Epilogue
Seven Years Later…
Harley barked from downstairs as the rain hammered off the enormous panes of glass. He had become exceptionally overprotective since the little people had arrived. There would be no blondes, or anyone else sneaking in these days.
The weak, wintery morning rays filtered through the cracks of the blackout blinds, naturally rising me from a deep, drowsy slumber.
It was almost unheard of in those days to wake naturally.
I stretched my arms lazily over my head, hearing my shoulders click before stashing my hands back under the comfort of the warm covers, not yet ready to fully open my eyes and face the day ahead.
The sheets were freshly laundered, the familiar comforting scent of fabric softener emitting from the soft linen brushing against my naked skin.
Life had been unbelievably kind to us. I never imagined feeling so complete. I was more at home here than I’ve ever been, anywhere else in the world. And that was because of him. John’s arms were my home, and I would never leave.
Seven years on, I still felt it; that powerful stirring itch tormenting me, indescribable in its nature, so distinct. It began in the lower part of my tummy, creeping slowly through me, awakening every single sleepy cell with desire.
I was sure it would have faded at that stage, providing me with long term relief, but no, he was as magnetic as before, pulling me in, daring me to scratch it, despite the situation, despite the time constraints, despite my new role.
I patted the mattress next to me until I found him, oblivious and unconscious, a full night’s sleep a rarity these days.
His skin felt smooth under my fingers as I traced the hairline of his belly button, stroking him softly, snuggling my knees into that familiar position behind him, nuzzling his neck until he began to stir. He was as responsive as ever.
‘What time is it?’ Hooded eyes squinted at me as he turned to kiss my lips. ‘Almost eight,’ I said.
‘And are they still alive?’ he murmured with surprise.
‘Both snoring still, thank God.’ I checked the monitor again, just in case.
I took my husband in my arms, he felt every bit as delicious as he always had. I kissed him slowly, enjoying the feel of him, the scent of his skin and the taste of his mouth on mine.
These moments had been less frequent of late, since we’d had the two babies, but the connection was just as strong as ever.
Time was the issue. We often joked we had more time together when we lived in separate countries, at least the time we had was our own.
But we were so lucky, so grateful and so privileged to have a healthy boy and a beautiful baby girl across the hall from us. Grateful and tired!
I twisted my chunky diamond wedding band round the fourth finger on my left hand, the memory of our wedding three years earlier flashing through my mind.
It had been a beautiful September day, an intimate civil ceremony with only John’s parents, my mum and her new partner, Steve, as witnesses.
Our close friends and neighbours had joined us in our after celebration.
They said it would never last.
It was impossible.
It was improbable.
It was unlikely.
Yet there we were, seven years later, that powerful attraction still drawing me in, that gorgeous, determined Irishman still surprising me with the love he had not only for me, but for our beautiful children too.
He was still the strongest man I’d ever met, my absolute rock from the very beginning. His strength gave me strength and that was only one of the many reasons why I had so much respect for him, why I loved him so much.
I was his from the first night I met him and I would always be his. It mightn’t have been the smoothest or the easiest path to true love. But for us, that was what it was.