Epilogue Lexie
The entry door closes with a soft click, and my heartbeat immediately rises.
I tiptoe across the room as quietly as possible—which is not easy to do in these monstrous heels—and lean against the master suite bathroom door to wait.
Keys and a phone tossed onto a counter, shoes being removed, and a jacket getting hung up are the only faint sounds that travel into the room.
“Lexie? I’m home,” my husband calls out, and I bite back a smile.
My husband. I will never, ever get sick of saying that. We might be approaching our one-year anniversary, but I use the word “husband” as much as humanly possible.
Our engagement was the quickest in history.
Or at least in Shades of White history. Once Theo professed everything that day at the bed and breakfast, he proposed the next day.
Literally, the next day. I actually thought it was a joke.
I woke up the next morning to find hundreds and hundreds of flowers (I still don’t know how I slept through that) and Theo kneeling beside the bed.
Instead of proposing with a ring, he used one of my hair ties—no one can ever accuse him of not being romantic—and we spent the rest of the week shopping for rings.
After the shock wore off, I pointed out that literally less than forty-eight hours earlier, he was supposed to marry someone else. Wasn’t this a little fast, I’d asked. But he said he’d waited almost eight years to marry me and didn’t want to wait another second.
A month later, our wedding at Lake Welch was everything I could have wanted.
Justin was my best man, and Annabelle Theo’s maid of honor (yeah, I know, it’s backwards).
My mom and Dylan acted as witnesses, and Sydney was the officiant.
Everything was simple and tailored to us.
I decided to forgo shoes because of the sand; Theo wore a casual linen shirt and slacks.
We had a fabulous dinner on a bar patio with more wine than should be legal.
The only extravagant thing about the day was my dress.
Theo and I went back to the store where I’d tried on dresses for Annabelle and he bought the one he loved on me the most.
Oh, the look the saleswoman gave me when Theo referred to me as his fiancée when we’d asked for the dress…
I wasn’t sure if things would change once the exposé on Theo’s father finally got published in the Times.
Six months ago, Theo was tense, agitated, and fearful for the women leading up to the article.
And I thought he’d remain that way. But once the story dropped, it was like a decade-long weight had been lifted.
His father’s fall-out was swift. The school opened an investigation.
More women stepped forward. His literary agent and publisher dropped him, speeches that he was supposed to give at various corporations and colleges were canceled.
Theo’s mother remains steadfastly by his side, however, not to Theo’s surprise.
But when Dr. Astor was finally removed from his tenured position at the university last month—which apparently is near impossible to do—Theo and I took a quiet, weekend-long trip to Nantucket Island to let it all sink in.
Marriage to Theo has been much easier than I thought.
I used to secretly carry this fear that what we built was born out of infatuation and revenge, twisted into something obsessive—that it might fade once real life settled in.
But it hasn’t. If anything, I can’t get enough of my husband, and he very clearly can’t get enough of me.
Do we fight? Of course we do. Mostly about my packed schedule and Theo’s constant worry that I’m overexerting myself.
That, and he really, really doesn’t like other men touching me.
His jealousy simmers just beneath the surface, and I know exactly how much to push before he’ll exact punishment by spanking me red and angry fucking me just the way I like.
But, just as easily, he reads me like a manual. He knows when I need to be held instead of challenged and when I need quiet reassurance, whispered reminders of how much he loves me.
“Where are you?” Theo calls from the lower level. I hear the impatience in his voice at not having met him right away.
We’ve only lived in this place for a few months, and I’m still getting used to having stairs inside our home.
Inside! Do Theo and I really need to live in a four thousand square foot apartment overlooking the most beautiful lower Manhattan skyline?
No. It’s over the top, totally gluttonous, and completely impractical.
And also, really fucking amazing.
The place is a little closer to my mom, too, who flat-out refused our offer to buy her a new place.
She said her home holds too many memories, and she loves her community.
She did, however, agree to let us upgrade all her home furnishings and appliances, and didn’t need convincing to take us up on our offer to support her so she could finally retire.
Now, if I could only reclaim my title as her favorite child, that’d be great. I blame The Bachelorette for being my mom’s weakness and the one advantage Theo has over me, which they insist on watching together every week.
Whatever.
“Lex?” Theo calls again, more urgently.
“I’m upstairs,” I call back, biting back a smile.
“Working or studying?”
“Working,” I lie.
It’s a fair question. Ever since I enrolled in business school in the fall, my evenings have been split between work or studying.
I’m only taking a few credits this semester, but once we hire more staff at Shades of White, I plan to increase my course load to part-time.
Even though I don’t technically need to work, as Theo has reminded me more than once, the thought of not going to the office anymore broke my heart.
And now, with my promotion to lead coordinator, I’m happier at work than I’ve ever been.
And… insanely busy.
Last year, the Barlowe/Astor wedding fiasco exploded across New York gossip sites, spreading like wildfire through blogs, articles, endless reels.
Once word got out about how brilliantly the owner of the wedding planning company handled the fallout, Sydney was flooded with dozens of interview requests.
Within the next week, it seemed like everyone, and anyone, wanted to work with her.
Shades of White no longer needed to close its doors, but instead was able to double its staff to keep with the surge in business.
Which was the best news for everyone… except my deeply neglected husband.
The sounds of Theo jogging up the stairs and walking down the hall sends an excited thrill through me.
I lick my lips in anticipation, barely breathing as our bedroom door creaks open.
When Theo steps inside, he freezes. His heated, hungry gaze slides down me, inch by glorious inch. “Fuck, baby…” he says under his breath.
A blush springs to my cheeks. “You like?”
His hooded eyes darken as he takes in the way I’m leaning into the bathroom door in nothing but my thigh-high shiny leather boots, his stethoscope slung over my neck, and his white doctor jacket.
I’ve stuffed my hands in the pockets to bring the fabric together, covering his favorite part of me just enough.
“I fucking love.”
He storms over, but I step back, feeling the stiff fabric of the jacket lapels graze my nipples as I do. “Not so fast,” I say and his stormy, dark eyes narrow. “What do you say?”
The muscle in his jaw tenses. “Please.”
Christ, that one word fills my core with so much heat, I don’t know how long I’ll be able to hold out. “Again.”
He drags a hand over his mouth and exhales a rattled breath. “Please.”
Tingles spread through me from his look alone, and the dull ache in my pussy intensifies. I curl my finger to motion him forward. Even though he looks like a caged cheetah ready to pounce, my very obedient husband stops when I put up my hand.
My mouth waters as I take in the outline of his cock hardening in his jeans, the way his chest strains against his shirt, the crimson deepening in his neck veins. “First,” I say as I lick my lips. “I’d like to know what you intend to do to me.”
A devious grin shadows his face. “Oh, baby girl,” he says with a low, raspy growl.
“Are you sure you can handle what I have in mind?” He grips the jacket lapel.
My breath catches and I stumble forward a few inches.
He slowly drags his hands down, excruciatingly slowly, as his knuckles brush my nipples.
A warmth rushes through me. My nipples tighten, anticipating his mouth.
He lifts the stethoscope to my ears and presses in the earpiece.
“I want you to listen to how my touch makes you feel.”
When he presses the cool scope diaphragm to my warm chest, a shiver runs through me. Da dum. Da dum. Da dum. His fingertips brush my hair over my shoulder, and he presses his lips against my neck.
“Now, listen to how it beats when I do this,” he says as he trails kisses on my jaw, right below my ear, and along my collarbone.
Da dum. Da dum. Da dum. My eyes flutter closed. “Mmmmm…”
“Now,” he says with his warm mouth still skimming my neck, “what does it sound like when I reach that beautiful ass of yours?” His hand slides down the outside of the jacket until he reaches bare skin.
The single graze makes my pulse increase, and a thudding floods my eardrums.
“What about when I do this?” He grabs a solid chunk of my ass, and the rough, possessive grip makes my heartbeat thunder.
“Or this…” He reaches in between my warm, tingling thighs.
When his fingertips slide over my slickness, the thudding coming through the stethoscope grows feverish.
“That’s my beautiful wife… do you have any idea how much I love to feel how you’re ready for me? ”