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I closed my eyes and brought myself closer to him, resting my head on his chest and letting the sound of his steadily beating heart lull me to sleep.
Epilogue One
Braxton
One year later
It was hard to believe that a year had already passed since I’d finally gotten the girl of my dreams. I was a fucking walking cliché, this goofy sap of a man who didn’t deserve Amelia but was lucky enough to not only keep her as mine, but also have her love.
I could honestly say I wasn't the same man I’d been before she came along, didn't even try to pretend I was truly happy before Amelia. It wasn't until her that everything finally made sense and I knew what living was really like.
I stared down at the small black velvet box in my hand. It seemed so damn small for how big the symbolism was. The ring inside was two carats. I picked a solitary emerald-cut diamond to sit in the center of a platinum band. The ring was no doubt beautiful and flawless, but it didn’t hold a fucking candle to my girl.
Fuck, I’d never been so nervous.
I looked around at the restaurant, the tables empty, the lights dimmed, and the sound of music softly playing overhead, giving the effect of calmness. But I felt anything but.
I rented out this little French restaurant in the next town over, a place we’d never gone before. I wanted to do this at a brand-new place, the start of new memories.
Fuck, I’m nervous.
“Monsieur.”
I looked up at the waiter, a crisp white towel hanging over his forearm, a new bottle of wine in hand. He gestured if I wanted more, and I nodded, giving him what I hoped was a grateful smile. I needed some alcohol, a punch of liquid courage so to speak.
I looked at my watch, knowing Amelia would be here any minute. She’d spent the day with her father, helping him clean out their attic. I wanted to pick her up and bring her here myself, but she wanted to go home and get ready, and I didn’t argue with my girl. She knew what she wanted, and I gave her a wide berth and let her have her independence in all things.
Well, my dominance did become apparent in certain aspects of our relationship, and as those gutter-thoughts filled my head, I felt my cock start to push past my nervousness and come to full attention.
Not now, fucker.
I scrubbed a hand over my jaw, my palm scraping over the beard I’d been growing. It didn’t matter one way or another if I sported one, but Amelia liked it, and I liked that I could please her in any way, shape, or form.
My heart was beating so fast and hard, and even though I considered myself a strong man, one who could handle stress and pressure because of the profession I was in, right now I’d never felt so on edge.
And then the door to the restaurant opened, and I sucked in a breath as I watched Amelia walk in. She was looking around, the wonder clearly reflected on her face as she took in the authentic French feel of the place.
I started bouncing my leg up and down under the table, my nerves taking control, my palms sweating, my body tingling as adrenaline swam through my veins.
The ring box in my pocket felt pretty fucking heavy at the moment, and grew heavier still as our eyes locked from across the room, as her smile widened, and as she started moving toward me.
Amelia wore a calf-length, cobalt-blue dress that accented every single feminine part of her.
She took my breath away.
Having her as my wife would be a dream. Having her as the mother of my children would make me complete.
Fuck, the very thought of Amelia carrying my babies had this wild, primitive need rising in me.
I stood, my legs feeling weak, my head dizzy, and my hands shaking. I met her halfway, immediately pulling her into an embrace and burying my face in her hair. My eyes closed on their own as I inhaled, the scent of her unlike anything I'd ever experienced.
“I missed you,” I said gruffly against her temple, and the sigh she made and the way she leaned against me made my chest puff up with pride that I was the one who made my girl feel this way.
“I just saw you this morning,” she said with thickly laced heat in her voice.
My cock jerked, and I forced myself to pull back, thinking back to this morning when I had her in my bed, under me, and crying out my name as I made her come for the third time.
I groaned at the images slamming into my head.
We headed to the table, the waiter filling her glass of wine before leaving us alone for the intimacy of this moment. She looked around, her brows furrowing as she brought her glass to her mouth and took a drink of her wine.
