by S. M. Soto
While I’ve been away on a work trip, Victor flew out to spend time with his daughter and the kids. I also have a surprise under my sleeve for tonight, and Victor is here to make sure it runs as seamlessly as possible.
Even though I knew she could handle it, I hated leaving them behind, especially with Easton still being so small.
At nine months, he should be a lot bigger than he is, but the pregnancy wasn’t an easy one for Daisy. The entire process wasn’t easy, and I’m positive she was close to giving in altogether. I was fine with it, I would do whatever I could just to see her happy, but I knew deep down, even with all the failures, she wanted to keep trying. And that final try was all it took.
Everything seemed to be smooth sailing until she went into premature labor with East. Thankfully, he’s a trouper, and he’s been getting stronger and stronger every day, but it was scary. I’ve never felt real fear like that before. Fear that I’d lose everything I’ve ever loved in the blink of an eye.
“How was the trip?” Daisy asks.
I bend down, pressing another kiss against her plump lips.
Christ, I’ll never get tired of this woman. “It was the usual. How were the kids?”
“Surprisingly good. Though, as you heard, Easton sort of traumatized Rose and Damon.”
I laugh. “That bad?”
“Oh, yeah. I think they’re fine playing the role of aunt and uncle for a good while.”
“You look beautiful,” I murmur, dragging my knuckles down her cheek. Her eyes flutter closed, and she reaches up, gripping my hand. She brings it to her mouth and kisses each knuckle with a tenderness that goes straight to my cock.
“I love you, husband.”
As I watch her lying there, I think back to one of the happiest days of my life. It brings an instant smile to my face.
With my sweaty hands clasped in front of me, I stand at the altar, my eyes glued to the sandy-aisled beach, waiting for my future wife.
“You sure about this?” Emilio, my best man, ribs.
The corner of my mouth twitches. I’ve waited my entire life for her. Of course, I am. “Never been more sure of anything.”
“Knew you were a goner the moment you were watching her in my restaurant.”
I scoff. “You didn’t know shit.”
“You’re here getting married to her, aren’t you?”
I ignore Emilio, still unable to wipe the smirk off my face. My breath suddenly expels from my lungs, as though someone is cinching the organs, when I see her for the first time. She’s so damn beautiful.
I’ve seen Daisy at many stages in her life, but walking down the aisle in a wedding dress, heading toward me, I never thought I’d see the day. I’d always dreamed of it, but I never thought it would happen.
Our gazes meet.
Deep brown and gray-blue.
A smile breaks out across her gorgeous face, and I’ve never seen anything more beautiful. She’s a vision.
Fucking perfect.
And she’s all mine.
Some people come into your life as lessons and experiences. Others come in to leave their mark on your soul. When I met Daisy Casillas, she did both. I knew she was something special the moment I spotted her and her glistening tan skin and crooked smile.
We are a perfect mess, a tale of hearts that continues to be broken over time. But she is mine. And I am never letting her go.
She tells me our love is like the seasons, and I plan to make sure nothing but love and immense happiness fills each season. No dreary winter days. No storm-filled evenings. Just warm summer nights monopolized with laughter.
Easton’s gurgle pulls me out of the fond memory. Daisy stares up at me, a brow quirked in question.
“You okay?”
I take East from her arms and lean down, pressing my lips against her forehead. “I’m perfect. Now, go get ready. I have something to show you.”
Her lips purse. “Haven’t we established that surprises don’t exactly work well between us?”
“This one will. If you get ready on time.”
The minute we step into the upscale studio, I hear her sharp intake of breath. Her hand that’s grasped in mine squeezes.
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“Callan,” she breathes out in awe.
While pregnant, she talked about the possibility of one day opening her own gallery. Over the past years, she’s had her work featured in various galleries, but I could tell this was her dream, having all her work displayed in one place for sale, among other incredible artists.
For the past nine months, I’ve been working tirelessly to find her a gallery of her own. Something all hers. Something that would allow her to leave her mark on the world the way she was always supposed to.
That’s what this place is. This art gallery is hers. It’s all hers.
She’s made a name for herself in the art world, and now, she has something that is exclusively hers.
My wife turns to me, a tremble in her chin, her tan cheeks flushed with pure happiness. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.
“I love you so much, Callan,” she whispers, getting choked up. She throws herself at me. Her thick cable-knit sweater smells like home. She smells like home.
“Thank you for believing in me even when I didn’t believe in myself.”
I pull back, cupping her face in my hands. “I always believed in you, Daisy. Always.”
“You’re not just telling me that to get in my pants, are you?”
A smile pulls taut across my face. “Oh, definitely. My one true goal tonight was to fuck you senseless.”
Daisy tosses her head back and laughs, and I relish in this moment. In the happiness on my wife’s face.
“I have one more thing for you.”
Her brows lift. “There’s more?”
Reaching into my coat pockets, I pull out two bottles, a crooked grin stealing over my face. “Figured we’d need something to celebrate with.”
Daisy laughs, eyes glittering with happiness as she takes in the two bottles of Jones Blue Bubblegum soda. I pop the top off hers and hand it to her. She takes it, shaking her head, unable to keep the smile off her face.
“You’re perfect, you know that?”
I wink down at her, then take a gulp of the soda that reminds me of our childhood together.
She suddenly grows serious. Grabbing my soda and hers, she sets them on the table beside us and rests her hands on my chest. I let her explore, relishing in the feel of her hands on me. Running her fingers through my hair, she traces the planes of my face. It’s like she’s soaking me in the same way I am her.
“You know, there’s never been one moment in my life when I haven’t loved you. Even when I convinced myself that I hated you, I loved you. You’ve shown me what a beautiful marriage could be like, Callan. You’ve shown me what it means to be treasured. And I—” Her words catch in her throat, and I frown. Tugging her into me, I tighten my grip around her.
“Hey, hey, what’s all this about? I give you your own art studio, and you get all emotional on me?”
She laughs, a single tear trickling down her cheek. “I just needed you to know how much you and our family mean to me.”
“Can’t be any more than what you all mean to me,” I murmur against her lips before I kiss her. I kiss her like it’s the first and last time. I kiss her like the world is going to end, and all we have is now. Right now.
We walk hand in hand through Rockefeller Center, stopping at the brightly lit tree. The snow is slowly starting to fall, decorating the ground in a thin fleece of white. I tug her into me, my hand finding purchase at the nape of her neck. I squeeze gently, possessively, drawing her into me. When I glance down, our gazes lock, and I soak in the woman I’ve loved for what feels like my whole life. I’m the luckiest bastard alive. Every day I get to wake up to her, I get to lose myself in her. I get to—
“I want to have another baby.”
My brows shoot up.
After she blurts that out, she worries her bottom lip between her teeth, waiting for me to react.
I frown. “The last one wasn’t easy, babe.”
She smiles, but it’s shaky. “I know, but I… What do you think about adoption?”
Before Daisy came back into my life, I never would’ve given a single thought to adoption or loving any child that wasn’t biologically mine. Not just because I was an asshole, but because that’s not where I was in my life. I didn’t love anyone enough to consider it.
That has changed.
She’s changed everything.
“You want to adopt?”
She nods slowly, trying to gauge my thoughts. “I do. I want a big family with you. It doesn’t have to be right now. Obviously, Easton is still very small, but…I want that. With you.”
I watch in awe as snow catches in her dark hair, her earnest eyes searching mine, waiting for my response or reaction.
“Okay.”
Surprise flashes across her face, slowly followed by skepticism. “Okay?”
“Let’s get the studio up and running, make sure Easton is healthy, then let’s adopt.”
Her smile is slow in its progression, but the result is still incredible, nonetheless. “Really?”
I laugh. “Really.”
She throws her arms around my neck and kisses me, her hot little tongue dueling with mine. I lift her into my arms, and I twirl her around. She squeals in excitement, and people around us clap and cheer like we’re a spectacle, a couple in a winter wonderland.
And maybe that’s exactly what we are.
A wonder.
We’re destiny.
We’re the goddamn stars.
We’re that love you can never outrun. The love that never quits. The love that just continues to grow stronger over time.
You can’t outrun fate.
You can’t outrun destiny.
Not when it’s meant to be. Love like that always finds a way to survive, just like our love did. And I’ll hang on to that love, hang on to her and our family until my last dying breath, because she’s everything.
She’s my wife.
She’s the goddamn seasons.
My Daisy.
Mine.
THE END.
23 Years Later
With my arm flung across the back of the sofa, my eyes lazily drag across the entirety of the room. Thick plumes of smoke hang in the air, filling the house with the loud scent of marijuana. Students who all bear prestigious last names gyrate on each other, letting the loud bass of the music thrum through their bodies. Many of them wear the Harvard insignia—as though we all don’t already know where we go to school.
It’s the life of the rich and elite.
Reckless parties.
Groups of elitists.
Students bartering with us for help.
Because that’s what we are as the upperclassmen here at Harvard. We’re the fixers. The group you purposely stay away from. That is, unless you find yourself in a bind and you’re in need of our services.
There’s a hefty fee for that.
Nothing in this world comes free, especially help from the elite.
A lie for a lie.
An eye for an eye.
A favor for a favor.
That’s how we work.
You make a deal with the devil, so to speak, then you sign away your soul to us. When we come calling, we expect you to pay up, no matter how steep the price.
Every weekend we have these parties, and it’s always the same thing. The same people. Nothing new or even remotely interesting transpires.
As I’m scanning the living room, my gaze catches on a lone form. Light brown waves tumble around shoulders and frame the round face. My gaze treks across the thin body. The girl is tiny. Mousy. She looks like she doesn’t belong here, with the likes of any of us. Ever so slightly, my head tilts to the side as I try to figure out where she’s from. There’s no way she goes to Harvard. We know everyone that goes here. It’s our job.
So how did this mousy little thing slip through the cracks?
As if she can sense eyes on her, she flicks her gaze up, and wide, light green eyes clash with mine. The effect of it starts in my chest. The intrigue.
That little voice in my head grows louder, who is she?
Plump lips part, and even from here, I swear I can hear the sharp intake of breath. There’s no mistaking the way her chest rises and falls rapidly, not because she’s aroused, but afraid.
She clearly knows who I am.
I don’t like that. The fact that this strange girl suddenly has the upper hand.
I keep my gaze fixed on hers, waiting for her to break first. Everything around us, the obnoxiously loud music, the clusters of students, all fades away as I stare at her. Most people would’ve looked away by now, or most girls would’ve taken my staring as an invitation of sorts and invited themselves into my lap. But this girl…she doesn’t do that. Instead, she watches me watch her. I continue searching her expression for what she could possibly be thinking. I’m good at reading people. I’ve never met a person I couldn’t read.
Until her.
Someone to her right accidentally bumps into her, nearly knocking her off her feet, and it’s the snip to the strange tether between us. It’s what snaps her back to reality.
I grit my teeth together, ignoring my strange reaction, and scour the faces surrounding us until I lock eyes with one of my best friends, Nico Sabella. The second youngest son of Chicago’s most notorious crime families. A busty blonde grinds her curvaceous body on his lap, her red lips glued to his neck. He tips his chin toward the front doors and my eyes narrow on Sebastian, the final member that makes up our trio. Sebastian King is the son of the famous hotelier and mogul, Baz King. Seb is currently cornering an underclassman, smoke damn near billowing from his ears in his early stages of frustration.
Heaving a deep sigh, I push off the sofa and cross the distance between us, trying to put some distance between Seb and the current idiot who pissed him off.
The underclassman’s eyes widen with fear when he spots me coming. I recognize him now. Preston Spencer, a rich fuck who came to us for help last year. When we came calling for the favor, he hid out, hoping to escape us. He should know better.
That’s not how things work in our world.
He knew the rules.
I rest my hand on Sebastian’s tense shoulder and squeeze ever so slightly, letting him know it’s time to back off before he causes a scene.
“C’mon, Seb. I think it’s time we let Spencer here enjoy the rest of his night. He has a big day on Monday after all, don’t you, Ty?”
“Please don’t make me do this,” Tyler pleads.
I smile, but it’s cold. Reserved for business like this. “You have no choice. Now get the fuck out of our sight and enjoy the party.”
Tyler clambers off and we watch him go, nothing but disdain for the guy dripping between us.
“Remind me why we struck a deal with that little shit in the first place?”
A cold smile pulls taut across my face. “The long game, King. Come Monday morning, our hands will be clean of him.”
“We fucking better,” he mumbles, stalking off, heading back to his gaggle of all too willing women.
With one last glance around the room to make sure everyone is accounted for, I use this time to get some fresh air. Making my way down the front steps, I dig into my back pocket, fishing out the blunt I’ve had resting there.
I light up, taking a deep inhale as I stray farther and farther from the house. The house was a gift from Nicolas’s parents. Not only is it our home here at Harvard, but it’s now the place we use to conduct business, parties, and any other debauchery that takes place inside the historic building.
The more distance I put between myself and the blaring noise from the house, I feel the tension ebb away. Sometimes, being on top feels like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders. This is my final year of law scho
ol and it hasn’t been at all what I expected. I’m tired of the same shit. Tired of these parties. Tired of fucking the same girls.
It’s all become so mundane. So fucking boring.
For whatever reason, I find myself thinking back to the mousy girl from earlier. She was different; I wasn’t sure how I knew that, but I just did.
Clearing those thoughts from my mind, I head toward the break in the trees up ahead. There’s a dense forest on the property, about fifteen yards away. It’s just a cluster of trees and a small clearing with rocks in the center. There’s nothing I find more relaxing than taking a walk through here in the middle of the night. Smelling the fresh air, staring up at the stars. I’m sure it stems from the fact that I grew up in the city with my family. My mom owns her own art gallery in New York and my dad owns his own architectural firm, everything about our lives was always fast-paced and vibrant. I think that’s why now, I gravitate toward the opposite of New York. We vacationed a lot back in my parents’ hometown in California, and sometimes, I wished we could stay there longer—hell, indefinitely.
My phone suddenly vibrates in my back pocket and when I slide it out, glancing at the screen, a smile tips the corner of my lips. It’s almost as though thinking about my family summoned the video call.
“There he is!” My mom’s soft voice wraps around me before her face materializes on the iPhone screen. From the looks of it, she’s lying in bed, the plush headboard behind her a dead giveaway. Her dark hair is longer than it was just three weeks ago. It hangs thick and heavy around her tan shoulders.
“Hey, Ma. What are you still doing up?”
“You know me, all work and no play.” She raises her hand in front of the phone, showing off the smudges of paint that won’t come off for another few days. Art and painting are something that’ll always remind me of my parents, but mostly my mother. She’s an incredible artist, and an even better painter. I remember when I was younger, I’d sit and watch her work on projects for hours. I did the same with my father. I loved to sit in his office while he worked and watch him create masterful buildings out of mere pencil strokes.
