“Were it anyone else, I would’ve walked away in the beginning. Were it anyone else, I would’ve fucking stayed away. But it’s not. It’s you. It always has been, and always will be, you.” David opened the box, showing me an engagement ring. “Marry me, Olivia.”
Fresh tears welled, but I inhaled them and laughed. “You said fuck in your proposal.”
“Damn right I did.”
I took a step forward, sat on his bent knee, and wrapped my arms around his neck. I rubbed my face against his bristly cheek, and in his ear, said, “Yes. You are my love, my home. Fuck yes.”
His shoulders deflated with his exhale, and I pulled back to look at him. It was my favorite thing in the whole world, the boyish, blissful smile on his face. Pure happiness.
He caught my lips with his, both of us smiling through a series of small, sweet kisses. We both watched as, slowly, he slid the platinum ring, glinting and magnificent in the moonlight, onto my finger. The band was slight but the cushion-cut diamond was not—large, and blindingly beautiful, simple and clear.
“It’s perfect.” I shook my head in awe, unable to tear my eyes away. “How did you know?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked, confused. “When I said earlier that I was looking for something, it was this. I went to every jewelry store in search of it. It took me all day, but the second I saw it, I knew it was right.”
I glanced up as his words echoed in my mind. Finally, it was right. So right.
Everything was right.
Epilogue
As David and I waited for the Walk signal to flash so we could cross the street, I shifted a bag of groceries into one hand and squinted up at my beautiful husband.
“You’re staring,” David told me.
“Sorry,” I said but didn’t look away.
He was so damn distracting, that—
“Oh, shit,” I said and frowned. “I forgot Manchego cheese. We can’t have a Spanish feast without Manchego.”
“Certainly not,” he said with a half-smile. “I’ll run back. Wait here?”
“Where would I go?”
We’d driven into the city for one of David’s events the night before and had stayed at the penthouse. Now, we grabbed last-minute groceries before heading home to Oak Park for our impending party.
David dropped his plastic bags right there on the sidewalk. In one swoop, he embraced me, bending me backward over his arm. I squealed just as he locked his lips over mine for a passionate kiss.
“What was that for?” I asked breathlessly when he pulled away.
“Nothing, honeybee. I just couldn’t go another second without doing it.”
A large, all-consuming smile overtook my face as I blushed.
“Actually, that’s why. That smile right there,” he said quietly, running his thumb over the corner of my mouth. “I’ll be right back.”
He gently righted my body, steadying me when I swayed slightly. His kiss still had that effect on me.
When he turned away, I was hit by a familiar glare from the patio of a café across the street. Bill, my now ex-husband, sat at a small table with Lucy and Andrew. I froze as his eyes bored into me and sent a chill down my spine.
I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. I hadn’t seen Bill—or Lucy—in almost two years. From the outside, he hadn’t really changed. But did he feel like a new person the way I did?
Bill finally blinked and turned back to Lucy, who appeared to be mid-story as she gestured in Bill’s direction. Andrew rubbed her back as she spoke. She wore her hair even shorter than she used to, whereas I’d let mine grow. They all broke out in laughter simultaneously, and my heart tugged. For a moment, I entertained the thought of going over to say hello, but what would be the point? I had nothing new to say to them, and I doubted they wanted to see me.
I’d reached out to Lucy once more since I’d read the e-mail she’d sent the day David had proposed, but nothing had come of it. It’d taken a while for me to grasp, but I eventually realized that for her, the friendship was over. She and Gretchen had made up and remained close, so I heard bits and pieces of Lucy’s life that way. I could see, even from a distance, that she was happy, but I still missed her friendship.
Bill, on the other hand, had made it hard to miss him. The six months David and I had waited for my divorce had been grueling. Though David had assured me he was fine keeping our engagement a secret, I’d wanted him to know how proud I was to wear his ring. Bill didn’t hide his disgust at the news. Fortunately, he and David never laid hands on each other again, but there were times I’d thought David would push Bill through the wall for the way he’d spoken to us during the proceedings. A year and a half had passed since we’d seen him, but from the look in his eyes just now, nothing was yet forgiven. It made me all the more sure that I’d made the right decision.
Not that I need any reassuring.
David exited the grocery store with a big smile, his aviators locked on me, his gait leisurely and confident. An attractive woman did a double take as she passed him. She turned and lowered her sunglasses to get a better look. My chest swelled with pride as she checked out my man, but I couldn’t help laughing a little when she stumbled over a curb.
“Manchego,” David said, holding up the block of cheese. “Crisis averted.”
“My superhero,” I said.
He leaned over and picked up all the bags, including mine. “Let’s get this party underway.”
As we walked away, I shot one last glance at the table of friends. They made a good group and seemed happy. I couldn’t be upset about that. I stuck my hand into David’s back pocket, and we made our own heavenly way back home.
In the car, as we pulled up to the house, I smiled. I always did. David’s vision, with some input from me, had blossomed before our eyes. The sylvan paradise had come to life again—or maybe for the first time, I wasn’t sure. The newly fixed stone walkway led a natural path to the front door through green grass, and a revived, leafy landscape.
Before David had taken the six-month job in New York, he’d warned me that I might not like his overly “masculine” apartment in the city. I’d teased him that masculine was code for bachelor pad. To both our surprise, I’d fallen immediately in love with it. Unlike his bright, white Chicago apartment, New York was dark and woodsy, with exposed brick walls and dim, yellow lighting. The vintage furniture was heavy leather and oak, worn but solid.
I’d suggested we decorate our house somewhere in between the two places. Sliding glass doors lent themselves to good lighting, especially in the mornings, but the wood-heavy home, earthy and sturdy, reminded me of David, which I loved most of all.
It was a perfect Chicago night for a party. David opened up all the doors and windows for the setting sun. I’d almost finished laying out a buffet of food on a table in the backyard when a knock came at the front door. David and I met in the entryway, the same spot I’d told him over two years before that Bill had put in an offer on this very house. We kissed quickly.
“We can see you,” David’s sister called as she peered through a vertical window that ran alongside the front door.
David opened the door and groaned. Equipped with margarita mix, wine, whiskey, and other assortments of alcohol, stood our friends and family: Jessa, her son Alex, Gretchen, Brian, Mack and Cooper—who’d become friends—and David’s parents, Judy and Gerard. Just past them, Serena and her fiancé, Brock, climbed out of his car.
“Well, baby,” David said, looking down at me, “I’d say we have extremely punctual friends.”
They all piled in at once, and David assumed bartending duties. They were a rowdy bunch, and sometimes they were weird, but I couldn’t complain. I loved them.
“In honor of David and me returning from our recent trip to Spain, we’re having tapas,” I announced in the backyard. I gestured to the expansive spread. “Help yourselves.”
“So?” Jessa asked, linking her arm with mine. “How was the honeymoon?”
I smiled wis
tfully and attempted to think of a word that could possibly do it justice. “Magical,” I decided, every detail of the memory clear.
I waved back at David—my husband—from a beach towel. He looked sexier than ever, perched on his surfboard, waiting for the water to swell. His stomach flexed into a delicious six-pack. Riveted, I watched as he caught a wave, fluidly hopping onto his shortboard and riding it down the line.
I reclined back onto my towel, inserted my earbuds, and closed my eyes to soak in the hot Spanish sun. Cool drops of water punctured my relaxed state. I opened one eye and squinted up at David.
“I couldn’t help noticing you from the water,” he said. “Mind if I join you?”
“Actually,” I purred, “I was thinking of taking a dip myself.”
He set his board down next to me and held out his hand. I took out my earbuds and let him hoist me up with one pull.
He scooped me off my feet. “I was hoping you’d go for a swim.”
“Well, actually, I was just planning to get my feet wet . . .”
David cut gracefully through the sand. “I don’t think so, honeybee. The water’s perfect.”
“But—” A squeal tore from my lips when he threw me into the sea. I popped up, gasping for air, and splashed him as I tried to run ashore.
He caught my waist and spun me into him. I breathed hard as he captured my lips in a quick kiss. “You look incredibly sexy, Mrs. Dylan.”
Ah, Mrs. Dylan. I was certain hearing my new name would never get old. “Thank you for this,” I said, motioning in the general direction of San Sebastián. “All of this.”
“Thank you for all of this,” he replied, running his hands greedily over my body. His fingers teased the straps of my bikini top. One hand skated down to my lower back and pulled me so close that my entire body warmed with his heat, even through the cold salt water.
“David Dylan, you scoundrel,” I teased.
“Olivia Dylan, you temptress.”
“Do you intend to take me in front of all of Spain?” I asked hopefully.
“Would a gentleman do that?” He smiled and then peered over my shoulder. “Remind me to find us a private beach next time.”
“I don’t care,” I said, kissing his briny neck and then working my way down to nibble on his shoulder.
“I know you don’t,” he said, shaking his head and pulling me off. “But I do.”
“Damn it,” I said under my breath, and he laughed. But I wasn’t ready to give up. “It’s our honeymoon—we’re supposed to do this sort of thing.”
“Oh, we will do this sort of thing, as much as possible, and as long as possible—in a place where I’m the only one who gets to see you naked.” He kissed me. “Oh, how I do love that pretty pout, though.”
I caught myself fingering the gold disk that hung between my breasts from its chain. I raised it toward him. “Read it to me again,” I said suddenly.
We’d spent the first week of our honeymoon in the South of France before making our way to Spain. I’d learned that my new husband spoke French, and he spoke it beautifully. He’d impulsively stopped in a small jewelry shop and unbeknownst to me, ordered a hand-engraved gold necklace that we’d later picked up on our way out of town. I’d never heard the famous quote by French poet Rosemonde Gérard and made David repeat her words often.
“Haven’t you memorized it by now?” David asked, bringing me back to the moment.
“No,” I lied.
“Car, vois-tu, chaque jour je t’aime davantage, aujourd’hui plus qu’hier et bien moins que demain.”
I smiled and looked at him, waiting.
He covered my hand that held the delicate disk. “For, you see, each day I love you more, today more than yesterday and less than tomorrow.”
The honeymoon had been three weeks of espresso, navigating tiny streets, laughing until our faces hurt, and sex in cramped places. We learned even more about each other during the trip, and though we fought at times, the arguments always ended in either fits of laughter or steamy sex.
My heart began to race when Serena approached me in the backyard, her lips quirked into a small smile. During my time away, I’d given her a very special assignment, and I was as worried as I was excited to hear her feedback.
“Well?” I asked.
“I loved it,” she said. “Genuine, fluid, and actually quite funny. You first novel is going to be a smash hit.”
I exhaled a rush of air. I’d finished my first draft right before we’d left for the honeymoon, and I’d needed someone to look at it and tell me I wasn’t crazy to pursue an agent. “Thank you,” I said. “It still needs a lot of work, but it’s a start. Please tell me you have notes.”
“Meet for coffee next week to discuss?” she asked, swirling her margarita. “Tonight, I’m about to get drunkity-drunk.”
Once I’d begun to make real progress on the book, I’d quit my job at David’s urging. Since I was now Olivia Dylan—happily—I’d use that name to distance myself from my mother’s work.
In a final attempt to get my mother to accept our upcoming nuptials, David and I had stopped to see her as we’d driven my dad’s early wedding gift, the ’68 Shelby, from Dallas to Chicago. Despite telling her we were coming, or perhaps because of it, she’d been drinking when we’d arrived. I’d tried to convince her to let me take her to a fancy rehab facility David had found nearby, but she’d refused. She didn’t like David because of the affair, and whenever I’d used the word alcoholic, she’d become more combative.
After hurling one too many insults at me, David had marched me back to the car. It was with heavy hearts that we’d left, but I’d known we’d run out of options.
David and I hadn’t gotten married right away. With his ring on my finger and, finally, my entire heart in his hands, he respected my request that we wait a respectable time after the divorce was finalized. We’d had a small, intimate affair held amongst the peacefulness of the Alfred Caldwell Lily Pool, followed by a bigger party for all our friends and extended family. My mom hadn’t attended, but I’d had my dad along with David’s family, who’d become mine, too, and who couldn’t have been more loving and supportive.
And, of course, Mack Donovan had also been in attendance as he was tonight.
“I haven’t had a chance to thank you properly since you left right after the wedding,” Mack said as I made him a margarita. “You and David are both angels,” he said warmly. “Just like my Davena.”
“Contributing to Davena’s foundation was the least I could do for both you and her,” I told Mack. I vividly remembered David’s and my conversation one evening as we’d sat at our new kitchen table, planning the wedding.
“Is there anything you want that you don’t have?” David asked. “Anything in the world, baby.”
I smiled at him and moved from my chair to his lap. My arms wound around his neck. “Nothing.”
“Think really hard. Anything at all.”
“Nope.” I shook my head and kissed him on the lips.
“Then, in lieu of wedding gifts, I think we should have our guests donate to the animal shelter,” David said.
My eyes watered instantly as chills lit over my body. David always prioritized me, no matter what, and sometimes I thought he knew me better than I knew myself. “I love that idea,” I whispered. “But I have a better idea. What if they had the option to donate to the foundation Mack set up in Davena’s name, too?”
He touched the tip of his nose to mine. “And I’ll match the final donation to both.”
“Oh, honey, you don’t have—”
“Shh,” he said softly. “I want to. My gift to the bride.”
I blinked back tears and kissed him again, this time for his generous and loving spirit.
When I saw Gretchen leaning against the bar outside by herself, I made a beeline for her. She’d recently cut her hair shorter and was wearing it straight these days. She looked happier and much less angular, having put on a little weight, which suited her
.
“So, how was the trip really?” Gretchen asked. “Did you put a dent in Europe from all the fucking?”
“Yes,” I confirmed. “It was amazing. You’d love Spain.”
“I have no doubt.”
“In fact, I brought back a special Spanish wine just for you,” I said, walking behind the bar to grab it. “Want to try it now? It’s yummy.”
“Um, well, no,” she said, picking at her fingernail. “I’m not thirsty.”
“Not thirsty?” I asked, gaping at her. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you turn down an alcoholic beverage.”
She gave me a slight smile that slowly spread across her face as she failed to suppress it. “By the way,” she said, “I hope you’re free next month. Brian and I are moving up the wedding, and we’re doing it here at home.”
“Wait, what?” I exclaimed. Ever since Brian had proposed, Gretchen had been talking non-stop about her grand plans for a destination wedding. “Why?”
“Well, I don’t want to look like a porker in my dress,” she explained.
I frowned, confused. A few pounds did not a porker make. Gretchen looked fabulous. Was she planning to put on more weight?
That made no sense. Unless she was . . .
An arm landed around my shoulder, and I looked up as Brian squeezed me to him. They exchanged a look.
I gasped, and my gaze shot back to her. “Are you pregnant?”
She nodded and walked into Brian’s open arms. “We’re having a baby,” she said. “A happy accident.”
“An ecstatic accident,” Brian corrected.
I squealed, drawing David immediately to my side. “What?” he asked with an edge of panic.
Brian put a hand on Gretchen’s tummy and looked at David. “Thirteen weeks pregnant.”
I fanned my face to hold in tears as David gave Gretchen a gentle hug. I turned and announced the news at the top of my lungs, receiving cheers in response.
* * *
Cityscape Affair Series: The Complete Box Set Page 92
