Once secured, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. He instead brought his mouth to the soft curve of her neck andplaced a kiss. She let out a soft hum that made Will start to unravel. He had been containing himself for too long.
Will’s lips lingered at the hollow beneath her ear. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered against her skin, voice ragged. “Tell me now and I’ll—”
Lizzie turned in his arms so fast that the necklace chain caught on his fingers. “Don’t you dare stop.” The words barely left her mouth before his hands were in her hair, tilting her face up, kissing her like the last three months had been foreplay and he was finally allowed to breathe. It wasn’t gentle. It was months of warehouse nights,pastelitosleft in secret, of almosts and hallways and red dresses and “no unless.” She tasted likecoquitoand cinnamon and every swear word he’d never let himself say out loud. He walked her backward until her spine hit the floor-to-ceiling window, city lights exploding behind her like the whole damn skyline was celebrating. His palms slid down her sides, gripping the curve of her waist, thumbs brushing the softcarnitaAbuela had proudly pointed out.
“Been thinking about this part since Thanksgiving,” he growled against her throat. “Every time you spun out on that dance floor, I had to count ceiling tiles to keep from dragging you somewhere private.”
Lizzie laughed—breathless, wicked. “You should’ve. Would’ve saved us both a lot of suffering.” She tugged his shirt over his head, nails raking down his back hard enough to leave marks he’d wear like medals. He groaned her name like a prayer, lifted her, and her legs wrapped around his waist as if they’d rehearsed it. Red dress met the floor. Guayabera met the floor. Everything else followed in a frantic, laughing, Spanish-cursing pile. Later—minutes or hours, time had stopped cooperating—he had her on the kitchen island, her back arched, his mouth tracing every inch Abuela had jokingly blessed. She tasted like salt and sweetness and “finally.” When she came the first time,she bit his shoulder to muffle the sound and whispered “te quiero”against his skin like a secret she’d been terrified to say out loud.
When he followed her over, he buried his face in her neck and said the words he’d practiced in his head since the night he wrote the memo: “Yours. Mind, body, soul. All of it. Always.”
After, wrapped in nothing but the city lights and each other, she traced the coordinates tattooed on his wrist. “Hialeah will always be home for you,” she murmured.
He kissed the new necklace resting between her breasts. “And this—this is where I met the woman who rewrote the meaning of the word.” Outside, the last firework faded. Inside, they didn’t notice.
Chapter 22- Santa
Will woke up Christmas morning and made coffee the only way he knew how now: sugar prayed over by someone who loved him.
He carried two cups back to bed. Lizzie was tangled in his sheets, curls everywhere, looking like the best present he’d ever unwrapped.
She blinked up at him, sleepy and perfect. “Did Santa come?”
Will handed her thecolada. “I got me exactly what I wanted.”
“Lucky you,” she murmured, taking a sip. Then, quieter, “Merry Christmas, Will.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly serious. “I need to say something before my brain melts from how beautiful you look right now.”
Lizzie raised an eyebrow. “Okay…”
“My father pulled me aside at Thanksgiving. Said if we do this — really do this — people will talk. Every contract you win, every award, every headline… they’ll say it’s because you’re sleeping with me. He’s not wrong. I spent the last few weeks trying to figure out how to protect you from that.”
Lizzie set her cup down, crawled into his lap still wrapped in the sheet, and straddled him. “Will. I’ve been doubted my whole life. Too Cuban for the boardroom, too curvy for the influencers, too loud for the quiet girls. Let them talk. I’ll just keep winning louder.”
He exhaled like she’d pulled a weight off his chest. “So you’re not scared?”
“Only of finding out this is a dream.” She kissed him slowly, filthy, morning-breath-be-damned. “Well, that and sharks. Now stop worrying and devour me again.”
He did.
Twice.
Later — much later — they finally dragged themselves to the Benítez house for Christmas Day.
Abuela opened the door in a new housecoat and immediately started crying when she saw Will’s arm around Lizzie’s waist.
“¡Por fin, Virgen Santa!” She grabbed Will’s face and kissed both cheeks hard enough to leave lipstick prints. “You bring a gift?”
Will grinned and jerked his chin toward the driveway, where a brand-new AC unit sat wrapped in a giant red bow.
Abuela screamed. Actually screamed. Then dragged him inside, shouting, “¡El americano trae nuevo aire acondicionado! ¡Y a mi nieta también!” (The American brought me a new AC, and my granddaughter)
Lidia wandered out in pajamas, took one look at them holding hands, and deadpanned, “So I guess the yacht was a bad idea.”
Lizzie snorted. “You think?”
That evening, they went to the formal Pemberley Christmas party — crystal, string quartet, Carolina in pearls, looking like she’d swallowed a lemon.
