Three Months Later
“You’re welcome!” I yelled across the field, offering another wave.
The sunshine was not doing much to keep away the chill from the winter day. We spent most weekends here at the estate, and during the week we’d stay at my apartment—him at work with his family, his sisters mostly, and me at the Bib, Oliver bringing me lunch half the time to ensure I didn’t forget to eat.
“Where is he?” I asked the moment I stepped back into the mansion.
“Bedroom,” Bl8z3 responded.
I sprinted up the stairs, heading into the west wing, drawn in by the calming baritone of his voice.
“Gotta go, guys.” Oliver waved at his phone before slumping in his chair. “I forgot how exhausting those two are.”
“How was FaceTiming your sisters?” My lips brushed his as he chased after our too-brief kiss.
“Fine.”
I knew it was more than fine. He anticipated their weekly catch-ups more than he would ever admit. “How’s Grace?”
She was trying hard to get their grandfather to name her as his successor since Oliver had stepped aside, but she hadn’t gotten very far with it yet.
“Still engaged to that idiot.”
“Probably want to call Ti—Doug something else if he’s going to be your brother-in-law.” I moved to the bed, straightening everything before reaching for the television remote.
“I will when you stop thinking his name is Tim/Jim.”
I spun around. “He looks like a Tim/Jim.” He was right; it didn’t seem like Grace’s fiancé was going anywhere, even though she could do better.
Oliver snorted, grabbing the bowl of candy from me and setting it down on the comforter.
I plopped on the mattress, sliding my feet under the weighted blanket we kept at the foot of the bed. “You sure you still want to do this?”
He gave a stiff nod. “Can’t have you explaining to everyone that a snap involves both teams in a snapping competition.”
“Okay, but that would make it even more interesting.”
He grunted as he slid next to me, offering me a Twizzler. “What did they think?” Oliver asked, clearly wanting a distraction. His body screamed “walking to the executioner.”
“They loved it.”
“Of course they did.”
The moment I returned to the Killington Estate, I had a few things left to complete.
With Nick’s help, we planned a new stable, demolishing the old. Which needed to be christened. Sex in every room was a real endeavor when it involved an estate. One Oliver and I were more than happy to fulfill.
And today I had been giddy with revealing my latest project. Rue, Nick, and Ambrose had all lived in a small, aged cabin at the edge of the property, rather than in the mansion, at their own choosing. But not anymore.
It was the most modern build I had ever worked on, but they were the clients this time. Still on the edge of the property, Rue had another magnificent kitchen, Ambrose the closet and sewing machine he had requested. And Nick’s massive room took up the third floor, giving her privacy and plenty of space to figure out Bl8z3’s update.
“Ambrose fought back tears as he walked through.” I squeezed Oliver’s hand, a grin taking over my face at the memory, pleased to have won over the butler.
He grunted. Mr. Emotionally Constipated had declined to be there for the actual reveal, despite having paid for the build with the funds from the trust he now had access to. I had refused a commission because it was also a thank-you for safeguarding Oliver from being alone during his self-imposed exile.
I watched as he rubbed the spot where his scar lay underneath his sweatpants.
“We could watch something else. I hear they have these things on all the time.”
He twisted my body, placing my feet in his lap. “No, I want to. I want to do this with you.”
I relaxed into him as I flipped on the TV. I had zero interest in what teams were playing. But this was the first time that Oliver had watched more than a random highlight of football since his accident.
“Okay, but I had a rumor that if the team is losing by a certain amount, the cheerleading team takes over.” I bit my lip, hard.
He groaned as some of the tension in his body eased. His fingers slid up my legs while he patiently explained the rules to me again.
The game started as we passed the bowl of candy back and forth. He was mostly feeding me, which I appreciated. Candy tasted better from his fingers.
I swirled my tongue around his thumb to get the last bit of chocolate.
“Petal,” he growled.
“It’s a commercial. Wait, do these matter for the points too?”
“How do you come up with this stuff?” He shook his head before kissing the tip of my nose.
“I’m brilliant.”
“That you are.” He rolled us so he was hovering over me, running his fingers down my ribs, my hip, until he pulled my leg to wrap around him, causing my thighs to spread further.
“How do you feel?”
“That watching football is better with you. Everything is better with you.”
I pressed against his left thigh, reminding myself for the millionth time he was still here. “I am pretty great.”
He pressed a trail of kisses across my shoulders, inducing a shudder. “I might go for a blitz.”
Why was it so hot when he spoke football terms to me? “I don’t know. This might be a fumble.” My breath was rushing out as my heart raced at the familiar but exciting feeling of having his hands on me.
I patted him to shift over. The game was back on, and I refused to let him distract either of us, my attention half on the game and half on him.
He answered all my questions, some of them real, some just because I liked to hear him laugh. I enjoyed his smile as he kissed my cheek.
“What are you thinking?” His breath warm against my ear.
“Well, you still need to watch The Fast and the Furious movies. I may offer you an incentive.” Since our reunion, when we were alone together, we had spent little of it watching screens. We had spent part of Christmas with my dad, who had insisted on matching pajamas, a request that Oliver had humored.
“You haven’t seemed to complain about how we’ve been spending our nights.” But he sat up, my legs thrown back over his thigh, my body tilting more into the pillows with his movements. Seeming to debate something as he glanced down at me. “Do you still like my beard?”
My fingers moved lightly across his jaw. “I love your beard. Why, are you thinking of getting rid of it?”
He nipped at my finger. “Do you still love me?”
My stomach sank as I searched his eyes. “Babe, what’s wrong?”
“I promise everything is perfect, Petal.” His fingers traced patterns on my stomach before drawing a circle around my nipple. No one had explained to me the wonderful freedom of loving someone, the infinite ways you could touch them, knowing they were just as eager for it. “Do you still love me?”
“Most days.” I grinned wildly at him as he brushed against my nipple before snapping my suspender.
His eyes were soft, hand trembling, everything about him tender. “You still want forever with me?”
“Always.” I was breathless. “You have it. You had it when I walked into this estate. You could have trapped me here.” I had meant it when I had promised him I wasn’t leaving.
“Tempting, but I’m talking about a certain type of forever. One that involves a question.”
Oh. “You don’t have to ask me a question to get forever with me.” I reached for his shaking hand.
“It’s too traditional, but I want it, can picture it. You in a white dress, me …”
“Not smiling.” I traced his lips.
“I’ll be smiling at the best part—when it’s over, and I’m your husband.”
I was going to melt into this bed. “So, what’s your question?”
“If I asked one day soon, would you?” He stared at our clasped hands.
“Well, you’d have to speak to my father. And probably Sebastian.” Both of whom might love Oliver at this point more than they loved me.
“And we both know they’ll ask me what you want.”
“Of course.” Those cornballs. Then Finn would go off and start planning our wedding without us.
“So, what do you want?”
“You.” Loving him had become as integral as breathing for me. “You, always.”
“And marriage? Babies?”
“Not too many babies. Bl8z3 is not a nanny.”
Oliver lowered to his forearms, surrounding all of me. “I thought my life was nothing but misery until I met you.”
“That’s because you didn’t watch TV.”
It was the biggest smile yet. Brushed against my lips, covering my face. “I lived in too much silence. I needed you filling up every available space with your words, your laughter.”
I let out a sigh, feet sliding on the covers. “What do you want?”
His fingers pushed up my top, exposing my stomach to his hungry gaze, eyes fixated on the small section of my bra he revealed. “I want this—you forever.”
“I like you best.”
“And I think I should get you naked.”
“The game’s not over.” My protest was halfhearted as I let him pull my shirt off, my suspenders slipping off my shoulders.
“Have to explain more football terms to you. I plan on going long.”
My brain was mush. “Better get started on that then.”
We had all the time in the world to watch movies and football games, read every book in the bookcases he had built me. He had restored every part of me, making me shiny and new.
My home was built inside his heart.
Forever.