Page 158 of Never After Us
“But more than anything,” I whisper, leaning closer, “I want to love you in the open.Without feeling like the world might pull us apart.”
Her eyes soften, filling with something tender and certain.“Me too.”
I lower my head and kiss her—slow, deep, claiming, the kind of kiss that imprints itself on a man.Her hands slide up my chest, fingers slipping into my hair, tugging just enough to pull a quiet groan from me.I wrap my arms around her waist and lift her slightly.She laughs against my mouth, her legs instinctively curling around my hips as if she’s been waiting years to do it.
“I love you,” she murmurs into the kiss, her lips brushing mine with each syllable.
I cradle her face in both hands, tilting her head just enough to capture her mouth fully this time.The kiss deepens instantly, not rushed, not frantic—just powerful enough to make the world outside the walls go silent.Her lips part on a soft sound that shoots through me, and I pull her closer, feeling her melt into me like she’s finally letting herself lean without fear.
Her fingers slide up the sides of my neck, threading into my hair, holding me as if she’s been waiting years for this exact moment.I breathe her in—vanilla shampoo, warmth, the faintest tremor of emotion still clinging to her—and press my forehead against hers before kissing her again.Slower this time.More certain.
She sighs into my mouth, and it feels like trust.It feels like something neither of us dared to believe we could have.
When I lift her, her legs wrap around my hips naturally, her laugh blending with the sound of my own low groan.I kiss her the way a man kisses the person he’s been falling for long before he had the courage to name it.My hands trace the curve of her back, grounding both of us as the kiss turns deeper, richer—filled with everything we’ve been holding inside.
Epilogue
Alec
It’s been six months since Laura moved to Seattle.Six months since Mila, Mara, and I decided to move into a house close to the Reznors.There’s a backyard for Mila to ride around on a bike and a school where they have no problem catering to a nine-year-old who is already learning algebra.She has friends all over the world, but likes that she can have sleepovers and playdates like any other kid.
We travel often, but only when school isn’t in session.
Mara finally agreed to show her work in a gallery.A gallery she opened with part of the money Lina left for her.She’s been doing a lot of philanthropic work, and together we founded a charity for foster children.That’s what I’ve been doing, managing the places and finding a life that suits me.
Mila knocks on my office’s door the way she always does—three taps like she’s serving a warrant.I open it, prepared for the usual interrogation, but she marches past me with purpose, arms crossed, chin lifted the way Mara does when she’s about to dismantle someone politely.
“We need to talk,” she announces, climbing onto my couch like it’s her throne.
Oh, boy.
“Do we?”I ask cautiously.
“Yes.Because you and Mommy told me you’re together, and that means change.I need a plan.A schedule.Expectations.”She gestures to the air.“So sit.”
I sit.
She studies me through her tiny glasses—the plastic ones she insists are ‘for interviews and serious talks.’Then she leans forward, voice dropping to a conspiring whisper.
“So ...when are you going to propose?”She crosses her arms.“Mom said you won’t have a baby until after the wedding.”
I laugh.“Wedding?”I repeat.
She nods, utterly unimpressed by my shock.“Yeah.Those parties Aunt Aly organizes with bright flowers, big kisses, and yummy cake.A dress that hopefully has sparkles.”Her fingers wiggle like fireworks.“You two are in love.That’s what comes next.”
I let out a slow breath because this conversation is both the most important and the most terrifying of my entire adult life.
I smile and show her the ring.“She’s not ready yet, but once I know your mom is ready for it, I’ll be popping the question—but you have to keep this a secret.”
She gasps.“Really?You’re ready.”
I wink at her.“Yes, but we’ll have to wait a little longer.”
“How long?”she asks, a little exasperated.
“Mila,” I say again, softer this time, “I want to ask your mom to marry me.Eventually.Not today.Not tomorrow.But soon.And before I even think about doing that, I need to know how you feel.”
She tilts her head.“Feel about what?”
