Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 21649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 87(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 87(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
“You don’t have to worry about that. We’re getting married in two weeks,” Ryan states, shocking both of us.
“We are?” I look over my shoulder at him, both shocked and excited.
“We are.” He smiles down at me. “I love you so fucking much, and I can’t wait another moment to make you my wife.” His words send happiness soaring through me.
“I love you.” I snuggle against his side. “And I can’t wait to be your wife.”
“Good.” Ryan leans over to kiss me, and I forget everything except him.
When we come up for air, I glance over at my brother and see he’s watching the waves crash against the shore, giving us privacy. I lie back and ask him, “Will you come to Silver Spoon Falls for the wedding?”
“Nothing would keep me away.” My brother looks at me and smiles. He’s more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. There are so many changes happening for us, and I can’t wait to see what the future holds. My decision to move to Silver Spoon Falls was the best idea ever.
Epilogue
Ryan
With a brush in one hand and a roller in the other, I take a deep breath and survey the nursery. The pale pink paint we picked out seemed like a great idea at the store, but now it looks like something out of a modern art piece gone wrong. I pull a deep breath in through my nose and let it out, trying to stay calm.
"This paint sucks," Lorenzo growls, squinting at the wall he's been working on for the past twenty minutes. His roller is leaving a patchy, uneven trail behind. Seeing the mafia boss dressed in paint-splattered designer jeans and a silk t-shirt is surreal.
Over the last nine months, the rift in our friendship has healed and the little one my wife is carrying is the reason. Lorenzo no longer threatens to kill me daily. Now, he promises he’ll have my cock cut off and stuffed for his wall if I ever hurt his little sister.
Since hurting Michela would kill me, I’m not really worried about his threat.
"No, we suck at painting," I admit. "We might need professional help."
“No, we don’t.” Lorenzo refuses to see the truth, but looking around this room tells me we’re out of depth here.
"Looking good, boys!" Michela calls from the doorway, her voice filled with laughter. She’s holding her phone up, probably recording us for posterity—or maybe just for future blackmail. Her brown eyes sparkle with amusement, and I can’t help but chuckle along despite the disaster unfolding around us.
"Recording our disaster isn’t helping," I say, raising an eyebrow at her.
"I’m not sure anything could help that," she teases, stepping into the room and eyeing our progress.
She’s not wrong. Lorenzo steps back to admire his handiwork, and I see a huge streak of unpainted wall just above where he was rolling. He’s missed it completely.
"Uh, Lorenzo," I start, pointing at the glaring spot.
"Ah, damn. How did I miss that?" He grabs the roller, dipping it into the paint tray again, but manages to splash a few drops onto the floor.
Michela laughs again, and I shoot her a mock glare. "You're not helping," I tell her, but I can't hide my smile.
"I'm providing moral support," she says, her tone too innocent. "And capturing these memories for our future child."
"Yeah, so they can laugh at us, too?" Lorenzo grins, wiping a drop of sweat from his forehead with his non-paint-covered arm.
We manage to struggle on for another hour, with Michela’s bursts of laughter coming in frequent intervals. Somehow, despite us working all day long, the nursery still looks more like a disaster zone than a room prepared for a baby. The pale pink walls are uneven in most places, and there are some accidental smudges on the ceiling.
"Time to call in a professional?" Lorenzo suggests, looking at the mess he’s made of his shirt.
"Agreed." I sigh, stepping back and laying my brush down. My arms ache, and paint is splattered over more of my skin than I care to admit.
"Good job, boys," Michela says, stepping fully into the room and wrapping her arms around me. I nuzzle my nose against the skin at the base of her neck, inhaling her delicate scent. "It’s… unique."
"Unique is one word for it," I say, laughing, kissing the top of her head.
“We’re ready to admit defeat,” I whisper against her forehead and reach down to rub my hand over her swollen stomach. “And call in the professionals.”
“I already called them. The painters will be here first thing in the morning.”
“What would I do without you?” I cover her soft lips with mine and thank my lucky stars my wife made the first move and came to Silver Spoon Falls to find me.
“Live with pink-splattered walls.” She laughs, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “And probably neon green furniture.”