Epilogue One
Mindy
(Four months later)
Rich yawns loudly as he enters the kitchen, wiping the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand. It’s been a few months since Italy, but he and I haven’t stopped moving forward since.
When I pictured who I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, his face isn’t what I envisioned. It’s way better.
Being with Rich has taught me that there’s so many good things in life people often ignore. How many women have passed up the opportunity to be worshipped by an amazing man, all because they were too shallow to see beyond his scars?
Not me.
His scars are what make him so unique, and why I’ve fallen head over heels deeply in love with him since the first time he looked my way.
I never really believed in insta-love until I met him, because our relationship moved fast—faster than anything I’ve ever had before, and I wouldn’t change a minute of it.
The engagement ring hugs my finger like a promise, the largestone a reminder of just how far we’ve come. After we left Italy, I knew that there wasn’t any other man for me in this world. I trust him with my life, and I know that no matter what, he’ll always be there to hold me when I fall.
“You doing okay?” he questions, staring at me with hungry eyes, even though he’s wearing my pink robe and my fuzzy pink slippers, looking anything but dark and brooding.
He does nothing but smile now, no longer able to hide the sunshine he didn’t let anyone but me see. He still wears the mask when out in public, but at home with me or around his club, he no longer hides behind the flimsy plastic, allowing the real him to be exposed. If he weren’t already named Krampus, I’d have them change it to something more fitting. Like Knight, or Superman, something heroic that fits him just right.
He pulls me into his arms, giving me sweet kisses across my nose and cheeks. “I asked you a question, baby. Are you doing okay?”
“Pink’s really your color,” I tease, changing the subject.
He frowns. “Okay, spill. What aren’t you telling me?”
He hasn’t seen it yet. It’s laying right there on the table, but he’s too focused on me to see it.
“Maybe you should sit down.”
His smile drops. “Mindy, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?” He fumbles with a chair, then drops into it, his hand inches away from the little stick on the table.
“Nothing,” I lie, wondering how he’s going to take it when he finds out.
“Everything’s fine.”
My eyes dart to the stick by his hand, the two little lines screaming at him for attention. One more inch and he’ll touch it.
“I swear, woman, if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’ll—” His fingers touch the plastic, sending it skittering across the table.
That gets his attention.
The second he sees it, he freezes. Eyes drifting from it to me.
“Is that what I think it is?”
I nod.
Tears are already in his eyes. “Are you pregnant?”
“Mm hm,” I mumble, wiping a tear that falls down my cheek. “Is that okay?”
He’s out of his chair before I can stop him. “Are you kidding me? That’s fudging amazing!”
Oh yeah, that cussing thing… he’s working on it. I don’t think he realizes how much I’ve rubbed off on him.
