Epilogue
SEVEN MONTHS LATER
Emmy
My birthday party – part one – is in full swing.
All the kids, all the cake, all the frosting.
Josh even got a pinata. Annabel’s holding court, introducing baby Ellora to all her cuddly toys and Barbies from the safety of Priya’s lap while Nick hovers nearby with a muslin and wet wipes.
The twins are pulling the leaves off most of my houseplants.
Part two will be a much more private affair at Salt, but none of our friends and family need to know about that. I smile to myself and bite my lip.
Sloane and Chloe are deep in conversation in the corner; judging by Sloane’s gestures, she’s either retelling a recent night at Salt or demonstrating how to stuff a Thanksgiving turkey.
Annabel gasps and starts singing Happy Birthday and I look up to see Luke walking slowly towards me with a big white cake. It’s decidedly less wonky than last year’s, though the chef has about as much experience as Annabel.
Luke gives me a lopsided smile as I grin up at him. He insisted on making the cake himself, much to Annabel’s chagrin, and he’s done a decent job. Hopefully it won’t be raw in the middle.
He sets it down on the coffee table before me and sits next to me, a look of love on his face.
“Make a wish!” Annabel shouts.
I dutifully close my eyes and blow out the candles. Luke’s hand squeezes my thigh and I swear I feel it in my core.
I make a wish, but it’s already come true by the time I open my eyes.
Luke
We stay at Salt long past closing time. After lots of birthday dancing and a special performance from Gloria, Emmy and I closed up the club together before I led her back down to the stage.
Only the soft glow of the stage lights lingers, washing the room in warm amber.
The formal outfits are long gone and we’re dressed down, ready to go home.
Emmy leans against the edge of the stage, her feet dangling, sipping the last of her margarita. She looks decadent and defiant, all long legs and coy smiles, like she owns the place. Like she owns me.
“When you said part two of my birthday would be at Salt,” she says, swirling the glass, “I thought we’d be in one of the playrooms.”
“I thought it was time we gave this stage a better memory,” I reply, pulling the ropes from the wooden chest I tucked away on the edge of the stage. Her eyes darken instantly, recognition flashing in them.
Her lips part, a flush rising to her cheeks. She sets the glass aside and straightens her spine, pulse visibly fluttering at her throat. I stalk toward her slowly, deliberately, and when I reach her, I press my mouth to hers in a kiss that’s all heat.
When I pull back, her eyes are glassy, her breathing ragged.
“Hands behind your back, birthday girl.”
She obeys, the ropes biting gently into her wrists as I knot them with practised precision. Every loop is slow, deliberate – not for show, not for anyone else. Just for us.
She shivers, a whimper escaping her throat as I slide the final knot home and press her back against the stage. I kiss her again, hard, swallowing every sound she makes, every plea, every promise.
I take my time unravelling her, drinking in every delicious moment as she surrenders to me. I can barely breathe for how beautiful she is. For how lucky I am.
And when she finally comes apart, gasping my name in the very heart of the kingdom I built, I feel my heart soar with the joy of her pleasure. She beams at me as she comes down and gives me a long, lazy kiss.
We’re quiet for a while after that, wrapped in each other’s arms on Salt’s stage. And as I hold her close – tonight, tomorrow, and for all the days to come – I silently promise that I’ll never let go.
The End