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epilogue- 3 years later
Roman
“Baby,can you apply some lotion to the back of my legs?” Summer waves a bottle of sunscreen and hands it to me. We’re on our yearly retreat to Mountain Ridge---a place I never thought I’d love and look forward to returning to every year. It holds sweet memories of the early days of our courtship, and every summer, we make brand new ones. This is the first year we’ve chosen to bring our two-year-old daughter. Although she’s a city girl at heart, Summer thought it was a good idea to expose the little one to the beauty of nature. And, of course, I agree with my wife.
I smile and let my gaze roam the length of my sexy girl’s legs. “Of course, sweetheart.”
“Should we check on Mirabelle? I bet she’d like to take a dip in the pool.” She scrambles to reach for her bag, but I put her mind at ease. Your mom is taking care of her, and last I looked in, she was conked out in a milk coma. Besides, she’s too young to be in the sun, and you know it.”
She nods and settles back into her lounger. “You’re right, baby. I wouldn’t want her to burn. You know I get carried away, and that swimsuit you got her is freaking adorable. I hope she gets to use it.”
“It’s high noon. Wait until the sun sets, and we’ll bring her to the wading pool for a few minutes.” I squeeze a generous amount of lotion into my hands and try to reason with her.
“Are you bringing Mira to the pool? Baron, they’re bringing their baby later. Maybe we should bring Sammy.” Summer’s cousin, Sunny, heavily pregnant for the second time in three years, waddles nearby. Baron groans with exasperation as he watches her dive into the water to take a dip.
“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he replies through clenched teeth. “I’ll grab some extra duty sunscreen. That red hair of his is an invitation for sunburns.” He shifts his gaze from left to right and practically snarls at anyone swimming too close to his wife.
Sunny must have the patience of a saint.
“What’s your problem?” I question his anger while I apply even strokes of sunscreen on Summer’s thighs. She praises my technique with a satisfying moan and then wiggles her butt for attention.
“I hate it when Sunny wears that bikini. It leaves nothing to the imagination. But she loves it, so I suffer in silence.” He takes a swig of beer and watches over his woman like a border collie guarding sheep.
“You’re not silent. Your obnoxious jealousy is on full display.” I point to his shaky hand, and he tries to hold it steady to prove me wrong. “And Sunny is seven months pregnant. She’s a beautiful woman, but her body screams the wordtaken.
He nods, then stands to remove his shirt. “My wife is a knock-out, and pregnancy does nothing to diminish that hot little body. She’s radiant and glorious, and goddamn it, she knows that bikini drives me crazy. I gotta get her out of the water and drag her back to our cottage before I explode.”
“Too much fucking information.” Summer shouts what we’re both thinking.
“We’ll be back in an hour, maybe less.” He jumps in the pool, and I return to my work.
“Please call me out if I’m ever as bad as him.” I massage lotion onto her calves and caress the hell out of her inner thighs. She spreads her legs to give me access and giggles. “You have your moments, Mr. Russo.”
She’s right---I do. Although I pride myself on being the kind of husband who trusts his wife implicitly, there are nights when I arrive at her studio early to check on her private lessons. I was once her Thursday night lesson, and look how we turned out.
I’ll be damned if I allow some Wall Street prick with a sudden desire to learn the Cha-Cha to steal her away. That’s why months into our marriage, I unveiled her new dance studio in Manhattan, blocks from our brownstone and down the street from Sunny’s home goods store. I called it Summer Moon after my best girl and gave myself a pat on the back when she loved it as much as me. It’s the busiest studio in lower Manhattan, and now her parents work part-time for her.
Except on weeks like this when we close shop and head into the mountains.
“Baby?” Summer purrs and hooks her fingers into the elastic of her bikini bottoms.
“Yes, doll?” I stare, fascinated at the tiny crack peeking out from her suit.
“Can you stick your hand into my bottoms and apply lotion on my ass? You know the sun goes right through the suit.” She wiggles her behind again, and I slap it steady.
“Summer Russo, if I give you an ass massage, I will be hard in ten seconds. These swim trunks hide nothing. Do you really want me to frighten a bunch of families with children?”
She rolls to her side and curls her finger. “Come here, cowboy.”
I lean in and plant a kiss on her sassy lips. “Get up, grab your towel, and I’ll carry the rest of our things.”
“Where are we going?” She bats her lashes and pouts.
“We’re going back to the room, and I’m going to wash this sunscreen off your hot body. Then I’ll pour some wine and turn on some mambo.” I growl into her ear and then help her out of her chair.
“Mambo?”
“First, we’ll mambo. Then we’ll spend time with our girl. After she settles in for another nap, I’ll take you into the bedroom and show you all the nasty things I thought of doing to you during our private lessons.” A thousand nasty visions pass before my eyes, and I swoop down to carry her the rest of the way.
“You’re my favorite dance partner.” She smiles and rests her head on my chest. My heart swells with love. I see that smile first thing every morning and last thing every night. And now, I see it on Mirabelle’s face when she calls me Daddy.
I could die a happy man.
“You’re my favorite everything, sweetheart.”
