But there’s no support for them.
There’s no escape.
“Fucking hell, is he a professional MMA fighter or what?” the red haired guy groans, sitting up in that dazed way people do when they’ve got a concussion.
“Shut up,” David whines, his voice choked with the blood running from his nose as he stumbles to his feet. “Let’s get him, fellas. He’s one old man, for fuck’s sake.”
I grin like a wolf. “Yeah, come on, fellas.”
They dive at me and I let my finely honed instincts take over, slipping an amateurish overhand right and ducking under with a brutal body shot, sending the man wheezing to the floor.
I backhand another fist out of the way and then surge forward for a head butt, feeling the explosion of the nose on the surface of my skin.
Finally, they all learn their damn lesson, skirting backward, looking at me with the wide eyes the herd reserves for the alpha.
They can’t believe how powerless they truly are, especially not when they’ve been allowed to believe they’re powerful for their entire lives.
David stumbles back, his hand covering his face as the blood pours and pours from his nose.
I dart forward and grab the scruff of his neck, dragging him like a cub to my queen and forcing him to his knees.
“Apologize,” I snarl. “Right now.”
“I’m s-sorry,” he stammers. “Oh, jeez, my nose, man … Lena, I shouldn’t have done it. I don’t even know why I did it. I’m sorry.”
Lena tosses her head, her features so queenly I feel like beating my hands against my chest in triumph.
“I know why you did it, David,” she sighs. “Because you’re a pathetic little boy and have no idea what it takes to be a real man. Come on, Lorenzo, let’s leave these losers alone.”
I laugh and shove him away, approaching my queen and taking her by the arm. “After you,” I say.
We sit in the private garden of the elite rooftop restaurant, wisterias drifting down around our table, separating us from the pathway that leads to the general dining area. The sun slants down, glowing through the purple blooms of the wisteria leaves.
A bird sits on the balcony on the other side of the leaves, chirping a song.
“This is amazing,” Lena whispers, her dress a deep red that compliments her fertility, making her look like a bountiful slice of Eden offered up just for me.
For me.
Always.
“Not as amazing as us,” I whisper.
I stand up and walk around the table, falling to one knee, but we’re still staring into each other’s eyes since I’m so much taller than she is.
A blooming blush spreads across her face, the corners of her lips twitching upward warmly.
“I love you,” I say firmly, without doubt. “I love you more than anything in this world. I fell in love with you when I heard your sweet voice in the gym. I fell in love with you the first time I saw you bent over those flowerbeds. Hell, Lena, I fell in love with you when you faced down David, brave and sassier then a hellcat. I’ll never stop falling in love with you, every damn day.”
“I love you, too,” she gushes, a sob breaking at the back of her throat as tears cling to her eyes. “I love you so, so much, Lorenzo.”
“You’re the only person I ever want to spend my life with,” I whisper, reaching inside my suit jacket and taking out the silk lined ring box. I open it to reveal an elegant diamond ring with a beautifully sized and intricate rock. “Lena Kayla Jenkins, will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?”
Her mouth falls open in cute shock, and then she brings her hands to her face and gasps, waving at her eyes as though she can shoo away the tears.
But they come, coursing joyfully down her cheeks.
“Yes,” she cries. “A million, billion, ga-frickin’-jillion times yes!”
I slide the ring onto her finger and leap forward, throwing my arms around her and pulling her deep into my embrace.
“We’re going to be so happy,” I whisper, kissing away her warm, salty tears. “I’m yours. And you’re mine.”
“Forever,” she croaks, her smile making her whole face shine. “And ever and ever, Lorenzo.”
EPILOGUE
ONE YEAR LATER
Lena
I sit in the dressing room taking deep breaths, looking at myself in the mirror and trying to let calm waves wash over me. I’m wearing a loose fitting kaftan, because the baby weight from Hope and Grace hasn’t quite gone yet.
And by hasn’t quite gone, I mean it’s still there, pretty much.
I smooth my hands over my hair to tame the spiraling auburn and then take yet another deep breath, as though I’m trying to win the deep breath olympics or something.
I almost leap out of my skin when the door pushes open. I turn to find Lorenzo filling the frame, Hope cradled to his chest with one hand and Grace with the other. The light from the hallway spills in behind him and dimly I can hear the crowd from the theater drifting over to us, talking quietly.
I’m doing my first proper gig, arranged as a stylish night in a theater instead of at a bar or a club because I wanted to slowly ease myself into it. I’ve been releasing music online this whole past year, and a few of my songs have even gone a little viral, giving me two hundred thousand followers on social media.
But this gigging game is new to me, and the nerves buzz around me like frantic summer bees.
“You’re going to do amazingly well,” Lorenzo says, closing the door with his elbow.
He softly carries Hope and Grace to the cribs in the corner, which Lorenzo insisted were included with the room so that Grace and Hope could come and support their Mommy on her big night.
“Do you think so?”
I kneed my thighs through the kaftan, letting out sighs that are supposed to calm me, but only send more nerves surging through me.
