Epilogue
April
She’s the most beautiful bride that’s ever graced the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens. Hell, she’s the most beautiful bride that’s ever graced the Earth. I can’t keep my eyes off her. Her dress hugs her gorgeous tits and her slim hips then trains out behind her. And the corset style in the back is f*ck hot. I can’t wait to undress her later. Though, when I finally get the chance, I have a feeling those ties will be more frustrating than sexy.
Though sometimes the frustration is half the fun.
And it’s necessary. “Without struggle there is no progress,” Alayna loves to tell me. It’s a quote she learned in her counseling that she feels suits us fairly frequently. She’s said it so many times in the last nine months that I was almost surprised it wasn’t embroidered on our wedding napkins.
Honestly, the truth that lies in that simple statement is astounding. Though I am a man of commitment, a man who doesn’t walk away from a challenge, I am the first to admit that the road from our engagement to our wedding was paved with boulders and potholes. Even though she said yes on that day back in August, there were many times I’m sure she was tempted to break it off afterward. Moments when I shut down and forgot how to let her in. Days when I pushed her away because I believed that I could never be worthy of her love.
Then there was the biggest issue of all—trust. I’d shattered every ounce of trust that existed between us, and rebuilding it took time. And therapy. Not just for myself, but for us as a couple. I’d thought working out my own problems was hard. Adding another person to the mix added a whole new dimension of struggle.
There was so much healing to be done, wounds that threatened to never scar over. Embracing Alayna’s obsessive tendencies was natural for me, but I have had to learn how to not overly attach myself to her jealousies and insecurities. It can become enabling and as much as it’s a turn-on to have her need me, I love her all the more when she’s whole on her own. When she’s strong and confident.
My healing has been much more tenuous. Abandoning the game I’d played for a lifetime proved the easiest part. With Alayna in my life, I have no desire to be cruel and heartless like that again. But my inclination to manipulate and master runs deeper. I don’t even recognize when I’m molding a situation to my whims. Alayna, kind and forgiving woman that she is, often doesn’t point out when I’m wielding and dominating. A great deal of the time, she even likes it. But she also doesn’t wish to give too much power to my weaknesses. So she calls me on it more and more, and I in turn attempt to let go. To let things run their natural course.
That has been the most difficult part for me, the hardest component of recovery.
But the progress has been amazing. We wouldn’t be here today if it hadn’t been for the steps we took together to strengthen our relationship. And while I’m sure the struggle isn’t over simply because I’ve slipped a ring on her finger, we know that we’re worth the fight.
She’s worth the fight.
Look what my reward has been? Even without our wedding vows, she’s mine. And I’m hers. Completely and absolutely.
The ceremony was simple—that’s how she wanted it, and her wish is my command. Mirabelle and Liesl and Gwen, who has become a surprisingly good friend to Alayna, stood as her bridesmaids. Their pale pink dresses exactly matched the blossoms on Alayna’s veil and in the garden. How Mirabelle managed that, I’ll never know. I’ll thank her later for her contributions to my wife’s day.
My wife.
I’ll never get tired of saying that—wife. Who would have believed that I’d ever have one of those? I’d never been a man who intended to marry. My mother and father didn’t present a pretty picture of matrimony, and I had no understanding of the concept of romantic love. It took Alayna to teach it to me. She’s been the best teacher possible—patient and forgiving beyond what I deserve.
She hates it when I say that about myself—that I’m undeserving, and I suppose it’s the same way I feel when she talks destructively about her own past. The difference, of course, is that her weaknesses and imperfections didn’t almost destroy us as mine did. There are days it’s hard to live with myself because of the lie that I wrapped her in. She soothes me then, fixing me with her love. “We would never have found each other if it weren’t for your game,” she tells me.
I don’t believe that, though. I would have always found her.
Always. Without a doubt.
It’s not an exaggeration when I say I fell for her at first sight. If anything, I downplay. Not on purpose. The effect she had on me is simply beyond words, and when I attempt to voice it, the true experience becomes abridged and reduced. In all honesty, the woman who stood on that stage left me speechless. Her business ideas were only part of it. They were sound and innovative, but really, there are bright, intelligent up-and-comers around every corner. This went beyond that. I can’t even pinpoint if it was her mannerisms or her pattern of speaking or the shocking depth to her chocolate brown eyes. Whatever it was, there was a definite recognition of her soul by mine. An awareness of something greater that tied us to each other upon first acquaintance. As if some part of me had always known she was out there, had been waiting for her to come and bring me to life.
It took me quite some time to label that as love. At first, I didn’t know what it was. And now that I do, I still hesitate to call it that since the word fails to express the multi-dimensional way I feel for her. But it’s the nearest thing I have, and I say it to her now as often as I can. Then I try to tell her what I really mean by that simple four-letter verb. That not only does my world revolve around her, but she is my world. That she’s not just my reason for breathing, she’s air itself. That she’s the meaning behind every one of my thoughts, every thrum of my pulse, every whisper of my conscience. She’s my entire everything. It’s as simple and as complex as that.
I don’t know that she’ll ever understand, but I’ll happily spend my lifetime trying to show her.
I gaze around the crowd of people that have shown up to celebrate our special day and think it’s funny how, now that I know what it means to love and be loved, I see it everywhere. In the way that Adam tends to the baby and tags along behind Mirabelle as she flits from one person to another. In the way my father held my mother’s hand during the ceremony. In the tender look that Brian had for his younger sister when he gave her to me to wed. Has there always been all this love in the world? How have I never seen it before Alayna Withers showed up in my life?
Alayna Pierce now. Doesn’t that have a nice ring?
She’s coming to me now, and my grin widens. I haven’t stopped smiling since she walked down that aisle. I’m sure I look ridiculous.
“Hey, handsome,” she says in that lusty voice of hers that makes my cock twitch. “It’s time for the first dance.”
I let her lead me to the center of the Esplanade. It’s impressive how fast the crew we hired transposed the ceremony arrangement to a reception area. We could have moved to the Atrium or another venue all together as our wedding planner suggested, but Alayna wanted the whole event to be outdoors among the blossoms. It was a good decision. The Brooklyn Botanic Society doesn’t usually rent out the whole garden for weddings. It’s amazing what they’ll do for a large donation.
The emcee announces our first dance as I pull my bride into my arms. “What will our first dance be to, Mrs. Pierce?”
I know nothing she has planned for the reception. Alayna took care of all the wedding details. I offered to help, but she preferred to surprise me. The tables will be turned when I get her on the plane to our honeymoon destination. She has no idea that we’ll be staying in a private cabana in the Maldives Islands for three weeks. I’d considered Italy or Greece—both locations that she’s mentioned wanting to visit—but out of my own selfishness, I chose a tropical setting. It will be easier to keep her naked on a private beach than at the site of an ancient ruin or in an art museum.
“Patience, Mr. Pierce.” She’s always so good at throwing my own lines back to me.
The music starts and I smile. All of Me. Of course.
She snuggles into my arms and I bury my head in her neck, breathing in the scent of her. Her cherry body wash mingles with the blossoms in the air, but none of it can completely cover up the delicious aroma of Alayna’s skin—a combination of salt and sweet that I can’t describe but would recognize anywhere.
Though I want to hold her and enjoy her in this tender first dance as a married couple, I feel that I’ve had so little chance to talk to her today, and I can’t stop myself from doing so now. “It’s a beautiful wedding, Alayna. You did an excellent job.”
I feel her cheek tug into a smile at my shoulder. “Thank you. I had a lot of help, thanks to your money.”
“Our money,” I correct. As I’d promised the first time I asked her to marry me, I demanded no prenup. What’s mine is hers, openly and without question. I wonder if she’ll ever get used to it.
“Our money,” she concedes. “And it’s going well, I think.”
“Very well.” Very well, indeed.
“Did you notice Chandler’s been following Gwen around like a lost puppy?”
I had noticed. Though there’s too much lust in his eye for me to understand the puppy comparison. “She doesn’t seem to mind.” Gwen’s gaze also holds a degree of desire. Can Alayna see it?
“No, she doesn’t.” Alayna giggles. She does see it, then. “And everyone seems happy.”
“Everyone does at that.” And I’m the happiest.
She places a kiss on my neck that sends a jolt to my cock. “Even your mother has managed to remain polite.”
The mention of my mother has me limp. “She does seem slightly more in control of herself now that she’s sober.” Sophia’s only been home from upstate since January. She missed Mirabelle’s baby’s birth, something that I believe she regrets deeply, but she’s better now than she was, and I believe even Sophia thinks the sacrifice is worth it. “She still is a nasty old bitch, though, isn’t she?”
Alayna laughs, her hair tickling my neck with the movement, the sound tickling my heart with its purity. “You said it, not me.”
I hold her tighter and kiss her temple. This is everything I ever needed and never knew I wanted, wrapped up in the most beautiful of packages. Well, not quite everything. There’s still one thing left on the list.
I broach the subject I’ve been avoiding in a passive way. Perhaps it’s manipulative, but it’s who I am. “I saw you with Arin Marise, earlier. You’re so good with her.”
Arin Marise Sitkin is Adam and Mirabelle’s baby. My sister insists that she gave her daughter a name that couldn’t be shortened so that I’ll call her what everyone else calls her. But I’ve taken to calling her Arin Marise just to rile her up. She’s five and a half months old now, all cheeks and grins. Arin’s petite like her mother but feisty. You only notice her small stature in comparison to Braden, Alayna’s nephew who’s only four months old, but almost twice as big as Arin.
Alayna and I have never talked about children, not about our children, anyway. I’ve seen her with Arin and Braden and fallen in love with her all over again with the care and gentleness she gives them, but I’ve never brought up the actual topic. Perhaps it scared me, but it doesn’t scare me now. Not now that I know she’s mine truly and deeply no matter how this conversation goes.
I pull back from our embrace to look in her eyes, thinking I should probably put this off until a more appropriate time, but unable to wait another second to ask. “Do you…” I begin then start over. “Have you thought about children of your own?”
She leans forward to kiss my throat then, with her eyes cast down, says tentatively, “I’d probably f*ck them up.”
That had always been my fear, and if it weighs too heavily on her, I’ll abandon the whole idea. I kiss her head again and then ask outright, “Would you like to f*ck them up with me?”
She laughs again and meets my gaze, her eyes misty and her face aglow. “Yes,” she says without any hesitation or trace of doubt. “I’d love to.”
“Good.” I draw her closer and spin her around. “We can get started tonight in the plane. Or right now, if you prefer. I saw a rather large oak in one of the smaller gardens. I’m almost certain we could hide there, even with this dress of yours.”
“I’d love to see how you plan to get at me with all this material in the way.”
I nip at her ear. “Oh, precious, I’m very resourceful. Need I remind you that I’m a man who gets what he wants?” Again I lean back to look in her eyes. “And anyone who ever doubted that only needs to look at me right now to know it’s true. Everything I want is here, in my arms.”
“I love you,” she murmurs.
“I love you first.” And last. And everything in between.
I kiss her, sweetly, chastely enough for our onlookers, but with just enough bite that she knows I mean it. Then our dance is over and it’s time for her to dance with her brother and me with Sophia.
Reluctantly, I let her go. I can bear these few minutes apart. I have her for a lifetime.
THE END
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Here we are at the hard part. Seriously, writing 110,000 words is easy compared to writing the couple thousand that makes up the thank yous. I know I’ll leave several people out. Please don’t think that means I’ve forgotten you in my heart. Just my mind is a little fried.
First, as always, to my husband, Tom—I love you first. And last. And everything in between.
To my children who thought that mom writing full-time would mean they’d see me more—thank you for your patience and understanding. I love and adore you, even when I’m yelling at you to get out of my office.
To my Mom—thank you for raising me to be a person who goes after her dreams yet still thinks about others. I, too, hope I never change.
To Gennifer Albin for my covers and for understanding me in ways that many people never will. For sure, 2014 is your year.
To Bethany Taylor for editing and book-fairying and even a little for the moping because it makes me feel better about the amount of time I spend moping. And for teaching me so much about stick-to-it-ness and kindness (yes, I said that, you faux-blackhearted woman, you).
To Kayti McGee for being my plot partner and an excellent submissive. I fully recognize that I dominate all our conversations. Thank you so much for your ear and your suggestions. I will drive to Boulder/Longmont to see you even though the laws have changed; I swear it!
To my critique partners and beta readers. My, God! I would not have made it through this without you, especially when I was so behind. Thank you all for reading and suggesting so quickly. Specifically, thank you Lisa Otto for making time for me in your busy schedule and telling me how it is. To Tristina Wright for knowing my characters better than me and correcting their behavior. To Jackie Felger for always making me feel like I’m a better writer than I am while catching more comma errors than a person should possibly be able to catch. To Melissa B. King for always letting me know that the steamy scenes were working. To Jenna Tyler for last minute edits, even when I didn’t ask—you are an amazing find of a friend. To Angela McLain for your passion and support—you’re such a beautiful person to know. To Lisa Mauer for your enthusiasm and genuine love of my series; sometimes I felt like I was writing more for you than anyone. To Beta Goddess, you know who you are, but will never understand how grateful I am for “fixing” my book. I looked forward to your notes with a mixture of trepidation and excitement because I always knew you’d be hard, and that would make the story better. THANK YOU!!
To the people who make things happen for me: my agent, Bob DiForio; my formatter, Caitlin Greer; Julie at AToMR Book Blog Tours; my publicists at Inkslinger, Shanyn Day, and K.P. Simmons—both of you are amazeballs; Melanie Lowery and Jolinda Bivins for making me awesome swag; to my “other” editors Holly Atkinson, who has taught me to be mindful of comma splices, and Eileen Rothschild who is supportive of all my works and not just the one she bought.
To my FANTASTIC assistants, Lisa Otto, Amy McAvoy, and Taryn Maj. How did I get so lucky to have all of you working with me this past year? In many ways it’s been the best part of the job.
To my soulmates and bandmates, The NAturals—Sierra, Gennifer, Melanie, Kayti, and Tamara. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you women. You love who I love, hate who I hate—you’re my touchstones. I think Mel said this first, but I’m stealing it: If anyone had told me three years ago that I could love people I met on the internet more than people I knew in real life, I’d never believe it. But then I met you. Love and boobs to you always.
To Joe, last year was our year. So how much cooler will we be by this time next year?
To the authors who have helped out the newbie and inspired me with beautiful writing and so much amazing advice, especially Kristen Proby, Lauren Blakely, and Gennifer Albin. I’m really honored to know you all. Thank you for sharing your words and wisdom.
To the WrAHMs and the Babes of the Scribes—I can’t wait to meet you at WrAHMpage and to hug the f*ck out of all of you.
To the Book Bloggers and reviewers who have so enthusiastically shared my books. I can never hope to mention you all, but there are some of you I wouldn’t dare miss: Aestas at Aestas Book Blog; Amy, Jesse, and Tricia at Schmexy Girls; The Rock Stars of Romance; Angie at Angie’s Dreamy Reads; Lisa and Brooke at True Story Book Blog; Kari and Cara at A Book Whore’s Obsession; Angie and Jenna at Fan Girl Book Blog; Jennifer Wolfel at Wolfel’s World of Books. Though we have a symbiotic working relationship, I also truly think of you as friends. Thank you for your love and support.
To the Readers who make it possible for me to work full time as a writer and take care of my family with what I earn. I am so appreciative to you that I get choked up thinking about it. I know you have so many choices when it comes to picking up a book—thank you so, so much for picking up mine.
To my Creator who has given me more than I deserve—may I continue to understand what your role is for me in this life and to accept it with humility.