Page 295 of A Song for You

I pull her against my chest and hold tight to the only woman I’ve ever loved. Ducking and bringing my lips to her ear, I rasp, “You’re a dream come true, Kitten. Our life is a dream fucking come true.”

“Swoony,” she murmurs.

“And tonight, I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll forget both our last names.”

She laughs. “Surprisingly, that didn’t ruin the swoon. You’ve gotten better at this.”

My hair falls over my eyes as I smile down at her. “Only for you.”

“Head over heels,” she whispers as I press my lips to her forehead.

Trailing lower, I pepper her face with kisses and cradle her cheeks. “Completely. Irrevocably. Head over fucking heels in love with you, wife.”

Epilogue

Die First by Nessa Barrett

Many Years Later

Jay

“There’s no fucking way my daughter is marrying a McCabe,” I grumble as my wife tries to push me out our bedroom door.

“Shh, she’ll hear you,” Cat scolds. Her glare still heats me up in a way only she ever has.

I press her against the door, caging her in, and push my pelvis against her. “Let’s just stay here. I don’t want to do a meet the family dinner. I can make it worth your while.”

Cat bites her lip to hide her smile. “Our only daughter is getting married. Keep it in your pants for once.”

“Ha,” I bark. “As if I’m the only dirty one here.”

Her lashes flutter closed as she places her soft hands against my wildly beating heart. At forty-eight, my wife still takes my breath away. She’s only gotten more stunning as her confidence has grown through the years.

We still play. Together and sometimes with others. But my favorite moments are when it’s just the two of us, here, in our own little world. She’s all I’ve ever needed—all I’ve ever craved—and the smile on her face tells me she knows it.

Some couples spend their lives side by side yet living separate lives. Their friends interest them; strangers entertain them. I want nothing to do with them.

My wife is the most interesting person in the world to me. Her thoughts. Her expressions. Fuck, I could watch her for hours and never get enough. We don’t live a life beside one another. We live a life with one another. She’s my life. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

One year after our marriage in Paris, Catherine gave birth to our first son. Two years later, we welcomed our second. A year after that, my wife was diagnosed with cancer.

Because of her annual check-ups, we caught the cancer early, and as my wife always does, she used her experience to highlight the importance of annual screenings in an article she wrote for Jolie. She also started an editorial column online where she wrote about the treatments weekly.

While she was the epitome of grace under pressure, I was a ball of nerves. I told her we couldn’t let fear dictate our lives, but the thought of losing her was so debilitating, there were times it was hard to let her go and get out of bed. But I did. We had children to raise and lives to lead. I promised Catherine she’d have my last breath, and I pray mine is before hers.

Finding Catherine all those years ago wasn’t fate. It wasn’t destined. It was fucking perfection. It was finding a needle in a damn haystack, and I worked hard for that fucking needle. I’ve worked hard for this life. But the work didn’t stop years ago when I won her back. It didn’t stop after we had kids, or after we found out she was in remission.

The work never stops. They say if you love someone, it isn’t work. But that’s fucking nonsense. Marriage is work. Love is work. If you don’t have to fight for it, it’s not worth it. But being her husband is the greatest job I’ve ever had. It’s the experience of a lifetime.

I’d fight every day of my damn life for this woman, and she’d do the same for me.

I press my lips to hers and take her hand in mine, twining our fingers where our names are inscribed. I’ll never get enough of my kitten. A quick kiss turns passionate, and of their own volition, my hands are in her hair, ready to undo the carefully curled tendrils secured in an updo that highlights my favorite spot. Right beneath her ear, where she shudders every time my lips meet her soft skin.

“Dad, they’re here!” JJ calls. He goes by Jonathan Junior, even though we don’t share the same middle name. The kid is my doppelganger. His younger brother, James, looks exactly like his mother. Right down to the whiskey eyes that have always been my undoing.

I growl into Cat’s mouth as she tries to pull away from me.

“Jay.” Her tone holds no scolding, though. It’s all panting, want, and need.