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Don’t tear up, Lola. But a split second later, I was babbling something about how much that meant to me through tears and a crumpled up face. Christian chuckled and pulled me into his chest, running his fingers through my hair.
It took me a little while, but I finally composed myself and let him lead me to his couch. The agents had cuffed Chase and were leading him out of the apartment. Max was talking to a man with a mustache by the elevator. From the looks of her animated gesturing and sound effects, she was embellishing the way she’d saved the day. The guy watched her warily, taking notes on a small legal pad.
“Sorry,” I said once we’d sat. “I think the adrenaline of thinking I was going to die made me extra emotional.”
“You haven’t said how you want this to go.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I told you I’ll step down for you. Is that what you want?”
“Honestly? No. I don’t want you to give anything up for me. I mean, what if I’m not what you expected? Or what if it bothers you that my hairs get stuck to the wall in the shower or that I bang my toothbrush on the sink aggressively when I finish brushing? What if you can’t stand the way I snore?”
He scooped me up wordlessly and carried me toward the bedroom. Max spotted us and made a gagging gesture, but I didn’t miss the little smile threatening to crack through.
He tossed me on the bed and planted his arms on either side of me.
“So?” I said. “What happens when you realize I talk during movies and I’ll always steal a little bit of your food when we get takeout? What are you going to do when you see I’m not perfect?”
“Oh, don’t worry. I already knew that.”
I smacked his chest and he smiled.
“In all seriousness?” He said. “I can’t imagine ever not wanting to give you the world. I can’t believe I was dumb enough to think we could call what was between us casual, even at the start. I’ve been crazy about you since I met you. I only hoped I could outrun my feelings, enjoy the ride, and cut things off before I did something insane, like leaving my company to be with you.”
“Sorry,” I said, smiling up at him.
“You should be. Because you make me want things I shouldn’t. Like a little farm near the mountains with chickens, goats, and one massive asshole of a rooster. You make me want to drag everybody who fucked with you in New York through the streets for a public beating. You make me fucking insane, Lola.”
“I love you too.” More stupid tears welled in my eyes.
He bent down to kiss me. His lips were warm velvet, and I shivered all over.
“I could never not fall in love with you, Lola.”
“That’s a double negative. Does that mean you could not fall in–”
Christian shut me up with another kiss. I wrapped my legs around him, sinking into the moment and feeling delirious with happy relief.
47
EPILOGUE - CHRISTIAN
* * *
One Year Later
The air was full of the smells of smoke and burning marshmallows. Horribly burning marshmallows, in Lola’s case. She was holding hers over the flames like some twisted, adorably pregnant inquisitor. Her belly was pushing a round shape out of her orange sun dress and her eyes were intent on the black and smoldering marshmallow.
“Don’t you think that’s enough?” I asked.
Lola shook her head. “Not until it’s bubbling.”
I tried not to gag. It couldn’t be good for her to eat pure carbonized sugar like that, but I’d learned not to cross pregnant Lola on matters of weird food. I tried to suggest that twelve pickles were plenty in the middle of the night once and I thought she was going to claw my eyes out for it. So now when I saw her dipping grilled cheese in mustard or eating entire bowls of peas bathed in butter and salt, I kept my mouth shut.
I’d learned that love was partly about picking my battles. Some of those battles weren’t worth fighting. Once I decided not to fight, it was easier to simply see her for who she was and enjoy the quirky reality of it. She was my little firecracker who definitely snored, but it was our little secret from the world. I liked that I knew her intimate secrets. Nobody else got to know what a mess she left in the shower or how she believed laundry didn’t need to be separated by colors and that the directions on tags didn’t need to be followed. She acted mystified when her clothes shrunk or lost their color, then I’d smile and order her replacements.
There was a rhythm to it I’d learned to fucking love. I was addicted to her. It was that simple. Addicted to learning more about what made her tick and how to make her happy. Addicted to the way she always seemed to appear with exactly what I needed when I needed it. It was a partnership in the truest sense of the word, and I often felt like the world’s biggest idiot for thinking chasing more success through the company could ever compete with this.
