I thought about her words until I felt the truth of them, and then I too felt overwhelmed. We’re going to last.
She was right. We were. This wasn’t temporary. We were going to last.
“Jackson,” she said, her eyes soft and sweet, her hands lifting to cup my face. “I love you.”
“I love you,” I said automatically, still riding the wave of realization, acceptance of my good fortune.
I kissed her. She kissed me back. I touched her. She sighed, relaxing completely in my arms, like she knew they’d always be there to catch her, like she knew I’d never let her down. It felt too good to be true, but I didn’t doubt it. Because I didn’t doubt her.
I will see her tomorrow.
I will see her next week.
I will see her next month.
I get to hold her, and love her, whenever I want.
I knew Rae would always catch me too. Besides, it didn’t matter if I fell. With her, I could be both upright and fallen, serious and fun, easy and devoted all at once. I was absolutely, over the moon and stars crazy about her, and that was perfectly fine.
Rae was magic, and I would always and forever believe in Rae.
Epilogue
*Rae*
“I’m quite cool about my sex symbol image. It’s nothing to be proud of or ashamed of.”
Urmila Matondkar
*Several Years Later*
“It’s okay to be nervous,” Jackson whispered in my ear. “I got you.”
“I know.” I nodded, the movement jerky. I was definitely nervous. I couldn’t remember ever being more nervous.
Facing Lina and Harrison at my first film premiere post-faux-split? Whatever.
The initial day of filming on Sunray Productions’ very first project? No problem.
The red carpet Oscar walk for our first best picture nod? No biggie.
But this? I was a mess.
Behind me, Jackson placed his hands on my shoulders and smoothed them down my arms. “My mom wants you to call her when it’s over.”
“I know. I will.” Janet and I spoke almost every day whenever I wasn’t in town. Even if it was just a few text messages back and forth, we touched base. At first, it had been odd, having someone who wanted to know about me, every day, check in to make sure I was happy and healthy and didn’t need a cup of sugar or a random apple pie. She wasn’t pushy, not at all. Our relationship had just sort of . . . happened. We fell into the habit naturally, easily. I loved her.
I wouldn’t, however, be calling my mother about this. She didn’t even know we were in Miami. I wasn’t keeping it from her, but I knew telling her where I was and what I had planned would only make her angry. I didn’t want her to be angry.
Years ago, at the end of my first summer in Green Valley, my mom had called me when news of Harrison and Lina had made it inside her bubble of academia, several weeks after the story broke and the general public had consumed it, processed it, and wrote hundreds of op-eds about it.
She’d been furious on my behalf. I’d waited patiently for her to wear herself out, trying not to laugh at all her colorful Italian insults and phrases, before telling her the truth about my relationship with Harrison. This information had made her feel better—that I’d used him to further my career and now our agreement had ended amicably—but then I told her about Jackson and my plans to stay in Green Valley.
“I love him. I’m in love with him. I’m starting my own production company with Sienna Diaz, and I’m so happy,” I’d said.
She’d clammed up, told me I was responsible for my own life and choices, made an excuse, and hung up.
Our relationship continued to follow this pattern. Sometimes we chatted once a month. Sometimes six months would go by. Sometimes she approved of my news. Sometimes she didn’t, and she’d remind me I was responsible for myself.
But those words—You are your own person, your choices are your own—had stopped cutting like they used to, probably because they weren’t necessarily true anymore. I was my own person, but I shared myself with people who loved me. My choices were my own, but I’d surrounded myself with friends who cared enough about my choices to offer their opinion and wanted my opinion on their choices.
Obviously, my mother cared about me—in her own way and always on her terms. And that was okay.
Or rather, perhaps it wasn’t okay. Perhaps it was sad and unfortunate that I’d never have a real relationship with my mother as an adult. But something I’d learned from watching Jackson and his family, and from my friendships with Charlotte and Sienna and others, was that I couldn’t force her to be more than a spectator in my life.
If my mother wanted a relationship with me—a real one, not a shallow one, not a fake one—she had to want it. I would keep the door open for her, but it was up to her whether or not she ever walked through.
And besides, I didn’t want to think about her—or how she’d react—on today of all days. I was nervous enough.
A massive swarm of panic butterflies had me leaning back against Jackson’s solid chest, and I searched my mind for something, anything to take my mind off what was about to happen.
“So . . .” I started, stopped, then said the first thing that came to my mind, “Did you buy my latest movie on Blu-ray/DVD and streaming?”
“Really? You’re asking me this now?” He spoke against my ear, laughter in his voice.
“I’m trying to take my mind off my nerves. Answer the question.”
“You haven’t checked?”
“I didn’t want to snoop.”
“That’s a lie. You’re always going through all my drawers.”
My mouth fell open with mock-shock. “How dare you. Don’t make me out to be some sort of creeper. You know I go through your drawers so I can smell your clothes. Now apologize.”
He didn’t apologize, but he did turn me around and give me a toe-curling kiss, his lovely, long kraken tongue tangling with mine and making me breathless. Lifting his mouth, he trailed it along my jaw to my neck, swirling it against the skin beneath my ear.
“I miss you,” he said, nipping at my ear. “I want to taste you.”
“I want to be tasted,” I said, my breath hitching as my mind tried to negotiate a new plan for this afternoon. Maybe we could find a nook or a cranny or a door with a lock and—
“They’re here.”
I stiffened, the panic butterflies swarming anew. “They’re here?” I croaked.
“Yes.” He straightened, looking down at me with his twinkly bedroom eyes. “How’d I do? Did I distract you?”
I nodded, now breathless for two reasons. “How do I look?”
“Perfect.”
I made a face, not yet ready to turn around. “No, I mean, how do I look? Do I look desperate? I want them to like me. Should I have worn—”
“Your brother and sisters are going to adore you. And if they don’t, I’ll arrest them.”
Unexpected laughter bubbled out of me, and I smacked him lightly on the arm. But his tactic had worked. I felt better. I’d needed that laugh.
“Okay, Sheriff James, calm down.”