Epilogue - Next Valentine’s Day
EPILOGUE - NEXT VALENTINE’S DAY
Lety
Valentine’s Day still sucks, but I guess this year it’s tolerable.
I had wanted to do business as usual, but as I was getting ready to work this morning—using the spare bathroom because our primary bathroom is undergoing renovations—César popped his head in, buttoning up his shirt.
He had told me not to go into work, treating Valentine’s Day like it’s freaking Christmas and not some overly priced commercial holiday.
“And miss hearing about Melanie’s fake boyfriend? Not a chance, buddy,” I had said, adding a few curls to my hair.
“They broke up,” he said casually, like he didn’t just drop a steaming cup of piping hot tea.
I had slammed the curling wand on the counter, whirling on him. “When? How the hell do you know?”
César just shrugged, and for all his strengths, he is, unfortunately, still a man, so naturally he gave me little information other than she was crying in his office one morning and he had to send her home.
Reluctantly, I agreed to stay home, promising not to leave the house—our house.
It’s still feels so strange to say that.
I’m living with my boyfriend. More surprisingly, I love it.
I had thought moving in with César would steal away some of my independence, but it hasn’t.
If anything, it’s not only strengthened our relationship, but strengthened me as a person.
If someone would have said that to me last Valentine’s Day, I would have called them delusional.
It still feels like a fantasy. One I never have to wake up from.
Even though I agreed to stay home, César still claimed he needed to leave.
He didn’t say he had to go into work, but he also didn’t tell me what he was scheming.
And he’s definitely scheming something. It’s my man’s favorite day of the year.
Despite my shitty attitude toward Valentine’s Day, I have to admit, even I’m a little excited for what he’s planning.
Just a little.
With nothing else pressing this morning, I’m considering batching some content for DesireDen.
The idea both excites and unsettles me. Even though César said he was okay with me keeping the account, a part of me still doesn’t believe him.
He’s a possessive man—fiercely so—and I’ve been waiting for the moment that possessiveness would spill over into jealousy.
It never made sense to me that he’d be fine with me undressing for the camera, touching myself for an audience of faceless subscribers.
The thought alone used to make my heart race—not with desire, but with dread.
I kept expecting the other shoe to drop.
For him to slam the door shut on this part of my life.
For the fights to start. For the inevitable choice: give up the thing that makes me feel powerful and in control of my body or give up the man who makes me feel seen and wanted in a completely different way.
And yet, that moment never came. No angry ultimatums. No icy silence. Just his word and the terrifying possibility that he might actually mean it. Even when I tried to guilt trip myself into deleting my account, César would adamantly refuse, knowing it wasn’t what I truly wanted.
I loved this man. Body and soul. I think he knows it; I just haven’t told him that yet. But I will. Today. It seems like a fitting day to make proclamations of love. Consider me in the spirit.
The doorbell rings, pulling me from my thoughts. I frown as I realize I’m not expecting anyone and pull my phone out to check the camera—something César insisted we need for surveillance. I actually sort of love it.
My screen fills with an array of colorful flowers, and a short, skinny man struggling to hold the arrangement nearly half his size. Not wanting him to keel over and ruin what I suspect to be mine, I hurry to answer the door. The relief in his eyes is almost comical when he sees me.
“Are you Ms. Zavala?” the man asks, before promptly sneezing into his arm. “Sorry, flowers give me the worst allergies.”
“Seems to me you’re in the wrong business then.”
The man just shrugs. “So, are you Ms. Zavala? These are getting heavy.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s me.” I go to take the arrangement from him, and he hands it over, along with a pink card. He doesn’t bother saying bye before taking off toward his white van with “Flowers For All Occasions” in bright, bubbly letters on the side.
Using my hip to close the front door, I take the giant assortment inside and head for the kitchen. I still stand by what I said the first time I ever saw this house; it’s so damn big. But we have somehow managed to fill the space, exchanging the model house it once looked like for a homier space.
I place the vase in the center of our dining room table, turning it until it’s just right. I adjust the flowers slightly—spreading the petals, fluffing a few stems—until the bouquet looks full and inviting.
He got my favorite flowers, peonies and hydrangeas. I didn’t even know I had favorite flowers until I started dating him. Who knew?
The card is still in my hand. The outside is pink with “mi reina” printed in cursive on the front. My heart swells as I open the note, racing to read every word. There’s not much to it.
Be ready in an hour. Wear that red dress I like.
An hour? This man will be the death of me with his bizarre deadlines and cryptic messages. Though I can’t deny the thrill spreading through my body.
Oh, he’s definitely up to something.
Not wanting to waste any more precious time, I rush to our bedroom on the second floor.
Luckily, my hair and makeup are mostly done from this morning.
The red dress in question hangs in the back of my closet.
I strip down to my panties and bra before gently taking the dress off the hanger and sliding it on my body.
It’s a tight fit, more so than usual. It’s true what they say about gaining weight in a happy relationship.
It would be more if not for the amazing—and sweaty—sex we have almost nightly.
Zipping up the dress took a Herculean effort, and by the time I’m done, I’m panting as if I just went for a morning jog. Once my breathing is normal, I head to the spare bathroom to touch up my hair and makeup, taking a quick photo of myself to send to César.
He responds not even a minute later.
Fucking beautiful. I’m coming to get you now.
My body buzzes with excitement. I feel giddy, like a teenager waiting for their prom date. Is this how other people feel on Valentine’s Day? I guess I understand the hype now.
Not knowing how far away he is, I grab matching red heels and add the diamond earrings he bought me last month for my birthday. One last look in the mirror, and I’m definitely feeling myself. I feel hot. I would definitely fuck myself.
A bell chimes from downstairs, signaling the front door has opened.
My heart stumbles in my chest, and it takes every ounce of restraint I have not to race to slide down the banister like a lovesick puppy.
I force myself to take the stairs like an adult—slow, measured steps—but the second I spot César, the breath catches in my throat.
It’s only been a few hours since I last saw him, yet I ached for this.
For him. Just the sight of him settles something deep inside me.
With him, I feel safe. Whole. Like I’ve finally found home.
Sensing me staring at him, César turns, lips lifting into the smile he reserves solely for me. It’s full of love and adoration, something that has taken me far too long to accept. But now that I have, it’s my favorite thing to see.
“Get down here so I can admire you properly.”
At his command, I take the last few steps and make my way across the living room until I’m standing a few feet in front of him.
His eyes roam my body, slowly moving from my face, all the way down to my toes and back up again.
His eyes darken, tension hanging heavy between us.
Will it always be like this? Wanting to rip each other’s clothes off and fuck like rabbits?
God, I hope so.
César closes the distance between us, resting his hand on my hip. That small gesture sends tremors and heat racing down my spine. My body scorches from his touch. “A fucking vision. That’s what you are, Lety. I’m so damn lucky.”
“Yes, you are,” I say, far too breathlessly to sound unaffected by his words.
He smirks, knowing exactly what he does to me. “Did you like the flowers?”
And because I’m a brat, I say, “I did, but I was disappointed there wasn’t any chocolate. Don’t they kind of go together?”
“Oh, there’ll be chocolate, mi reina. But not until tonight, when I can lick it off that sexy body.”
His words heat my core, and my cheeks flush. The asshole just laughs, clearly liking me wound up for him.
“Do you want to know what I have planned for us?” he asks, brushing a loose strand of hair out of my face.
“I do,” I whisper, distracted by the way he licks his lips as he takes me in.
“I went all out for Valentine’s Day. I’m certain you’ll hate every moment of it,” he teases.
I’m salivating at the mouth to know. “Tell me.”
“I’m taking you to an overpriced restaurant downtown.”
“Mm, a traditional man. I like it. Keep going.”
“Dessert will obviously have to come next.”
“Obviously. Bonus points if it’s chocolate-covered strawberries.”
“And then…” He hums, closing the gap between us. He rests his free hand on the curve of my ass, squeezing lightly. I let out an involuntary groan. “And then I’m taking you to the cabin I just bought.”
My brow furrows. Out of everything I thought he’d say, I didn’t imagine that. “You bought a cabin?”
“For us.” He nods like it’s a normal thing to do.
His eyes then pierce mine, looking into my soul.
“Because you once told me you wish you had an escape sometimes. A place where you could go and forget the world when you felt like running. So, mi reina, if you ever feel the need to run, you have somewhere to go. And I swear I’ll be right behind you. Forever. You’ll never be alone.”
Tears sting my eyes as a tidal wave of emotions crashes over me, nearly stealing my breath.
How long have I been aching for this—for someone to truly see me?
The raw, messy, complicated parts of me.
The not-so-pretty parts. Not just tolerate them but accept them.
Embrace them. I’ve spent so long bracing for rejection, ready to run the moment I felt too exposed.
But César? He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t look at me like I’m too much.
Like I’m not enough. He sees straight through to the heart of me and doesn’t turn away.
Instead, he bought us a place to run away to together. Always together.
“I love you.” The words are out before I can stop them. César’s hand, which had moved to play with my hair, freezes and his body tenses.
This is not how I wanted to tell him. There was supposed to be a grand gesture. After dinner, under the stars. Something. Not here in the middle of the living room with tears in my eyes.
After what feels like an eternity, César finally speaks. “Say it again.”
This time, I’m prepared. I look directly into his eyes, seeing him like he sees me. “I love you, César. I have for a while now. You’ve made me feel loved, seen, safe. The only place I want to run to is your arms every night. I love you, baby.”
I want to scream and shout it now that the words are out in the open. They don’t feel adequate enough for how I feel, and I wonder if this is how he felt the first time he said it.
Then César grabs my face between his hands and crashes us together.
His lips meet mine in a searing kiss I feel all the way down to my bones.
He kisses me like I’m his life force. The only thing keeping him alive.
I cling to him. Desperate. Needing him not only to hear the words, but feel them, too.
“Say it one more time,” he murmurs against my lips. “Please, Lety.”
This time, it’s my turn to caress his cheek, feeling the rough stubble on my palm. “I love you, César Estrada.”
“And I love you, mi reina. I love you so fucking much.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby,” I say through my tears.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Lety.”
He then kisses me like a promise—slow, deep, and full of everything we’ve survived to get here. In his arms, I’m not just loved. I’m seen, wanted, and cherished. I’m his in every aspect of the word. In every way a person can be.
And for the first time in a long time, I know I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.