The Training

“Our first dance.” I pulled back and caught his eyes. “You remember?”

“Of course,” he said. “You made me want to dance. How could I forget that?”

“I think,” I said, catching my bottom lip between my teeth. “I think that was the night I first realized I could fall in love with you.”

“Really?”

“Mmm,” I hummed as he spun me slowly around the deck. The waiter was nowhere in sight, and it felt as if we were the only people on Earth. Maybe we were. “It scared me, that realization. I still wasn’t sure who you were, but it didn’t matter. I knew I was in danger of falling in love with you.” I squinted at him. “What were you thinking that night?”

He had a faraway expression in his eyes. “The night of our first dance, Linda’s benefit, I was still in horrible denial. I couldn’t admit to myself how much I felt for you.”

Not surprising when you thought about it.

“Now,” he said, hand slipping to my waist. “The night of our second dance—”

“Felicia and Jackson’s engagement party?”

He nodded. “That night, I knew exactly how much I cared for you. How much I loved you. And I was the scared one. I was so afraid you’d never want anything to do with me again.”

The night was too perfect to dwell on our past. We’d discussed and talked about it so many times. I wanted to talk of our present, our future.

“But our third dance,” I said. “When they got married . . .”

“That dance,” he said, with a smile. “Was near perfect.”

“Yes, but not nearly as perfect as this one.”

We came to a stop in our dancing, and though the music continued, we simply stood with our arms around each other. I looked up into his face. My Nathaniel. My heart hurt just thinking about how I loved him. If I could just bottle the night to somehow breathe it in when things got difficult . . .

He swallowed several times.

“Abby,” he started and then stopped.

Oh, fuck, is something wrong?

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He nodded, almost absentmindedly, before continuing. “I’ve, uh, thought about this so many times and came up with line, after line, after line. Somehow, though, I think the simple approach is best.”

What the . . . ?

He moved a step back, took something from his jacket pocket, and dropped to one knee.

My hand flew to my mouth.

“Abby King,” he said, his eyes filled with love and adoration. “I love you. Will you marry me?” He opened what I now saw was a ring box, exposing a stunning diamond solitaire inside. “Be my wife?”

It wasn’t until he said, “Abby,” again that I realized I was frozen with my hands covering my mouth.

Have I not answered?

“Yes,” I said just in case, and his face erupted in an expression of joy, relief, and delight.

“Yes?” he asked, still not moving from kneeling on the deck.

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” I said. The ring looked all blurry.

He stood to his feet. “You’re crying.”

“Sorry.” I wiped the moisture from my eyes. “It’s just you. There.” I pointed to the ring. “And then . . .”

He very slowly slipped the ring from the box, and I saw it clearer. The band was composed of a single row of diamonds and the center stone had to be at least three carats.

Making sure he kept his eyes locked on mine, he lifted my left hand and kissed my ring finger, right where it met my palm, before sliding the solitaire on.

“Perfect fit,” I said, finally breaking eye contact to look at my hand. The moonlight bounced off the flawless stone, and my hand felt heavy and weightless at the same time.

“I cheated,” he said. “Felicia helped with the ring size.”

I laughed as I understood just how long he’d been planning the night. “And Elaina?”

“Actually,” he said, “the gown was her idea.”

“But she knew?” I asked. “About tonight?”

“Mmm.” He nodded and lifted my left hand up once again. “I can’t wait.”

“Me either,” I said, wiggling my fingers, knowing exactly what he was talking about. We’d be married before the year was out.

He drew me close, placing soft kisses along my cheekbone. I dug my fingers through his hair and lifted my chin to brush his lips with mine. The touch of his lips was so familiar, and yet somehow still so new. I parted my mouth and tasted him, taking his hands and pulling him closer, delighting in the knowledge that this, this man, his touch, would be mine forever.

And I would be his.

Eventually, he pulled back and kissed the inside of my hand, his lips brushing my ring finger once more. “Abby West,” he said. “I like the sound of that.”

“Abigail West,” I said, testing the words on my tongue.

“Oh, yes,” he said with a delighted smile. “That, too.” 

Epilogue

—SIX YEARS LATER—

It’s Friday night and the house is quiet. Apollo sits in the upstairs hall, as usual, in between the two closed bedroom doors. He sighs and places his head on his paws, knowing it won’t be too long before he can check on the baby again. Perhaps tomorrow they can all go outside and play under the shade of the tree house again.

Henry is eight weeks old. His sister, Elizabeth, turns three next month.

The door to the master bedroom opens and Abby steps out, naked except for a bra, her steps light and quick. While her body is still lithe, it has changed much in the last few years. And though her nights are far from restful, she is not tired at the moment.

She was promoted to library director three years ago. In that time, she has started a new literacy campaign, expanded the high school tutoring program, and implemented a summer camp for primary- and middle-school-aged children. She has enjoyed the position, but will step down and turn in her resignation next week, as she wants to be at home with the children.

Tonight, though, her focus is on something else entirely, and she pauses briefly outside each of the two rooms, making sure there is no sound from within before turning and entering the playroom. She is both excited and tentative as she enters. Excited, because it is the first time in far too long since they have been in the playroom, and tentative, for the same reason.

She knows he will go easy on her tonight. He had the first time after Elizabeth was born. She doesn’t care, though. After years of living, loving, fighting, and making up, she rests comfortably in the knowledge that in the playroom, he is her master.

She wants it no other way.

Moments after the playroom door closes behind her, the master bedroom door opens once more, and Nathaniel steps out into the hallway. He wears the black jeans he normally does for playroom time. His mind runs through the plans he has for the night, and he spends a few minutes trying to anticipate her reaction. She probably knows he won’t push her too hard. This will just be a reacclimation for them both.

For a moment, he stands outside his children’s doors and imagines them sleeping within. Elizabeth, so full of life, with inquisitive eyes and a curious mind so similar to her mother’s. And Henry, already showing signs of a quiet, contemplative soul.

He glances down at his wedding band, his father’s wedding band, and smiles before walking to the playroom. Inside is his wife, submissive, lover, the mother of his children, and his best friend. Tonight, he will once