He gives me a small smile.
“Then I guess I need to buy us some land.”
Easy as that.
I want a pony; we need land.
He would give me the moon if he thought it would make me happy.
That much, I know.
My heart swells to the point that I’m concerned it won’t fit in my chest any longer.
And so I give the boy I’ve loved for as long as I can remember the answer I’ve always known.
FIFTY-ONE
TODAY WAS A FAIRYTALE
ONE YEAR LATER
-Zander-
She’s walking toward me on her father’s arm, and I can’t help but think this is definitely payback for when I made fun of Tony for crying when he married my sister.
My eyes water as hers lock onto mine.
I can’t breathe.
She’s gorgeous.
Her hair’s wild and natural, dark against a white dress.
Her bouquet of daisies is a nod to her favorite of the eras.
But her face.
God, her face is what has me.
Pure fucking sunshine and happiness.
Not a moment of hesitation.
It’s like she’s five and I’m nine, and we’re playing a game in my parents' backyard instead of in a church her mother insisted on.
Like she’s wearing a pink bathing suit and a colorful beach towel over her head instead of a sleek white dress and a lacy veil.
I don’t listen as her father tells the crowd he’s the one handing her off to me.
I just keep staring at her, watching him pull the lace veil from her face, lean in, and press a kiss to her cheek with watery eyes.
She’s so fucking beautiful.
And she’s mine.
Then her water-blue eyes lock to mine again.
But she’s nervous.
So nervous.
Not because we’re getting married. The crowd, the expectation, the planning, they’ve gotten to her.
So before the officiant even tells me to, I reach out, grabbing her hands in mine.
And I squeeze them.
One, two, three.
She smiles, nerves falling away, and in their place is comfort and love and everything good in the world.
It’s just Zoe.
And me.
The way it’s always meant to be.
FIFTY-TWO
KING OF MY HEART
SIX MONTHS LATER
“Morning, pip,” Zander’s throaty voice says as my body wakes.
Every morning.
This is how I wake every morning when Zee is still in our bed.
Morning, pip.
I think back to that very first morning he said it, back when we were playing pretend (or, as Zee likes to say, pretending to play pretend), and how I thought I’d like to hear that every morning.
And now I do.
God, now I do.
Isn’t that just beautiful?
The hand on my belly tugs as his body moves, rolling me to my back with him on top, his smile huge.
God, I love this fucking man.
I don’t love the Top Gun style mustache he grew because Tony also grew one, and now it’s become a battle of the ‘staches.
I should tell him I won’t let him go down on me with it.
But I also like watching him use a little comb every morning to neaten it up and the way it moves when he smiles.
I’ll let it stay for now, I think for the millionth time in six months.
“Morning, honey,” I say with a smile, my own voice still croaky.
He does the move that, even now, still gives me butterflies, doing a push-up and kissing me before straightening.
“Morning sex?” he asks, and I slap his shoulder.
“The house is full of people we are both related to by blood or marriage, Zander,” I say under my breath, ignoring the way my pussy clenches.
“I’ll lock the door.”
“Zander Davidson!”
“I chose the room farthest from everyone,” he says, his smile growing.
We’re on the annual family vacation with both of our families, just like when we were kids, except with a much bigger house now that there are couples and adults.
And he’s not wrong—the room we’re in is almost completely opposite from where everyone else is sleeping.
He dips, the push-up giving me flutters, his face going into my neck before he speaks there.
“I had a dream about you,” he murmurs, and his mustache scratches my skin as he speaks, sending fire down my spine.
Ah, yes. That’s the other reason I’ve been letting the ‘stash stay.
“Zander,” I say, but this time my voice is breathier, less stern.
And with it, he thrusts his hips into mine, knowing he won.
“We’ll be quiet,” he says. I think about what the day looks like, knowing it’s a full one.
“Zander,” I repeat, but any fight has left my voice.
“It’s barely even five, Zo. No one will be up for a while.”
And there it is.
He will always wake up for me. My own personal morning person.
“Go lock the door,” I whisper, tipping my hips up into his already hard cock.
I have no willpower.
He gets up almost gleefully, running to the bedroom door and locking both the doorknob lock and the little chain. He makes it halfway back to the bed before he turns back around, grabbing towels from the attached bath and stuffing them at the crack of the door. I smile as I watch him, shaking my head, and then he’s running to me, leaping into bed like he’s sixteen instead of thirty-five.
His hands instantly move up his oversized tee I wore to bed, grazing over my hips and continuing on until the material is off and he’s tossing it to the ground.
Then he tackles me down into the mattress, forcing a giggle from me.
His hand moves to my mouth as his smile grows, his voice quiet when he whispers into my neck.
“You gonna stay quiet for me?”
But as he speaks, his hand moves over my stomach, up my ribs, a thumb swiping over my nipple.
I let out a shaky breath.
“Zoe,” he demands, his fingers pinching on that nipple, sending a jolt running through me. “We can only do this if you stay quiet, baby.”
“Make me,” I whisper, and he smiles.
My man loves a fucking challenge.
His body rolls over mine before he covers my mouth with his, lips moving over mine, tasting me as his hand travels down, down, down my naked body.
“You gonna be quiet for me?” he asks, a single finger tracing over my already wet pussy, not entering, just playing there.
Featherlight.
“Zander,” I whisper, bucking my hips.
His lips press to the crook where my neck meets my shoulder before he looks back up at me, repeating the trail of his finger.
Torture.
That’s what this is.
I’m barely awake, already so ready for him, and he’s torturing me, his skin on mine, his finger barely playing with me.
“You gonna be quiet, pip?” I moan again with his words, with the way they vibrate in his chest, the way they vibrate against my nipples, the way his fingers just keep dragging along me.
“Yes,” I whisper.
Not because I think I can.