When his lips touch mine, my soul lets out a happy sigh. I part my lips and taste his mouth, clinging onto him like he’s the life raft I’ve been waiting for.
In the shadow of the house that broke us apart, we come back together.
Benji’s mouth claims mine. His hands brand me. He imprints himself on my heart, my mind, my soul. He writes our story and our future in permanent marker, signing both our names in an immutable contract.
He’s mine, and I’m his.
Money won’t come between us. Houses and pasts won’t come between us. We’ll no longer look for reasons to turn away from each other, because the only way forward is together.
I kiss the man I love as my heart opens up and accepts all his love. I taste his mouth and lash my tongue against his. I inhale his scent and cling onto his shoulders, never wanting to let go.
“I love you, Rae,” he says between kisses. “I’ve loved you for months. I loved you the first day I saw you, and I’ve been fighting it ever since. I’m sick of fighting. Sick of running. Sick of doing everything I can to deny it. I love you. I love you. I love you.”
My breath trembles, and I kiss him again, and again, and again.
I say it, too. I love you. I whisper it between his lips and let him swallow it down. I tell him over and over again, but it doesn’t feel like enough.
Benji is more than my love. He’s my future. My family. My soul mate.
As we stay in each other’s arms, whispering all the tender words we’ve both been dying to hear, I know he understands.
This is more than love. It’s a promise and a commitment. It’s a change in the direction of our lives that will leave behind the fears and worries we both clung onto. It’s an oath, sealed with a kiss, written in stone.
Together, always.
Epilogue
Rae
Showing Benji where I grew up is the perfect goodbye to this place. When we get to my bedroom, Benji wraps his arms around me and shows me just how much he missed me.
We order some food for dinner and eat it on the expensive sofa I was never allowed to sit on when I was growing up. I cross my legs, staring around the lavish room.
“I don’t know what to do. My parents wouldn’t take the house back, but it’s so much work to maintain. I don’t want to have to come down here multiple times a year.”
“Sell it,” Benji answers simply.
I frown. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’s my parents’ house.”
“Whose name is on the deed?”
I drop my fork in the Styrofoam container I’m holding, shaking my head. “It would be wrong. That’s not why they gave it to me. Plus, it would feel like stealing.”
“So, give them the money after you sell it.”
I tilt my head, staring at the beautiful man sitting beside me. My heart starts to thump. I bite my lip, sucking a breath in.
Benji smiles. “You’re considering it.”
“It would make my life a lot easier.”
Benji smiles, arching an eyebrow. “I think you should. Let go of this place and come home with me.”
I take a deep breath, putting the remnants of my dinner down on the coffee table, then I throw my arms around him and kiss him. With Benji, everything feels simple. Hopeful. Happy.
Benji stays with me for the few weeks it takes to hire a real estate agent and get everything organized for the sale of the house. I warn my parents multiple times, but I think they don’t believe that I’m going through with it.
I do, though.
Once the house is on the market, I jump on a flight with Benji and head home. To Woodvale. To my family. To the lush, green countryside full of family and friendly neighbors.
When we get there, I move in with Benji. It happens completely naturally. I think Lucy enjoys the space, too, because my old bedroom is turned into an office for her to study in when she starts college in the fall.
Sawyer and Benji take over the running of the garage, and I work on Willow’s garden design for the Black Estate. That leads to more landscaping opportunities, and pretty soon, I’m pulling in a decent wage from freelance landscape design.
It takes three months for the Houston house to sell. I don’t even head down to Texas to close the deal. Everything is done over the phone and email. Even when the movers pack up the furniture and put it into a shipping container with my parents’ Italian address on it, I don’t let it stress me out. Benji helps. Whenever I start thinking about what my parents will say, and if they’ll ever forgive me, he wraps his arms around me and reminds me I’m doing the right thing.
I’m done worrying about things that aren’t mine, for people who don’t worry about me. My parents splutter and protest, but quiet down when I transfer the money from the house sale back to them.
Benji’s solution is the simplest, cleanest, and best one there is. Once the money is transferred, the furniture is on a boat, and the house no longer belongs to me, I feel freer than I’ve ever felt in my life.
The chain around my neck is broken. The weight on my shoulders is lifted. My life can continue.
Benji and I celebrate with a bottle of champagne, staring at the backyard of his house, where I’ve already started planting more greenery. We sit on the porch loveseat, clinking our glasses together, drinking to the beginning of our new life.
“There’s one more thing,” Benji says, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a little velvet box, and my heart jumps into my throat.
He smiles at me, but before opening the box, he pauses. “Rae.”
