Epilogue 1
NINA
Five months later …
The space still smelled of fresh paint and sawdust. Underneath, faint hints of the rich, bitter coffee from Reality Bites next door drifted through.
Our name, Clean Slate Branding & Strategy, gleamed on the glass door in matte-gold lettering.
Lincoln was crouched on the floor, adjusting the edge of a rug he insisted “pulled the whole space together with its mustard notes.” He’d know.
The thing looked plain yellow to me. He wore a charcoal suit with his sleeves shoved to his elbows and no tie, looking infuriatingly casual for someone about to schmooze BrightMark’s entire executive team.
I tried to focus on going over our talking points, but I couldn’t shake Vinny out of my mind.
I’d run into him last week outside the courthouse.
He’d spotted me before I could pretend I hadn’t seen him.
The man who’d once entered any room with the cool crew was nowhere in front of me.
He’d lost so much weight his suit hung off him.
Maybe he’d been living on borrowed confidence his whole life and he’d finally run out of it.
His eyes had that sleepless gloss, the one I’d known so well from those years I worked two and three jobs to get by.
He was running on fumes. Still, he’d smiled at me, a worn-out curve, and, even with his parents’ court date set, said he was happy the suit was going smoothly for me.
For all the things he could say, after the stunted greeting and well-wishes, all Vinny did was ask about Reality Bites.
“Do you still work for them?” he’d asked, his eyes fixed somewhere on my face but not my eyes.
“Kind of. They’re a client of ours.”
“And you still go there—to hang out? They’re doing well?” His question rushed out of his lips, a bit too eager for small talk between estranged cousins.
“Why are you so interested?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes I crave cupcakes.”
I’d wanted to ask a thousand questions myself. Mostly, I wanted to know why he seemed to not even have enough for his next meal. But I bit my tongue. He’d never taken anything off my shoulders, so I forced myself to let him carry his own burden. Vinny and his family had made their choices.
Warmth spread through me, pulling me back into the present when Lincoln’s hand smoothed over the front of my gown and rested low, right where my belly had begun to swell.
“Hey,” he murmured, “you with me?”
I nodded, covering his hand with mine.
“Thinking about the gala?” he asked, though his thumb tracing over the curve of my stomach told me he already knew it wasn’t about work.
“Thinking about a lot of things,” I admitted. “Carmen’ll be there.”
Lincoln’s mouth curved. “She’s trying to control the narrative after that whole scandal.”
I huffed. “You mean after she engineered the whole thing? I know her shtick now.”
Lincoln laughed. “My lips are sealed, babe.” His other hand came up, tipping my chin until I met his eyes. “Don’t do that thing where you worry about everyone but yourself.”
“Someone’s got to.”
He leaned in until his forehead brushed mine. “You’ve got enough to worry about,” he muttered, his voice rough. “Like our daughter kicking me through your ribs last night.”
“She’s pretty fond of you already,” I teased, but my throat felt tight. I leaned into him, breathing him in, letting myself settle into that feeling of safety.
Lincoln dipped his head and kissed me. Slow and deep, the way he did when he coaxed everything I couldn’t say until I poured it straight into him. When he finally pulled back, his mouth stayed a hairsbreadth from mine.
“You’ve thought about my offer, Reyes?” he murmured, voice a warm rasp against my lips.
“Yes,” I said, my fingers smoothing over his lapel. “Answer’s still no.”
He groaned low in his throat, dropping his forehead to my shoulder. All drama in this pretend mortal wound I’d just inflicted on him. But his kisses didn’t stop, an archipelago of them trailing the base of my neck, sending heat straight to my chest.
“How many times,” he said between kisses, “am I going to have to get on one knee?”
I tipped his chin up with one hand, brushing my thumb over the faint stubble on his jaw. “Are you saying you’ll stop?”
His mouth curled against my thumb. “Not until I get you to say yes.”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop my smile. “Hey, Lincoln—”
“Yeah, babe?”
“I love you.”
He froze. His Adam’s apple bobbed hard as his gaze searched my face, confirming he hadn’t imagined it. Then his arms crushed me against him, one hand splayed over the small of my back, the other cupping the back of my head as intending to hold me there forever.
“Nina …” His voice was hoarse, almost reverent. “I know. I also know it hasn’t been easy loving me … after everything. And it makes me feel even luckier that you’re mine. So kind. So relentless. Our daughter has the best role model.”
Something in my chest went molten. He’d told me he loved me already so many times and in so many ways, but he’d never told me he saw all of me: the messy, stubborn, terrified parts as I dove deeper in with him.
“What do you think about Villanelle?” he said into my ear.
“Villanelle?” I leaned back from his embrace to see his face, a crimson tint rising in his cheeks.
“Yeah. For our daughter.” He drifted his left arm to his own side, resting just above the ink I’d memorized by touch and heart. “It means ‘song.’”
This man of mine. I pushed my weight onto my toes just enough to brush my nose against his. “You know,” I whispered, “when you say things like that, you make it really hard not to marry you.”
His grin was wolfish, but his thumb stroked over my jaw as if to ground me.
He kissed me once, quick and sure, then straightened, offering me his arm.
“Then let’s go show them,” he said, his palm sliding over my belly on the way down, “how you run the best business and grow my baby so well at the same time.”
As he held the door open for me, his thumb brushing absently over the curve of my belly, I let myself take in the man at my side who had once been my worst enemy and was now my safest place.
I’d chosen him, chosen this life we were building brick by brick, client by client, choice by choice.
And in turn, he’d shown me I didn’t have to resign myself to waiting for the other shoe to drop. Alone.
So yes, soon, I’d put him out of his misery. I’d marry the obsessed bastard. But for now? He could sweat it out a little longer.