He gives me a cocky grin before dropping his wallet and the condom package along with it. Instead, he grabs hold of his cock, and continues rubbing it against my opening. I shudder and groan, positioning myself so the head of his cock rubs against me just right. Gently, I lower myself down until he stretches me open, filling me up so completely. So perfectly.
For the first time, we are skin-to-skin and it is the most incredible feeling I've ever experienced. It's more intimate and personal than anything I've had before in my life. He thrusts himself upward, driving his cock as deep as he can go. When he's fully sheathed within me, Grant holds my face in his hands, staring deep into my eyes as he fills me up. I've never felt closer to anyone in my entire life.
I know I love him. I love him so much that my heart is exploding with emotion. But more than that, I know he's the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. I want to have his babies, to build a family with him. There's no one else in this world I want to be with. He's my hero. He's become my everything.
I rock my body gently on top of his, letting our bodies find their own rhythm together. We move as one entity, connected and whole. I forget where I even end, and he begins. His tongue fills my mouth. His hands caress every inch of my body. He grabs my hips, pulling me down against him and I gasp, my legs shaking as pleasure rushes through me.
Grant holds onto me, and with one swift movement, he rolls us over. He's on top of me, his eyes blazing and full of heat. I wrap myself around him tighter, and he fucks me harder, pounding his cock inside of me with such need and desire that it's nearly overwhelming.
His eyes widen slightly, and he holds himself there for a long time, an electricity building between us. For a second, I think he might have come. My own orgasm hits me hard, and he draws in a sharp breath as my nails dig into his back. I grip him tightly, holding on for dear life as a rushing river of pleasure sweeps me away.
Grant slowly continues moving in and out of me again, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes narrowed and focused as he concentrates. His heart thunders in his chest so hard I can feel it against me. His breathing is ragged and desperate, but I can tell he's trying to hold off, trying to stop the inevitable.
“Come inside me,” I beg. “Please.”
I'm already pregnant, so it's not like he can knock me up a second time. All I want is to feel even closer to him, to have part of him inside of me. That's all I want. I stare into his eyes as I whisper my plea again.
“Grant, please... Come inside me.”
He grunts, and thrusts his hips again, burying himself balls deep inside of me. With his forehead pressed against mine, he groans, and I feel his body shudder as he releases himself. I stroke his face, kissing his cheeks as his orgasm brings about another of my own. Together, we come, holding onto each other as wave after wave of bliss washes over us.
Grant collapses on top of me, the full weight of his body against mine. It's warm. Comforting. Loving. We lay in silence, while he kisses my cheeks softly.
“I love you, Celeste,” he whispers against my lips.
“I love you too, Grant.”
He takes my hands in his, holding them up beside my head, and stares deeply into my eyes.
“I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he says again.
My heart swells with joy and a wide smile spreads across my face. “I want that too. So very much.”
We kiss, and slowly, he rolls over to lay beside me. He curls his body around mine, holding me close, almost as if he's afraid to let me go. For my part, I'm beyond content to stay right where I am.
“Merry Christmas, Celeste,” he mumbles to me just before he falls asleep.
“Merry Christmas, Grant,” I smile.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Celeste
A Few Weeks Later...
I'm nervous. My heart thumps hard inside my chest as the doctor applies the gel to my belly. It's cold and takes me by surprise, and I let out a small gasp. Grant squeezes my hand, watching everything the doctor is doing carefully.
He's so curious, and it's adorable, even though you can see that like me, he's also nervous. Today, we get to see our baby for the first time. We're having the ultrasound to determine whether it's healthy, but also to discover how far along I am. Grant doesn't seem as worried about that as I do. He's accepted that the child may be Mario's but intends to raise it as his own.
I'm still hopeful that it's Grant's. Not because I fear Grant will love the child less if it's not his, but because I want my child to have Grant's genes. His strength. His intelligence. And most of all, his kindness and compassion for others – all of which are traits that Mario lacks. I know it comes down to more than just genetics, but I don't want to take any chances. Mario is a monster, Grant is a hero.
Is it any wonder I'd prefer one over the other to father my child?
Dr. Hashimoto is a young woman with an easy smile and gentle demeanor. I'm not sure if she's had children herself yet or not, she seems far too young to me. Still, she seems as excited as we do as she moves the wand over my belly.
“Are you ready to see your baby?” she asks, her voice soft and friendly.
“Yes,” Grant and I say at the same time.
She points to the screen, and while it's hard to make out any distinct shapes, I still think it's one of the most beautiful sights I've ever seen – even though it all looks like a blob. A beautiful blob.
“Here he or she is. It's too soon to determine the sex of the baby just yet,” she says, “But you can kind of make out the little kidney bean. You are very early in the pregnancy still, Miss Amante.”
“How early?” I ask, a bolt of hope shooting through me.
Grant kisses my hand, shaking his head as if to tell me not to ask such questions. The look on his face says it doesn't matter. But I need to know.
“Looks like you're right around eight weeks along or so,” she says. “Want to hear the heartbeat?”
“Yes,” I say, but in my head, I'm doing the math.
Eight weeks. It's only been about seven weeks since the accident. Meaning I wasn't with Mario at the time of conception. If this were Mario's child, it would be at least nine weeks along. The realization sends a ray of pure happiness streaking through me that shines brighter than the sun. My heart and my soul feel instantly a thousand pounds lighter.
“Strong and healthy already,” Dr. Hashimoto says, grinning proudly.
Neither Grant, nor I, can speak as we listen to the faint sounds of our child's heartbeat. We sit there in silence for several long moments, just listening. Tears well up in my eyes, and the most profound sense of peace and contentment settles over me.
“That's our baby,” I say, wiping away the tears.
Grant kisses the top of my head. I'm not sure if the same realization has hit him yet, so I turn my head upward to look him in the eye.
“That's your baby, Grant,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper.
“I know,” he says.
His own eyes are filled with tears now too, which only makes me happier. Seeing the joy in his face makes my own feel so much more vibrant and real. We both turn back to the screen, staring at the little kidney bean that is our child. Nothing has ever made me so happy. Nothing. Ever.
We're going to be a family.
* * *
Grant is mostly quiet on the ride home. At first, I worry he's upset, or that something is wrong with him. He hasn't really said much since we saw our little bean on the screen. My hand rests on my belly, still struggling to comprehend that there's a life growing inside of me – a life that Grant and I created.
I've always wanted kids someday, but this is not what I had in mind. Not that I'm complaining. On the contrary, I can't imagine a better life for myself. Or a better man. It just amazes me that out of all the shit I went through, that I'm going to have a happily ever after. I still can't quite believe it.
Grant pulls over to the side of the road, but he stares straight ahead through the windshield,
his face a completely blank, expressionless mask. My pulse quickens, and I fear that something is wrong. I can't imagine what it might be – is he having second thoughts? Is he not ready to be a father? My mind races with all kinds of possibilities – each one more horrible than the last.
“Celeste, I wanted to wait for a better time to say this, but I can't keep it to myself much longer.”
“What is it?” I ask, my voice cracking. “Just spit it out already.”
My cheeks are wet before I even realize I'm crying. I wipe at eyes that are stinging, feeling my nerves and emotions fraying as I spiral downward, just hoping Grant doesn't see me crying. But it’s too late. He removes my seat belt and pulls me into his lap, kissing the tears off my cheeks. I'm straddling him, my head resting against his chest, just waiting for the bad news to drop. Waiting for him to say that he's not ready for me. Not ready for any of this.
“Sweetie, why are you crying?” he asks me, pushing the hair back away from my face.
“I'm scared, Grant,” I say. “Scared of what you're about to tell me.”
“Scared?” he chuckles softly. “Baby, you have nothing to be scared of.”
His hazel eyes sparkle as he looks into mine.
“Then what is it?” I ask softly.
He wraps his arms around my shoulders, holding me tightly against him. His heart thunders in his chest, the dull, hollow thudding loud in my ear, and we sit there for a while. I don't even know how long we sit like that. I simply take comfort and solace in the feeling of being in his arms.
I'm just about to ask him again, to just spit it out, to tell me what he needs to say, when he whispers against my ear.
“I know we've only been together a short time, but I meant it when I said I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Celeste,” he says. “Seeing our child only solidified that in my mind.”
I adjust myself to look at his face, and he strokes my chin and cheeks as he kisses me tenderly.
Pulling away from the kiss, he looks into my eyes and whispers, “Will you marry me?”
“Of course,” I say, feeling absolutely stunned and thunderstruck – lucky to even get those words out.
I speak the words without even thinking. My heart hammers in my chest, and I feel like there's a million butterflies loose inside of me, but I somehow manage to say the words again.
“Yes, Grant. Yes.”
We both giggle like children, kissing and touching each other. Of all the places I ever imagined I'd be proposed to, sitting on the side of the road in his new pickup truck wouldn't have made the list. Not the most romantic of settings, but after everything we've been through, it somehow seems fitting. He doesn't have to go through the trouble of an elaborate proposal to prove that he loves me. He's risked his life for me, countless times. He's given me his everything. I know this man adores me more than anything else in the world – even his own life – and that feeling is very mutual.
Nothing, and I mean nothing, can get in the way of me marrying him and having his child.
Epilogue
Celeste
Three Years Later...
“And they said we wouldn't last,” Grant says, sweeping me up in his arms from behind.
He holds me like that for a long moment, his big, strong hands resting on my belly, tenderly stroking it.
“Who did?” I ask, chuckling.
“Mainly just the bad guys trying to kill us,” he teases me, kissing the side of my neck.
I rest my hands on top of his and feel the purest current of love flowing through me. The past couple of years have been an absolute whirlwind, but today is our anniversary. After we found out the baby was his, not only did we get engaged, we got married. Just a small ceremony. Nothing formal and nothing fancy. That's all we needed and all we wanted.
We stand on our patio together, overlooking the lake. Winter is upon us once more, and Christmas is right around the corner. We still live in the Colorado mountains, but with our growing family, his tiny little cabin wasn't going to cut it anymore. Together, we built our new home. It was ours, just the way we wanted it. Every little detail of it crafted to our design, in a way that made us feel at home and comfortable. Those details included plenty of windows that overlook the beauty of the snow-capped mountains – and with our own private lake.
The pitter-patter of little feet causes us both to turn around to see the approach of our little man.
“You're supposed to be in bed, Oliver,” I say.
The little boy looking back at me smiles widely. He looks just like me, with his dark hair and blue eyes. But already, you see Grant's features setting in. He has his father’s nose and jaw, physically. Most of all though, it's becoming clear that our little boy inherited Grant's stubbornness.
Although, Grant insists he got that from me too.
Ollie's grin is so hard to resist. Instead of arguing, I motion for him to come over to us, to stand at my side. He leans his head against my hip, and I rest my hand on his head, ruffling his coal black hair.
The terrible twos haven't been so bad – at least, not yet. But with another baby on the way, I know I'm going to have my hands full. Not that Grant doesn't help. He does. Being retired at his age means he can be a stay-at-home dad while I focus on my work, which is a blessing I won't ever take for granted.
I get to work from home, of course, and because of the financial stability I'm afforded with Grant's money, I can focus on what I want to do instead of what I need to do. Which means I get to write what I want to write – though I tend to stay away from writing about true crime and the Mafia. For obvious reasons.
I focus instead on social issues. On bringing awareness to issues that matter to me most. Issues that I think should matter to the world.
As we stand there, silently looking out at the mountains, we all hear a rumbling in my tummy – and it's not hunger. Ollie looks up at me, his eyes wide, a look of uncertainty on his face.
“Your baby sister wants your attention,” I say.
I kneel down for Ollie, so he can put his hands on my belly and feel the baby kicking. Grant joins him, and all three of us have our hands on my stomach.
Years ago, had you told me that this would be my life, I would never have believed you. I probably would have laughed at you. I mean, it's something straight out of a fairy tale, and we all know that fairy tales are things we tell children. Not things that actually come true.
And yet, here I am.
Not only do I get to do what I love, I get to be a mother. Our daughter, Sophia, is due within the next month or so, give or take, and we don't plan on stopping there. Grant has always wanted lots of children, and we have the means to make it happen, so we figure – why not?
I look over our home. Plenty of space for a family. Two floors. Five bedrooms and an office. One bedroom is a playroom for Ollie, and soon for Sophia as well. We aren't as far out as we used to be either. Denver is a short drive away, and we have a community that cares for us.
And most of all, we have my family.
Over time, with some work, my memory came back fully. And with it, memories of my mother and father. After I re-discovered myself, I contacted them immediately, and they were relieved and overjoyed to hear from me. They never knew what happened to me. I'd just disappeared, and they were left to hold on to nothing but hope. For the longest time, they said.
Apparently, it has been a while – I was too busy with my life in Chicago and school to call them frequently. But after everything that had happened, I now understand that life is too short, and too precious, to not treasure those closest to you – and to make sure they know it. Feel it.
The people you love – your friends and family – are far more valuable than anything in this world. I look over at Grant, and we share a smile.
Both of us have lost so much, but here we are now, surrounded by love and family. Grant's family visits sometimes, but he's not that close to them. We're still working on that. I know it will be a tough road, but in the end, it
will be worth it.
Derek Hartford comes around more than anyone else. He's remarried and has a baby on the way. Seeing justice served to those who killed his wife, along with Sam and Tasha, helped him finally move past it. He's retired too – or semi-retired, at any rate. He still works as private investigator in his spare time.
Grant picks Ollie up in his massive arms, and our little man looks so tiny compared to his dad. He has a lot of growing to do still if he wants to be as big as his papa. There's plenty of time though. No need to rush him growing up. At all.
Grant playfully tosses him in the air, and my heart melts. Seeing the two of them together, father and son, is something I'll never grow tired of. Especially since I know how much Ollie means to Grant. The fact that he was willing to raise Mario's child – if it came to that – still amazes me.
But Ollie is all his. The timing of the pregnancy proved it, but just looking at them together, side by side, there's no doubt he's his father's biological child.
I only hope he grows up to be as brave and as good as his dad – but without all the heartache. No one deserves to experience what we did.
But that's in the past now. We lived it, learned from it, and have grown from it. Now, we can move past it.
I look out the window, my gaze fixed on the horizon. As the sun sets against the mountains, vivid shades of orange and red fill the sky.
“Alright, little man, back to bed with you,” Grant says.
His booming laughter echoes around the room as he carries our son toward his bedroom, filling me with a joy and contentment I never thought I could possess. He stops just short of me and places a soft kiss on my lips. He holds Ollie up, so our son can kiss me too.
“Night, mommy,” Oliver says, and my heart rejoices.
“Goodnight, baby,” I say, stroking his hair back. “I love you.”
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