Epilogue
Rayne
The mahogany desk in the Mayor’s office looks exactly as it did four years ago, but the nameplate has changed.
Rayne Webber.
I’d spent forty-eight months growing my grassroots following, doing good work in the community, and blocking Diablo’s bulldozing efforts whenever they threatened our sustainability.
I even got my Femme Magazine feature in their Changemakers issue—proof that the work mattered long before winning the race.
Still, when Diablo’s term was up, we ran it back. Anika returned as my campaign manager, and DK stepped in as chief strategist. It was an exhausting, relentless run. But it was all worth it the moment I stood at the podium last week and gave my acceptance speech.
I trail my fingers over the polished wood of the desk. The heavy weight of the mayoral medallion is off my neck, and sitting proudly on the display shelf. The swearing-in ceremony last night was a blur of flashing cameras, victorious applause, and my dad wiping tears from his eyes in the front row.
Now, on a Saturday afternoon, the office is a tomb. Empty except for us and a stack of cardboard boxes waiting to be unpacked.
DK walks in, and my heart still does the exact same stuttering flip it did the first time I saw him. He’s as handsome as ever, his eyes crinkling with pride behind his lenses, so fierce it warms me from across the room.
Balanced against his chest, looking entirely unbothered by the gravity of City Hall, is our nine-month-old daughter.
“There’s Mommy Mayor,” DK murmurs. “The new boss wasn’t impressed by the tour. She’s demanding executive action regarding her lunch.”
“Come here, my sweet girl,” I coo, reaching out my arms.
He transfers her to me, and she immediately roots against my top, her tiny hands smacking impatiently at my chest. We named her Zola—after one of Gogo’s names—which means peaceful.
Zoe for short. While she didn’t earn her name during those sleepless, collicky first months, she is the absolute joy of our lives.
Chubby like a little Butterball, and as cute as can be.
A perfect blend of our features and personalities—his quiet determination and my stubborn passion.
I sit down in the plush leather chair and unclip my nursing bra, easing Zoe into place.
She latches instantly, her brown eyes with her father’s thick lashes fluttering shut in pure contentment.
DK stands over us, the pad of his thumb gently tracing the curve of my cheek.
Just watching us exist seems to give him pleasure.
The last four years have been a beautiful whirlwind in building a life together. It hasn’t always been seamless, but we smoothed out the rough spots with honest communication and humor that has always been our thing.
After leaving the campaign trail, DK launched his own political and legal consulting firm.
It’s thriving, with a remote staff spread across three time zones.
He works from home eighty percent of the time, mapping out strategies in his sweatpants instead of pocket squares, while Zoe naps on his chest. He only travels for the remaining twenty percent—though he’s cut that down drastically ever since our girl came into our lives.
DK reaches into the diaper bag, pulling out the bottle of Veuve Clicquot, the one he bought me four years ago—the one I told him I was saving for my win. It’s been sitting in the cold cellar of our new house all this time, waiting.
“Aw… you remembered.”
“Of course I did,” he says, a slow smile catching his lips. He pops the cork with a quiet, practiced thwump. Trust my man to pull out two real champagne flutes out of the bag too. He pours just a small splash into a mine, since I’m nursing. He hands it to me, then raises his.
“To Mayor Webber,” he says, his voice thick with love and admiration. “Bayside is lucky to have you at the helm. Congratulations, my wife. My queen. My Mnandi Luna.”
A wave of emotion tightens my throat and springs tears to my eyes.
Our gazes lock as our glasses clink. I take a tiny sip.
It’s crisp, sweet, and tastes exactly like a hard-fought victory.
“Technically, you have a new title now too, First Gentleman.” I glance down at my precious girl, then back up at him. “But… I think I prefer First Daddy.”
A low, rumbling chuckle echoes in his chest. His gaze darkens, dropping to the exposed curve of my breast where Zoe is drifting off into a milk coma.
He waits until she’s fast asleep, then gently takes her from my arms, and lays her in her portable bassinet in the corner of the room.
I start to button my blouse back up, but before I can get the first one through the loop, his hand covers mine, stopping me.
He leans down, and takes my still damp nipple straight into the warmth of his mouth.
“DK,” I gasp. It’s a plea, not a complaint.
He leaves me only long enough to lock the door as a precaution. When he returns, the raw, primal look in his eyes sends a rush of wetness between my legs.
“You’ve spent four years fighting for this room, Luna. It’s officially yours.” He grips my waist and lifts me onto the edge of the desk. “Seems only right that we christen it.”
“Mmm… You were reading my mind.” I circle my arms around his neck, pulling him down into a deep, breathless kiss that tastes like everything we’ve survived to get here.
He drags his teeth across my bottom lip until I’m whimpering. My fingers fly to the zipper of his jeans to free him, while he pushes my skirt up past my hips.
My panties disappear, and when he slides into me, the friction is hot, slow, and perfect. Connected. Joined. Not just our bodies, but our hearts and souls, marking this spot that now belongs to us.
No more counting time. No more counting ballots. Just this life together, counting on each other.