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My own fingers find their way to her waist, my hard dick pressing between the cleft at the apex of Lacey's thighs.
Just as I reach for the waistband of her pajama pants, the sound of a footstep halts us.
"Grace!" Lacey gasps, pulling away.
We turn to see Grace in the doorway, rubbing her eyes, her fists small and determined.
"Is the popcorn ready?" she whines, her voice muffled as she stifles a yawn.
Seeing Grace, with her tousled hair and sleepy eyes, snaps me back to reality.
I sigh, releasing Lacey, who quickly recovers. "Almost ready, sweetie. Your Dad and I were just... doing dishes," she lies smoothly.
Lacey gives me a cautionary glance, but I'm still reeling from the feel of her lips, her taste lingering.
With a reassuring smile, she leads Grace back to the living room, tossing a glance over her shoulder. Before exiting, she mouths "tomorrow" and winks—a promise sending excitement through me.
I know it's not just about sharing news with Grace tomorrow. It signifies more secret moments, touches, and whispers between us.
Watching them go, I can't help but smile. I grab the popcorn, pour it into a bowl, and return to the living room, ready for our favorite movie, yet again. The word "tomorrow" fills me with anticipation.
I look forward to more moments like these. More adventures in fantasy lands. More time with my loves and theirs.
More kisses, more whispers of love.
And maybe, a happily-ever-after that extends beyond the screen. A real-life fairytale with my princesses at its heart.
THIRTY-ONE
Epilogue
Four months later
LACEY
The reflection staring back at me in the opulent bathroom mirror of the Chicago penthouse is almost unrecognizable.
Who knew a simple girl could scrub up so well with the right amount of sparkle and a dash of high-stakes charity event pressure?
Tonight, it's LuxWay's finest, dressed to the nines for Raincoats for Raccoons.
Yup. Still can't say that with a straight face.
In the oversized suite bathroom, I swipe at a rogue mascara smudge, batting away nerves and the last remnants of earlier clumsiness with the elegance of a practiced socialite. I'm taming rebellious strands of my curly hair and juggling my parents on speakerphone.
"I know, Mami. Aidan and I are finalizing our Christmas plans now," I sigh, repeating myself for the hundredth time.
"It's in three weeks," she presses, her voice dripping with usual manipulation tactics. "Tres semanas! You know I hate uncertainty."
Rolling my eyes but chuckling at her antics, I reply, "We're figuring out how to split our time between town and Aidan's father's place in Bellevue. We'll let you know."
"Come on, mija," Papi chimes in, "Aidan's dad can't compete with us. With my new hip ready to go? Pshhh. We’re bringing extra cheer this year. Plus, isn't Aidan's mom living on a commune in the Bahamas? She shouldn't get a say anyway."
Glancing at the closed door which leads to the bedroom, where Aidan is probably debating tie choices, I lower my voice. "Don't worry. Aidan's dad can't match your legendary Christmas Bandeja Paisa, Mami. Or Papi's... uh, unique rendition of 'Jingle Bells.'"
Hearing Aidan talk Christmas plans with his dad through the door, words like “special moment” and “surprise” catch my attention, sparking curiosity. But knowing him, it’s probably a surprise gift involving too much camping gear or another tech gadget. I shrug it off, deciding not to overthink.
Returning to my dilemma of choosing between the strappy heels or sensible ones, I muse. “Well, either way, it's going to be an interesting Christmas. And Papi, before you ask, we can’t just tell Aidan's dad you’re more important because of seniority. Pretty sure that’s not how love or family gatherings work..."
