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“And anyway,” he adds, “I like the idea of the big wedding. You in a beautiful gown. Me standing there waiting for you. The light from the stained-glass windows on the floor.”
“You’re just an old romantic.”
He doesn’t argue. “I think… maybe I feel that Christian will be there, if we have it in a church.”
“It surprises me that you always paint women,” I say. “Maybe you should paint Christian as an angel?”
His eyebrows rise. “I’ve never thought about that. Perhaps I will.”
I smile and touch my lips to his. I’m about to move back, but he slides his hand into my hair to hold me there, and it turns into a long, sensuous smooch.
“You’re so good for me,” he murmurs when he eventually lets me go.
“I think we’ve healed each other,” I tell him honestly.
“How many kids do you want?” he asks.
I laugh. “Plural?”
“I want a multitude.”
“Of angels?”
“Yeah, but I’ll settle for four.”
I laugh. “Why?”
“I don’t know. Obviously, we don’t have to start until you’re ready. But I like the idea of trying to get you pregnant.” His eyelids fall to half-mast as he gives me a sultry look.
“We don’t have to try for a baby to do that,” I tease.
“Yeah, but the thought of coming inside you and making a baby…” He slides his hands to my butt and rocks his hips against mine. “It gets me all riled up.”
“I think you’re permanently riled up.”
“That’s true, when you’re around.”
Humbled by how much he wants me, I kiss him. “I love you,” I whisper.
“I love you, too.” He gives me a lovely smile.
So I kiss him again, as the late-afternoon sun slants across us both, making the diamond on my finger glitter.
Epilogue
Damon
Eight weeks later
“I love it,” Kennedy says. Then she bursts into tears.
“Jesus.” I roll my eyes and put my arms around her, looking up at the painting of Christian that I’ve just revealed to her. “I don’t know why I have this effect on women.”
It’s August, and Belle and I are having an official engagement party for friends and family. Kennedy and I have left most of the guests in the living room to come into the studio so I can show her the painting, but I didn’t expect this reaction from her.
Jackson, her husband, chuckles as he walks up carrying baby Eddie. “It’s not you,” he says. “She’s a bit hormonal at the moment, aren’t you, sweetheart?” He smiles.
