Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Epilogue
Shepard
The words flit through my mind quickly. A flash of lightning. Bright enough to illuminate the horizon.
Gone too fast.
But still burned into my mind.
Why now?
There's nothing remarkable about the moment.
I appreciate every second with Jasmine, but I don't go counting the stars. Or thanking some higher power. Or blowing dandelions.
She's mine.
That's my ring on her finger.
That smile on her face—
It's because of me.
Every second is remarkable.
Which means nothing is remarkable. I'm a man of numbers, not words, but I know that much. Special is out of the ordinary.
I wish I had a better word than ordinary. There's nothing ordinary about her smile. Or the cross of her legs. Or the laugh filling the room.
It's priceless.
Even if it happens nearly every day.
Even if this is an ordinary evening.
We're here, in this quiet restaurant, watching the sun fall into the horizon. Another afternoon tea gone over time. Her lipstick marking a perfect white cup. Her dark eyes filled with joy.
Her fingers brush my wrist. She smiles. "You're thinking something."
It's there again. Those three words. Only brighter. Bigger. A flashing billboard in Times Square. One that demands the entire city's attention.
"Shep? Are you okay? Or did I lose you at 'off-Broadway?'"
No, I'm still hanging on every word. I still want every thought in her head, every feeling in her heart, every inch of her body.
"I did, didn't I? I swear, I'll stop talking about auditions one day. It's just so exciting. It's been six months of nonstop practice. I'm finally going out there, getting rejected nonstop, like everyone else. I know I'm not great yet—"
I can't wait. I bring my hand to her cheek. Pull her into a deep, slow kiss.
For a second, she's stiff. Surprised. Then she melts into me.
My tongue slips into her mouth. I don't claim her. Not exactly. I let her know she's mine.
That I'm hers.
That I want it like this forever.
She pulls back with a heady sigh. "What was that—"
"I love you."
Her eyes go wide. She opens her mouth to speak. Stops herself. Tapping her fingers against the table, counting the tiny moments that made this possible.
It's there. In the air, the room, the universe. I love her. I have. For a long time. Always. It's just been impossible to explain. Impossible to accept. Impossible to understand.
How can a monster love anyone? Or anything?
But I'm not—
I can't even say that. Sure, I can repeat the affirmations from my shrink—I'm Shepard Marlowe and I'm not a monster—but I can't do it with conviction.
I don't believe it.
Not all the way.
Not most of the way.
I'm not healed just yet. Maybe I'll never be healed. Maybe this darkness will always live inside me. Somewhere deep and hidden. Somewhere no one else sees it. But there just the same.
I still flinch when she surprises me. I still churn at the sound of that bastard's name. I still throw the nearest thing when I think about how he—
I haven't told her yet.
But she knows. Somehow, she knows. She knows and I'm sitting here, across from her, staring back at her.
She knows, and I'm not running away.
She knows, and she's here.
I'm not sure when she knew. For how long. Or how she put the pieces together. If someone told her. I never ask. I never ask.
It doesn't matter.
She knows, and she's here.
She knows, and she wants me.
She knows, and she loves me.
That's all that matters.
"I love you." It's easier the second time. Right. Like music. Or poetry. Or something else I want to understand. "More than anything."
"I love you too." She smiles, not drawing attention to the moment, just reveling in the feel of the words on her lips. "It's a good thing. Because you're stuck with me." She taps her wedding ring. Then runs her finger over mine.
This time, she's the one who pulls me into a slow, deep kiss.
This time, I'm the one who melts into her.
Jasmine
"Come here." Shep's fingers brush my silk robe. Then they're on my wrists. Softly. Then firmer.
Not enough to demand.
Enough to request. That's as close as he gets to please.
"Why should I?" I tease him. Because I can. Because, even after two years, even on our wedding anniversary, he's never this gentle.
"Why should you?" He looks up at me, affection in his clear blue eyes. "Why should you?" he repeats the words again. A little lower. A lot more demanding.
My body whines. That's all it takes. A hint of bossiness in his voice and I melt. I want to toss this robe aside, slide into his lap, follow his every order. I need to hold my ground. To enjoy every second of teasing him. "Why should I?"
"Do you want to come?"
My knees buckle. He's too sexy. It's wrong. And it's all in my favor. Which makes it very, very right.
"Princess?"
"Right now?"
His lips curl into a smile. The gentleness again. Him. Not the scene. Just my husband, sitting on a hotel bed in London, smiling at me. "Come here."