by Vi Keeland
“Who are you? You’ve come a long way from the workaholic I used to know.”
“Yeah, well, I have better things to do these days. Namely, you.”
Back at the apartment, Charlotte had just stepped out of the shower when I decided to let her in on a couple of surprises I’d had up my sleeve.
“Remember our first showing together in Bridgehampton? The owner was an artist who painted portraits depicting how couples met?”
“Yeah, I remember thinking that was so cool.”
“Well . . . I looked her up and asked her to make one for us.”
Her mouth hung open. “Are you kidding?” Then she seemed to think about it some more. “Wait . . . how we met? That wasn’t exactly the most romantic experience; quite the opposite. This is going to be interesting.”
“Well, I realized that. So let’s just say I put a unique spin on it.” I walked to the corner of the room and lifted the portrait, bringing it over to her.
Peeling the bubble wrap off, I slowly opened it. I hadn’t seen it yet myself because I wanted to be just as surprised as Charlotte.
“Oh my God!” Charlotte yelled. She covered her mouth with her hand and then began laughing uncontrollably.
I was holding on to my stomach in laughter myself.
The artist had done a phenomenal job depicting Charlotte and me on a surfboard—with a dog in front of us. We were dog surfing. Her interpretation of Charlotte’s face was spot on. I’d given the artist actual photos to work with. In the painting, I was on the back of the board, hanging on for dear life and looking terrified while Charlotte was laughing without a care in the world. The dog’s tongue was hanging out and his eyes looked possessed. This was classic and would forever be displayed front and center wherever we happened to be living.
She was grinning so hard. “This is seriously . . . the best gift anyone has ever given me.”
“I’m not exactly done with the gifts today,” I said.
“Oh?”
Rubbing my hands together, I geared up for my next surprise. “So I was thinking . . . as of last check, you only have one more item on your Fuck-It List that you haven’t completed.”
Her eyeballs flitted back and forth as if she had to think about it. “Sculpt a nude man . . .”
“Yes.” I smiled nervously. “Anyway . . . I’d like to be your model.”
“Are you serious?”
“Dead.”
My spare bedroom was now Charlotte’s art space. I had no idea if she even had the right tools to do this today, but I was hoping she’d go along with it.
“This is nuts . . . but in a good way.” She was beaming. “I would love to sculpt you.”
“Well, then I’m your man.”
“I can’t believe you actually want to do this.”
“Why not? It’s not like I want you sculpting some other dude naked, right?”
“I guess I can see your point.”
“And I’m pretty sure this will somehow end in sex. So I’m looking forward to that.”
“You’re gonna have to stand there for a while, you know.”
“I’m in it for the long haul.”
A wide smile spread across her face. “So am I, Reed.” I knew she wasn’t just referring to today.
“Remember the first night I ever came to your apartment, when I said Allison dodged a bullet?”
“Yeah.”
Placing my hands on her shoulders and looking into her eyes, I said, “I was the one who dodged a bullet, Charlotte. I can’t imagine having gone on to marry her. I would have never known that my one true love was still out there. What I feel for you is beyond what I’ve ever felt in my life. Even the MS . . . everything had to happen exactly the way it did for me to be with you. I wouldn’t change anything if it still meant finding you. I will always be grateful to Allison for leaving me, because I now know that I have a deeper capacity to love than I ever thought possible. It would’ve been tragic to never realize that. I just hope I can make you as happy as you make me.”
“You’ve already made me the happiest woman in the world. I don’t know if it was the magic of the dress, or fate, or God, but something brought me to you. There was never a moment where I really doubted that I was meant to find you and meant to be yours. I always felt your love for me, even when you were trying to fight it like hell. That was what kept me from giving up on you. I will never give up on you, Reed. I’m in this for the long haul, because I want to be. Do you understand?”
“I understand that now, baby.”
“Good.”
I smiled. “Shall we get going into the art room?”
“After you.”
Charlotte turned the lights on and began gathering her supplies. “Normally, I would just do the torso. But I would love to try to sculpt below the waist.”
“You want to mold my cock? Do you have enough clay?” I winked.
“I can make do.”
“If you want me hard, take off your shirt. It’s only fair if I have to stand here naked for an hour that I get something to look at, too.”
To my delight, she obliged, agreeing to sculpt me with her beautiful tits hanging out.
It was fascinating to watch her so focused. She’d placed a big slab of clay onto a metal pole and used what looked like a spatula to smooth around it.
At one point, she said, “I just have to get some water. I’ll be right back.”
This was it. This was my moment to put my plan into place. I somehow had to stay hard for this to work.
Stay hard.
Stay hard.
Without Charlotte and her beautiful tits in the room, it wasn’t guaranteed. I reached over to my pants pocket and took out the small velvet pouch, tying the drawstrings to form a loop at the end. I slipped it over my still rigid cock and let the bag hang from my dick as if it were an ornament.
When she returned, I resumed my stoic pose and waited for her to notice.
A few seconds later, she looked down. “What is that?”
“What do you mean?”
“That black thing hanging from your cock.”
Stifling my laughter, I said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She tilted her head. “Reed . . .”
I looked down. “Oh! This . . . yes.” I nudged my head. “Why don’t you come here and see.”
She wiped her hands and slowly approached before carefully sliding the velvet pouch off me.
“What’s inside of this, Reed?”
I took it from her. “While sculpting me nude completes your Fuck-It List for now, I happened to add a very important item to mine today, one that my life would not be complete without.” I got down on one knee and opened the pouch, taking out the two-carat, pear-shaped halo diamond engagement ring. “Charlotte Darling, will you help me make my ultimate bucket-list wish come true? Will you be my wife?”
My hand trembled as I placed the ring on her finger. It gave her pause. She looked down at me, and I smiled reassuringly, refusing to believe it was a tremor and convincing myself it was just nerves.
Not now. Fuck you.
Tears were streaming down her cheeks. “Yes! Yes, of course, I will!”
Still stark naked, I lifted my topless beauty into the air. “You’ve just made me the happiest man on earth.”
“I can’t believe you pulled this off without me knowing.”
“It wasn’t hard.”
She gave me a tug. “I beg to differ.”
EPILOGUE
CHARLOTTE
Twenty-six years later
Sparkling chandeliers lit up the rustic villa that was adorned with towering centerpieces of lush flowers. Cascading fabric draped from the ceilings completed the fairy tale–like ambience.
As I gazed out onto the dance floor, I couldn’t help wishing that Iris were here to see her great-granddaughter get married.
Overcome with emotion, I reached for Reed’s hand as we watched our daughter, Tenley Iris, and her new husband, Jake, d
ance to “What a Wonderful World” by Louis Armstrong.
Tenley undeniably had her father’s genes—darker hair and dark eyes—while our son, Thomas, took after me with blond hair and blue eyes. My focus wandered to the head table. Sitting next to his uncle Max, Thomas was grinning from ear to ear as he watched his big sister dance with her new husband. It was nice to have him home from Brown for the weekend.
In the other corner of the room, my two brothers, Jason and Justin, sat with their families. We’d gotten closer over the years and spent every other holiday out in Texas. I was never able to figure out who my father was. My brothers said my mother told them that it was a boy passing through town who ended up moving away. Even with Reed’s investigator on the case, we never found him.
When the dance ended, the DJ announced that it was time for the father-daughter dance. Goosebumps peppered my arms.
I looked down at Reed. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation.
Tenley approached and offered her hands to her father, who slowly and carefully rose from his wheelchair. While my husband wasn’t bound to one, he needed to take frequent breaks when on his feet all day. I knew he’d wanted to save all his energy for this dance. His performance at the church earlier in the day had already taken a lot out of him, emotionally and physically. My beautiful husband had surprised us all when he finally gave that performance he’d always wanted to by singing with the church choir during the wedding ceremony. He’d even had a short solo part.
Over the years, the MS had crept up, but it hadn’t taken away Reed’s spirit and determination. There were good days, when he felt stronger than others, and overall the good days outweighed the bad. But the MS was no longer something we could ignore—as much as I’d wanted to.
When “Dream a Little Dream” by Cass Elliot started playing, I got chills. Tenley had chosen that song because Reed used to sing it to her when she was a little girl.
With their hands intertwined, they rocked back and forth to the rhythm of the song. He was doing everything in his power to not show that he was struggling. I was so incredibly moved that Reed was able to do this. It meant so much, especially because of the last item he’d added to his bucket list: Dance with Tenley on Her Wedding Day.
So this dance was everything.
Tears clouded my vision. The guests cheered especially hard when the dance ended. Tenley and Reed walked hand in hand over to me, and the three of us huddled in an embrace.
Reed then promptly returned to his seat in the wheelchair. I knew he’d used every ounce of energy he had for that dance and needed to rest. He was going to dance with his daughter today if it was the last thing he ever did.
Tenley scurried away, leaving Reed and me alone.
Leaning down to kiss him, I said, “You did great.”
He smiled mischievously up at me. “You know what I would love to finish off this day?”
“What?”
“You riding me on this thing.”
Some things never change.
“Sex on wheels?” I smiled.
We both broke out into laughter. Reed had told me the story about the guy in Central Park who’d made an impression on him all those years ago. We’d often joke about “sex on wheels” whenever he had to use the chair. And we had indeed had “sex on wheels,” plenty of times.
Tenley hung on to the skirt of her gown as she rushed toward me. “Hey, Mom. I don’t want to dance around with the note in my dress. Something might happen to it. Can you take it for me?”
“Of course.” Lifting up the material, I carefully unpinned the note.
As her something blue, Tenley had wanted to pin the blue note that Reed had given me on our wedding day—the same note I’d worn inside of my own dress.
“Thank you, Mom.” She bent down to give her father a kiss before running off.
As Reed fixed his eyes on his daughter across the room, I smiled at the look of pride on his face. Before I put it away in my bejeweled clutch purse, I reminisced as I read the note.
From the desk of Reed Eastwood
To my one true love and soulmate, Charlotte,
I don’t need the help of a poet to articulate my love for you. But to try to reduce it to a couple of sentences could never do my feelings justice. Even my wildest dreams could never have conjured up the level of love in my heart today. You’re beyond my wildest dreams. My love for you is infinite. You. Are. Everything.
Your love,
Reed
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First and foremost, thank you to all the bloggers who enthusiastically spread the news about our books. We are eternally grateful for all that you do. Your hard work is what helps to build excitement and introduces us to readers who may otherwise never have heard of us.
To Julie—Thank you for your friendship, daily support, and encouragement. We can’t wait for “moore” of your phenomenal books coming soon!
To Luna—What would we do without you? Thank you for being there for us day in and day out as a friend and so much more, and for blessing us with your incredible creative talent.
To Erika—Thank you for your friendship, love, and support. Your eagle eye is pretty awesome, too.
To our agent, Kimberly Brower—Thank you for working tirelessly to help see this book come to fruition. We are so lucky to call you a friend as well as an agent. We’re excited for the year ahead and are grateful that you will be there with us every step of the way.
To our amazing editor at Montlake, Lindsey Faber, and to Lauren Plude and the entire Montlake team—Thank you for working so hard to ensure that Hate Notes was the best that it could be. It was an absolute pleasure working with you.
To J. Iron Word—Thank you for allowing us to use your beautiful quote that inspired our story.
Last but not least, to our readers—We keep writing because of your hunger for our stories. We love surprising you and hope you enjoyed this book as much as we did writing it. Thank you as always for your enthusiasm, love, and loyalty. We cherish you!
Much love,
Penelope and Vi
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ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Penelope Ward © 2016 Angela Rowlings
Penelope Ward is a New York Times, USA Today, and #1 Wall Street Journal bestselling author. She grew up in Boston with five older brothers and spent most of her twenties as a television news anchor. Penelope resides in Rhode Island with her husband, son, and beautiful daughter, who has autism. She is the author of more than twenty novels, including Stepbrother Dearest, Neighbor Dearest, Drunk Dial, and the #1 Wall Street Journal bestseller RoomHate.
Vi Keeland © 2017 Irene Bella Photography
Vi Keeland is a #1 New York Times, #1 Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author. Her titles have appeared on more than ninety bestseller lists and are currently translated into twenty languages. She resides in New York with her husband and their three children, where she is living out her own happily ever after with the boy she met at age six.
Together, Vi and Penelope have written Cocky Bastard, Stuck-Up Suit, Playboy Pilot, Mister Moneybags, British Bedmate, Rebel Heir, and Rebel Heart. Visit them at www.vikeeland.com and www.penelopewardauthor.com.
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