Epilogue
Rafael was shirtless. A towel slung criminally low around his hips. Muscles shifting, water trailing from his shower. A living hazard, and all hers.
Bea sat next to him on his bed, wrapped in his robe, drowning in the scent of him. Her legs were bare. Her hair was a crime scene. Her lips were swollen from the morning. Possibly the night before. Possibly this entire relationship.
Now he was stretching like a cat who knew it was king of the food chain. “How many people do you want to invite from Toronto to our wedding?”
Our wedding. The words sparked through her like champagne bubbles. The ring on her finger caught the light, casting blue fire across her knuckles. Proof she hadn’t imagined any of it.
Bea did a quick mental count. “Forty? Family, a few close friends.” She should probably tell them she was engaged first. Minor administrative detail. Easily fixed. Probably. “How about you?”
“Family, friends, business,” he calculated. “A couple hundred.”
She picked up one of his hands in both of hers, tracing the veins with her fingertips. “That’s a lot.”
“My parents would have double if it were up to them.”
“Will Theia and Theios be okay with us having a smaller wedding?”
“They’ll survive.” He slid her a glance. “Their real hope is that I give them a grandchild by the time I’m thirty.”
Her soul exited her body. She sat bolt upright. “You’re almost twenty-eight!”
“I am.” He didn’t even blink.
Despite the panic, her heart still managed a flutter. The kind that said: this is the man who could make you brave enough for anything.
“What if we’re not ready?” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “Or we’re not even married yet?”
His expression changed. “Why wouldn’t we be?”
“Don’t these things take time to plan?”
Rafael leaned farther back against the headboard, which had the side effect of lowering his towel another inch. Gravity clearly had no respect for her concentration. “If you think I’m waiting two years while you plan flower arrangements, you’re dead wrong.”
“A year, then.” She needed normal numbers. Rational timelines. Something to keep her heart rate under two hundred.
He made a sound that was part growl, all judgment. “A year’s too long.”
She blew some errant strands of hair off her face. “Fine. How long do you propose?”
Rafael held up five fingers.
“Five months?”
He shook his head. “Weeks.”
She laughed, certain he was kidding. “You can’t be serious.”
“Actually, I am. Any longer without being inside you, and I’d lose what’s left of my sanity.”
Bea inhaled her own saliva. “Wait. Are you suggesting we…abstain until we get married?”
“I heard it’s what you wanted. To be an old-fashioned bride in white.”
Claire Bear. The traitor.
“Is that what you wanted?” he asked, watching her.
In another life, another time, yes. She opened her mouth to say no, then stopped. Found herself nodding slowly instead. “That’s right.”
“Why?” His voice held curiosity, not judgment.
Bea took a breath. “I guess part of me assumes it’s what my parents expect of me, though they’ve never explicitly said so. And…I like being a good daughter.”
She paused, the idea growing once more in her mind as she spoke. “And even though that ship sailed a long time ago…there’s something romantic about it, isn’t there? It would make the wedding night more special.”
After a long moment, he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Umm…because you don’t strike me as a man who would willingly agree to abstinence.”
Rafael didn’t smile. He just watched her, green eyes steady. “Maybe not. But why couldn’t I try for you?”
There was no reply to that, just the throb of disbelief.
He brushed a stray hair from her face. “You keep expecting less from me than I want to give you. I want to be the man who gives you everything you want. Even if it kills me a little. Or in this case, a lot.”
Her heart ached. It was a long time before she could speak. “You’d really do that?”
“For you? Of course.” Then he smirked, ruining the moment entirely. “But you’re going to have to meet me halfway.”
“What do you mean?”
“You might have noticed I like sex. So we can’t have a long engagement. I won’t survive it.”
Bea giggled. “That’s fair. But five months is way too short. Everyone will need to sort out leave, visas, flights. Short notice means everything will be more expensive.”
“I’ll pay for their tickets, transport, and accommodation.” He said it like fact, not flex. Solving the impossible with obscene generosity.
“That would be…expensive,” she finished lamely.
“Don’t deny your family and friends the pleasure of a free holiday,” he said, kissing her briefly, as if he couldn’t help himself. “I work hard so we can do whatever the hell we want.”
“How about…four months?” she suggested. Four months sounded at least borderline respectable. Also, survivable. Barely.
“You really want to go four months without sleeping with me?”
She hadn’t thought of it like that. Her pulse answered before her mouth could. Rafael moved, body hovering temptingly over hers. His lips found her neck. The window for rational negotiation was quickly evaporating, and so was her willpower.
“Th-three months?” she asked breathlessly, tilting her head back to give him better access.
His hand cupped her breast, kneading gently until it puckered beneath his touch. She crossed her legs and immediately regretted the friction.
“Try again, little Bea.”
She moaned softly. Her brain went to static. The only number left was whatever kept him doing this.
“Weeks. Eleven—ten,” she whispered. “We can plan a wedding in ten weeks, right?”
“We can make anything happen in ten weeks.”
Her hands slid down both sides of his chest, tracing the line of muscle like a woman inviting trouble on purpose. “When does the abstinence period start?”
His grin was wolfish. “Tomorrow.”