His expression turns serious.
He pulls me into his arms. “So we’re clear, I’m not letting you go, Mrs. König.”
“I can live with that, Mr. König.”
He presses his lips against mine in a scorching hot kiss, our tongues tangled, thrusting against each other.
It’s everything I need.
He’severything I need.
Epilogue
Phoenix
Five months later
The König clan and extended family are gathered in beautiful, snowy Aspen, Colorado.
My father, brothers, and I spend Christmas here or at the family house on Catalina Island. It’s our first Christmas together, and since Michaela has never been to Aspen, it was a logical choice. Dad owns a cabin here, Slate and Wilder share one, and I bought Barron’s cabin to keep it in the family and because I always loved his place. All three cabins are in close proximity of one another. It’s the same for our cousins’ cabins.
Dad is chilling at his place—no doubt nursing a glass of smooth whiskey in front of the fireplace while enjoying a gripping crime and thriller book. Slate and Wilder headed straight from the private jet to the ski slopes upon arrival this morning. Roman should arrive in a few hours. He’s still wary from his surfing accident, so for the first time since he was three years old, he’s not hitting the slopes.
I’m skipping skiing. My wife doesn’t ski. I suggested the kiddy slopes, but the flash of panic glinting from her eyes had mechanging my mind. Lucky for her, there’s no shortage of other outdoor activities to enjoy in Aspen.
“I dread snow, but out here, it’s so beautiful,” Michaela says, shaking off the snow as we enter the cabin.
“That’s because New Yorkers are pussies when it comes to a little snow.”
“True.” She removes her pale pink cashmere hat, matching scarf, and mittens before shrugging out of her puffy white down coat. She runs manicured fingers through her hair, her wedding ring and band glimmering under the light. I’ve grown accustomed to seeing them on her finger, but it doesn’t lessen the pang of pride that hits me every time.
This gorgeous, feisty, vivacious woman is mine.
She spikes the end of her hair for style. “I must look like a wet cat.”
“No, kitten, you look hot.”
She offers a bright smile.
She’s still sporting jet black hair and her trademark pixie cut. She considered growing it out, but when I told her how much I loved her hair short––and the easy access to her slender neck––she reconsidered.
She toes off her boots.
I follow her lead and shrug out of my winter clothes.
“Snow in Aspen two days before Christmas. You can’t ask for much more,” she says, entering the living room.
I follow right behind her.
“I love California and I would never live in Colorado year-round, but snow on Christmas Day is magical.”
She rubs her hands together. “I second that.”
I grab them into mine, bring them to my lips, and drop a kiss on her soft skin. “You’re still cold?”
The temperature has been unseasonably low in Colorado this December.
“‘Baby It’s Cold Outside’.” She sings the bridge to the icon song.
