”
“Right.” I chuckle because in our toe-to-toe battles, she undeniably came out ahead, but I had my moments. “Well, whistling isn’t required, but it’s yours now. Anything you see, anything you want, anywhere we go—I’ll make it yours.”
“You are always so sweet to me, but”—she brushes her fingers over my scruff, erasing the small distance between us—“all I want is you, and our family, and more of you.”
I should probably let her marvel at the lights. That’s why I brought her up here. But her plump lips are glossy from the champagne, and like I also told her once, I’m only a man, and she’s irresistible. Unable to help myself, I grip her chin and direct her mouth to mine.
She tastes like her—cherries and hope, deliverance and sin, sex and salvation.
Every swipe of her tongue liberates another tangled part of me.
“You are the love of my life, darling. My whole goddamn universe.”
She pulls back on a shaky breath. “And you’re mine.” Another swift kiss before her feline eyes flick back to me, something salacious swimming in those mossy depths. “So, if we’re seizing the now …”
She lets it dangle, but I hear every unuttered suggestion.
“Fuck,” I hiss, taking her champagne back and downing it as she laughs. “The fact that you’re as depraved as I am brings me endless joy.” I unbuckle both of our seat belts and speak to the pilot through the headset. “We need a steady ride for a bit while we’re occupied.”
He agrees with a thread of amusement, so I shut him off, turn on music, and attend to my girl.
She’s wearing a sexy black skirt, with black thigh-high boots, an oversize cream sweater, and an edgy yet elegant black leather collar that I got her as an alternative to the diamond one.
I glide my hand between her thighs, snake a finger into the thin strap of her panties, and tug them down her vibrating legs.
After I stuff them in my pants pocket—no suit jacket or tie tonight—I thrust one finger inside her. “Always so wet for me.”
She reaches over with a roguish smirk and squeezes my erection. “Always so hard for me.”
My ravishing, bratty smart-ass.
“Fine,” I relent, yanking my zipper down. “Let’s skip the champagne and foreplay. Ride me over your kingdom, Zar.”
“Every minute with you is foreplay,” she rasps before she whips off her sweater, hikes up her skirt, straddles my legs, and folds down my boxers.
A goddamn fantasy.
“I can’t argue with that.” Those are the only words I manage for a while.
Her fingers wrap around my shaft, pumping a few times before she swipes her thumb through the leaking precum and helps herself to a taste.
My head lolls against the seat as I relinquish control, and as soon as she tracks that, she’s done playing.
With one fluid motion, she notches my adorned crown at her entrance, grips my shoulders, and sinks onto my length.
Her purr from the stretch meets my unfettered groan, and all of it is intoxicating.
She feels so good that I’m speechless, enamored by the breathtaking beauty I get to call mine over a city that we get to call ours. She swivels and rocks to a languid rhythm, finding a pace that is deserving of the majesty of our surroundings and a representation of all we’ve conquered.
A perilous flight of wonder and bliss.
I tweak her nipple through her lacy black bra to deliver the sting she craves, and she angles herself for the friction she needs on her clit. We fall into a cadence that harmonizes with the stars and the sky and the moonlit glow on the Mississippi River.
And after the harrowing climb to reach this height, all of it is effortless. All of it just fits. Trampling over the hurt and shame and pain we’ve lugged from our past lives to this new one we’ve forged together.
Healing and hope and freedom.
A wheel that always wins.
Latching on to the eyes that have challenged and restored me in equal measure, I smooth her mahogany mane away from her gorgeous face. “You … every part of you, Zar—your heart, your face, your spirit—is the most extraordinary thing I’ve ever seen.”