My breath shuddered, but my voice stayed steady when I whispered, “You’re mine.”
His mouth covered mine, kissing me slow and deep, tasting of coffee and devotion. I’d once thought this abyss of hurt between us was unbridgeable, but he’d refused to forget my pain. He’d sank into it, drowning in my hurt, until we found a way to move past it together. To heal in the safety of having chosen each other, and every memory.
Epilogue 1
NINA
Five months later …
The space still smelled of fresh paint and sawdust. Underneath, faint hints of the rich, bitter coffee from Reality Bites next door drifted through. Our name, Clean Slate Branding & Strategy, gleamed on the glass door in matte-gold lettering. Lincoln was crouched on the floor, adjusting the edge of a rug he insisted “pulled the whole space together with its mustard notes.” He’d know. The thing looked plain yellow to me. He wore a charcoal suit with his sleeves shoved to his elbows and no tie, looking infuriatingly casual for someone about to schmooze BrightMark’s entire executive team.
I tried to focus on going over our talking points, but I couldn’t shake Vinny out of my mind.
I’d run into him last week outside the courthouse. He’d spotted me before I could pretend I hadn’t seen him. The man who’d once entered any room with the cool crew was nowhere in front of me. He’d lost so much weight his suit hung off him. Maybe he’d been living on borrowed confidence his whole life and he’d finally run out of it. His eyes had that sleepless gloss,the one I’d known so well from those years I worked two and three jobs to get by. He was running on fumes. Still, he’d smiled at me, a worn-out curve, and, even with his parents’ court date set, said he was happy the suit was going smoothly for me.
For all the thingshecould say, after the stunted greeting and well-wishes, all Vinny did was ask about Reality Bites.
“Do you still work for them?” he’d asked, his eyes fixed somewhere on my face but not my eyes.
“Kind of. They’re a client of ours.”
“And you still go there—to hang out? They’re doing well?” His question rushed out of his lips, a bit too eager for small talk between estranged cousins.
“Why are you so interested?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes I crave cupcakes.”
I’d wanted to ask a thousand questions myself. Mostly, I wanted to know whyheseemed to not even have enough for his next meal. But I bit my tongue. He’d never taken anything off my shoulders, so I forced myself to let him carry his own burden. Vinny and his family had made their choices.
Warmth spread through me, pulling me back into the present when Lincoln’s hand smoothed over the front of my gown and rested low, right where my belly had begun to swell.
“Hey,” he murmured, “you with me?”
I nodded, covering his hand with mine.
“Thinking about the gala?” he asked, though his thumb tracing over the curve of my stomach told me he already knew it wasn’t about work.
“Thinking about a lot of things,” I admitted. “Carmen’ll be there.”
Lincoln’s mouth curved. “She’s trying to control the narrative after that whole scandal.”
I huffed. “You mean after she engineered the whole thing? I know her shtick now.”
Lincoln laughed. “My lips are sealed, babe.” His other hand came up, tipping my chin until I met his eyes. “Don’t do that thing where you worry about everyone but yourself.”
“Someone’s got to.”
He leaned in until his forehead brushed mine. “You’ve got enough to worry about,” he muttered, his voice rough. “Like our daughter kicking me through your ribs last night.”
“She’s pretty fond of you already,” I teased, but my throat felt tight. I leaned into him, breathing him in, letting myself settle into that feeling ofsafety.
Lincoln dipped his head and kissed me. Slow and deep, the way he did when he coaxed everything I couldn’t say until I poured it straight into him. When he finally pulled back, his mouth stayed a hairsbreadth from mine.
“You’ve thought about my offer, Reyes?” he murmured, voice a warm rasp against my lips.
“Yes,” I said, my fingers smoothing over his lapel. “Answer’s still no.”
He groaned low in his throat, dropping his forehead to my shoulder. All drama in this pretend mortal wound I’d just inflicted on him. But his kisses didn’t stop, an archipelago of them trailing the base of my neck, sending heat straight to my chest.
