“No, we can’t.” She pressed her mouth onto his and sucked Penfolds Grange from his tongue. If this were the only way she could drink for the next few months, she’d gladly deal with it.
“I know they’re tender.” He cupped her breasts. “I’ll be gentle.”
“Don’t even think about it.” She helped him pull the dress over her head and unfastened her strapless bra.
“I can’t believe they’re going to get bigger,” he said, eyes fixed on her breasts.
His mouth closed around her nipple before he trailed soft kisses down her chest, stopping at her stomach.
“Are you weirded out?” she asked.
Laughing, he glanced up. “Babe . . .” He moistened his lips. “Nothing could keep me away from this.”
He stripped to his boxer briefs and slid her satin thong down, tossing it aside. “I love you, Mrs. Kingston.”
“I love you too, Mr. Robertson.”
Although their guests were waiting, he took his time, sweeping light strokes along her sex. “See? I can do this with my ring on,” he murmured, slipping his finger inside her.
“Aren’t you talented.”
“I guess I am.” He shed his briefs. “Now I’m going to make love to my wife for the first time.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t . . .” She touched her belly. “The baby.”
He laughed. “What? You think he’s going to see my dick?”
“It’s pretty hard to miss.”
When they returned to the tent, the Robertsons and KAT Management’s artists were in full swing, jamming to a familiar song. Laughter and music filled the air, the rhythm infectious, pulling everyone into the moment.
Tyler squeezed Cary’s hand. “What could be better than this?”
“Just wait and see.” He grabbed a guitar and clamped on the Humbler’s capo.
“What the . . .” Her voice trailed off as he stepped onto the stage.
Cary took the mic. “This one’s for you, Tyler Robertson. It’s called ‘Everything.’ I wrote it for you last Christmas.”
Through the tent’s opening, she gazed at the stars and smiled.
This song would be his next hit.
Her birthday wish had come true.
Thiswas it.
EPILOGUE
Later that year, Cary topped the charts with two number-one hits. “Happy Merry Christmas” had cemented its place as a holiday classic, ensuring Bert never had to work again. But like Cary, he loved playing music—so he did.
Leonard “Lenny” Kingston was born on Valentine’s Day, named after the Humbler. He had his dad’s bright hazel eyes and his mom’s dimples—everything Tyler had hoped for, yet still couldn’t believe.
Cary’s parents practically moved into their guesthouse, with plenty of space for Bert and the Grants. Dylan and Joe named their son Hassun—“Hass” for short—a Cree name meaning “stone.” Tyler and Cary refused to hire a nanny, grateful for the extra help. Even Dylan admitted buying the property had been a good idea, eating her words with a grin.
Rory was just as happy. He had a yard to roam and a brother to nap with. But once Lenny started walking, Rory’s days of peaceful rest were over—chase became his new favorite game.
Except for Coachella—which was a smashing success—and a few corporate gigs, Cary took a full year off from touring to be with Lenny. Fatherhood ignited something in him. Tyler loved hearing him sing aroundthe house. Sometimes she thought it was the radio—then remembered they didn’t own one.
