Epilogue MATEO
"If anyone puts kale in my blender one more time, I swear to all that is holy..."
I glare accusingly at the green sludge in our otherwise perfectly good blender.
"It's spirulina," Ethan says without looking up from his laptop at the kitchen table, sunlight catching in his dark hair. "And it's good for you."
"It's an abomination," I counter, dumping the offensive mixture down the sink. "People who drink this voluntarily should be studied by science."
Ethan's mouth quirks in that way it does when he's trying not to smile. "Not everyone can survive on coffee and charm like you, Mateo."
I press a hand to my chest in mock offense. "My metabolism is a gift. I'm just sharing it with the world."
Declan grunts from where he's stretched out on our oversized couch, reading glasses perched improbably on his nose as he thumbs through a battered paperback.
The scar on his face catches the light as he turns a page.
"Your metabolism is going to catch up with you one day, and I'm going to enjoy every minute of it. "
"Such violence from a man of peace," I sigh dramatically.
It's been a year since we moved to this sprawling house on the Portuguese coast. A year of sea breezes through open windows, of mismatched furniture collected from local markets, of building a life together that none of us thought possible.
Beyond the wide windows, the Atlantic stretches blue and endless, crashing against the rocky cliffs below our property.
We're twenty minutes from the nearest village.
Close enough for necessities, far enough for privacy.
The locals know us, of course. The famous photographer and her three.
.. partners? Bodyguards? Husbands? They don't ask, and we don't explain.
They just wave and smile and occasionally bring us too much food.
Cross Security has exploded in the past year.
So much demand that Ethan had to triple the staff and move operations to a sleek new building in Lisbon.
He complains about being stuck behind a desk now, but I catch him smiling at his computer sometimes, watching the company we built thrive beyond his wildest expectations.
Declan trains the new recruits, putting them through their paces with his particular brand of quiet intensity. They're terrified of him for the first week, then ready to die for him by the second. Some things never change.
Me? I'm technically "head of digital security," but we all know I'm here for the views and the company. And to keep these three impossible people from losing their minds without me.
The sound of tires on gravel makes us all perk up. Declan closes his book. Ethan shuts his laptop. And I'm already halfway to the door before it swings open.
Jade steps in, backlit by afternoon sunshine, copper hair windblown and face flushed with color. She's wearing worn jeans, hiking boots, and one of Declan's flannel shirts that's been missing for weeks, camera bag slung over her shoulder.
God, she's beautiful.
"There she is," I announce, sweeping her into my arms. "Sin Jay herself, scourge of dictators and darling of the art world. How many government officials did you piss off this time, mi reina?"
She laughs, melting into my embrace before leaning back to look at my face. "Only two. I'm losing my touch."
I kiss her soundly, tasting salt and sunshine. "I missed you."
"You saw me three days ago," she points out, but her smile says she missed me too.
"Three days too long," Ethan says, coming to claim his own kiss. His hands frame her face with that gentle possessiveness that still makes my heart ache a little. "The house is too quiet without you."
Declan doesn't say anything, just wraps his massive arms around her from behind, burying his face in her hair. Some things are better said without words.
She's been in Angola for the past few days, documenting the effects of land mine removal.
Another in the series of projects that have cemented Sin Jay as one of the most important photographers of our time.
When Jade finally went public with her identity last year, the art world lost its collective mind.
The mysterious photographer who'd captured everything from war zones to climate disasters was the same woman who'd graced magazine covers for a decade?
The exhibition of her work broke attendance records at galleries around the world.
"Gloria called," I tell her, taking her camera bag. "Three times. Something about the London exhibition needing final approval on the installation design."
"Of course she did," Jade sighs, but there's fondness in her voice. Gloria still runs Jade's professional life with terrifying efficiency, now from an office in Lisbon where she can also keep an eye on Cross Security. We're all a little afraid of her, honestly.
"And Sophie sends her love from Greece," Ethan adds. "Apparently she's fallen in love with a fisherman. Or possibly a family of fishermen. The text was unclear."
Jade laughs. "That sounds like Sophie." Her former assistant now travels the world as her advance scout, securing permits and access for Jade's projects. Last we heard, she was indeed exploring the polyamorous possibilities of a Greek fishing village. Good for her.
"Hungry?" I ask, guiding Jade toward the kitchen. "I was just about to make dinner before someone violated my blender with pond scum."
"Starving," she admits, dropping into a chair at the oversized farmhouse table where we take most of our meals. "Airline food is still airline food, even in first class."
I set about preparing a proper welcome-home meal, pulling ingredients from our well-stocked fridge while Jade recounts stories from her trip.
Ethan asks questions about security protocols.
Once a bodyguard, always a bodyguard. Declan listens quietly, offering the occasional observation that makes us all stop and think.
This is our life now. This rambling house with its creaky floors and salt-weathered shutters. These conversations around a table bathed in golden light. This family we've created, unlikely and unconventional as it may be.
"So," Jade says casually as I place a plate of garlic shrimp in front of her, "I figured out why I've been so tired lately."
"The fact that you work too hard?" Ethan suggests, eyebrow raised.
"The fact that you insist on chasing danger around the globe?" I offer, setting down my own plate.
"The fact that you never say no to anything?" Declan adds, his deep voice rumbling with amusement.
She smiles, a mysterious curl of lips that makes me pause with my fork halfway to my mouth.
"Actually," she says, taking a deliberate sip of water, "I'm pregnant."
The clatter of my fork hitting the plate seems impossibly loud in the sudden silence.
"You're..." Ethan starts, then stops, blue eyes wide.
"Pregnant," she confirms, watching our reactions with that photographer's eye that misses nothing.
"As in... a baby?" I ask stupidly.
She laughs. "That is typically how it works, yes."
"How long have you known?" Declan asks, his voice softer than I've ever heard it.
"I suspected before I left for Angola. I confirmed it yesterday." Her hands rest lightly on the table, steady and sure. "I'm about eight weeks along."
"And you're... happy?" Ethan asks carefully.
Her smile widens, eyes bright with unshed tears. "I am. Very much. But what about you three? This wasn't exactly in our plans."
"Plans change," Declan says simply.
"A baby," I repeat, the reality finally sinking in. A grin spreads across my face, wide and unstoppable. "Mi reina is having a bebé!"
I'm on my feet in an instant, pulling Jade from her chair into a spinning hug that has her laughing and protesting.
"Careful with her," Ethan warns, but he's smiling too, a rare full smile that transforms his face.
When I set her down, his arms are waiting, wrapping around her with tender care. "We'll need to upgrade security," he murmurs against her hair. "Baby-proof everything. Convert the east bedroom..."
"Already planning," she says, reaching up to touch his face. "But we have time."
Declan is last, rising from his chair with deliberate calm. But when Jade moves into his arms, I see the tremble in his massive hands as they cradle her against his chest.
"Thank you," he whispers, so quiet I barely hear it.
Dinner is forgotten as we pepper her with questions. Who will the baby look like? When is she due? Does she want to know the gender? Will this change her work plans?
"I don't know, January, not yet, and no," she answers, laughing. "I'm still going to work, just... maybe fewer war zones for a while."
"You're damn right about that," Ethan mutters, which earns him an eye roll from Jade.
"I am perfectly capable of making responsible decisions," she insists. "I had already decided to focus on the climate series next year anyway. Less danger, more impact."
We migrate to the living room as the sun begins its descent, casting long shadows across the wooden floors. Jade curls against Declan on the couch, her feet in my lap, Ethan perched on the arm beside her.
As darkness falls, the conversation shifts from practical matters to softer things. Dreams. Hopes. A future expanding to include someone new.
"I never thought I'd have this," Jade admits, her voice quiet in the dim room. "A family. A home. People I trust completely."
"Well, you're stuck with us now," I tell her, squeezing her ankle gently. "All of us."
Ethan's hand finds her shoulder. "No matter what."
Declan presses a kiss to her temple. "Always."
Later, when the dishes are abandoned and the house is bathed in moonlight, we make our way upstairs to the sprawling master bedroom that somehow fits all four of us. Jade moves to the center of the bed, her rightful place, and we follow like planets drawn into her orbit.
I kiss her first, slow and deep, my hands finding the buttons of the flannel shirt she stole from Declan. "If I'd known pregnancy would make you even more beautiful," I murmur against her neck, "I'd have knocked you up months ago."
She laughs, a musical sound that turns into a gasp as Ethan's mouth finds the sensitive spot behind her ear.
"You're impossible," she tells me, but her hands are already working on my belt.
"You love it," I remind her, pushing the shirt from her shoulders.
"God help me, I do."
Declan gently turns her face toward him, his kiss more tender than the ones she's sharing with me and Ethan, but no less heated. His large hands span her waist with careful reverence.
"You need to rest," he says, even as his eyes darken with desire.
"I will," she promises, reaching for him. "Later."
What follows is a symphony we've perfected over the past year. Hands and mouths and bodies moving together in perfect harmony. I worship the curve of her breast while Ethan claims her mouth. Declan kisses his way down her stomach with devotion.
She arches between us, glowing in the moonlight, more radiant than I've ever seen her. When she comes apart under our combined attention, crying out into the night, I think: This is what happiness feels like. This exact moment.
Much later, tangled in sheets and each other, breathing finally slowed, I rest my hand on the flat plane of her stomach. Beneath my palm lies a miracle none of us saw coming, but all of us welcome.
"Te amo, mi reina," I whisper against her skin.
"We all do," Ethan adds, his arm thrown protectively across her waist.
Declan, already half-asleep, simply pulls her closer.
Outside our windows, the Atlantic crashes against the cliffs, constant and powerful. Inside, in this bed, in this room, in this house we've made our own, something equally powerful has taken root.
A family. Unconventional, unexpected, unbreakable.
And growing by one.