Rather, improvements.
A luscious garden flourishes, soft grass beneath my feet and trees rising up all around us, our own private paradise. But the thing that really takes my breath away, that causes my heart to pump at the back of my throat and tears to prick and sting my eyes, is the miniature Niagara Falls that rushes soothingly in the corner of this private paradise.
A sign proclaims Melody’s Falls.
I approach, the smile on my face so broad I feel my cheeks aching. Mason stands off to one side of the rushing water, his eyes holding the same glimmering quality as the shimmering pool.
He’s dressed in a silver suit that clings tightly to him, and his jaw is freshly shaven, square and sharp, and strong.
He’s my man.
My freaking man.
And he’s built me my own haven.
“Wow,” I gasp, turning slowly from the water to him. “Mason, this is just…”
“What you deserve,” he cuts in, moving forward and enveloping me in his arms. “Less than you deserve. Because you deserve the world, Melody, and for the rest of our lives I’m going to do my best to give it to you. I love you.”
I gasp and he smiles, letting out a breath of relief.
“I’ve wanted to say that for a long time. I love you. I love you more than food and wine and business and life. I love you more than words could explain. I love you more than fucking air. The first time I saw you, I knew I loved you, but I had to wait, I had to be ready. Because I wanted to tell you now, here, before I asked you the most important question I’ve ever asked anybody.”
“I love you,” I whisper, my voice heavy with emotion and breathy as I watch him.
I watch my man step back and fall to one knee.
I watch him reach into his jacket pocket and take out a ring box and aim those intense blue-flamed eyes up at me.
“Melody Baston,” he says, and we share a private joking glance over my surname.
Happiness floods me when I realize that we can joke about it because it doesn’t have to hang like a threatening cinderblock over my life anymore.
“I love you and I can’t wait for us to have children together. I can’t imagine a future without you in it. Will you make me the happiest man alive and be my wife?”
“Yes,” I squeal, as he opens the ring box to reveal a shimmering, elegant diamond set in a band the same color as his silver-moon hair. “Oh, God, yes. Of course yes, Mason. I love you so freaking much it hurts. I love you so much I could puke.”
I giggle as he slides the ring on, and then stands up, smirking.
“Well, don’t puke yet,” he says. “It might make this a little difficult.”
He leans in and I leap forward with him, needy for the taste of him, not just my man and my partner anymore, but my freaking fiancé.
“Wait a second,” I say, gasping as I break off the kiss. “Is this why Gertrude was being so coy earlier? Did you ask her blessing?”
“Of course I did,” he grins. “She’s going to officially be your mother soon, right? What sort of an animal do you think I am?”
I giggle and wrap my arms around his shoulders, standing on my tiptoes and guiding the kiss myself this time, guiding us toward a crescendo of lust and closeness that feels like it’s never going to stop.
All this time, I was scared of who I was.
I was scared nobody would want me.
But I was wrong.
And it’s never felt so good.
EPILOGUE
TWO WEEKS LATER
Mason
I wake to the sound of bacon frying from the kitchen, a soft sizzling that makes my nose wrinkle and fills me with hunger.
The first thing I do, the first thing I always do, is reach across for Melody so that I can feel the soft curviness of her body.
But of course, she’s not there.
She’s the one making the bacon, dumbass.
I laugh and sit up, rubbing sleep from my eyes and smiling like the happiest man on the planet.
No, not like the happiest man on the planet.
I am the goddamned happiest man on the planet.
These past two weeks with Melody have been like a fever dream, one I never want to wake up from.
Watching her take the reins of not just Natalie’s wedding but several others, too, has been a sight to behold, as though the confidence from our relationship is spreading like life-giving light to every part of her being.
It’s the same with me, too, the love she’s given me and which I’ll always give her in return allowing me to savor the little things in my life like I never have before.
I sit up and pop my neck from side to side, grinning widely as I feel the sex sore points all over my body.
Then I walk in my boxer briefs through the penthouse apartment, across the wide open-plan living room, and to the kitchen with its sleek shiny metal surfaces.
My queen is standing at the frying pan, biting her lip, looking like the fuckable goddess she is in a pink tank top and shorts that leave so little to the imagination my manhood tries to spring free from my briefs.
“Are you trying to drive me insane?” I tease, walking up behind her and sliding my hands up her shirt, over her belly, toward those breasts that are made for squeezing and touching and pleasing.
But then I pause.
I feel something in her, a subtle change in her body.
It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what.
A tension that wasn’t there before, a nervousness moving through her.
A scent, almost.
Something’s different about her.
“Melody?” I whisper.
“Hmm?” she says.
“Why are you acting so strange?” I say, trying for a laugh, but it comes out all hollow. “And why won’t you look at me, eh? Don’t say you’re still angry about the spanking I gave you last night. Because, as I recall, you gave as good as you
