: Epilogue

“Okay, so if it’s a girl, Edith Verona?” he says, his brows knitted together as he sips his coffee.

My hand goes to my belly, the now noticeably swollen place where our baby lives. We chose to wait until the baby is born to find out the sex, but the closer it gets, the more we feel the pressure to have names picked out. “I like that,” I say quietly. “And I think they would too.”

“You don’t think it’s a bit … I don’t know. A bit maudlin?”

“No, absolutely not. They were our moms. We loved them, and this is our way of paying tribute to that love. I think they’d like it too, don’t you?”

He nods and smiles a little sadly. He’s told me all about his final conversation with his mother and the pain and guilt it’s caused him for so many years. I was able to tell him about my time as a volunteer in the hospital and how I saw so many people lose their sense of self as they neared death. The way the drugs messed with their minds and the outrageous things they could say. But I was also able to tell him, sincerely, that a few harsh words at the end could never outweigh a lifetime of love. That his mom wouldn’t want him to torture himself for a minute longer. I’m waiting for Amber to confide her part of the story in me so I can offer her a sympathetic ear that I’m not sure she’s ever had. No matter how often Drake and I pester her to come, she continues to avoid family gatherings, but I’m able to talk her into dinner once a month or so. She still maintains her bulletproof socialite armor, but Emily’s given me a few tips on how to bust through it, and I can tell they’re starting to work. If only I had a friend who could give me tips on how to heal Amber and Elijah’s marriage. But that really is for the two of them to figure out. If they can.

“Yeah, I think our moms would love it.” He squeezes my fingers. “It’ll be like a little bit of them is still with us, won’t it?”

“Exactly. I hope it is a girl. With Nathan and Mel’s two boys, we could do with some girl energy to balance out all that testosterone. The James family needs a feminine touch.”

His resulting laugh is the perfect balm for the undercurrent of sadness that often accompanies talking about our moms. “You’re not wrong. We’re all ruffians.”

I can’t argue with that, so I don’t. “We should probably get ready to leave soon. Luz said dinner will be served at six on the dot, and she’s not the kind of woman I want to get on the wrong side of.”

Drake murmurs contentedly, his nose pressed against my hair. “I already packed the car. We have a little time yet before we have to decamp to the madhouse for Christmas.”

I adore my extended family. I loved spending last Christmas with them, and I’m excited to see them all today too, but I get what he means. This is pure heaven right here. We’re sitting out on the terrace of our new home in Tribeca, sheltered beneath a heated roof that is strung with fairy lights. New York is putting on a show for us: Pure white snow glistens on the rooftops and sidewalks, and the skies are a perfect dark blue despite the plummeting temperatures.

Drake has draped a blanket around our shoulders, and we had freshly fried Mario’s donut balls for our lunch. Our very own Christmas Eve tradition.

“What if it’s a boy?” he asks. “Nathan took my dad’s and grandad’s names, and I’d hate to saddle a kid with Jerónimo. It was old-fashioned even way back when my abuelito was born.”

“No way.” I shake my head. I’m not even worried about our little Jerónimo getting bullied. No kid deserves to face the full wrath of six James men simply for teasing a classmate about his name. “Personally, I think Drake is a fine name. Or maybe Charlie?”

He smiles at me wickedly. “Charlie,” he says, “was a man of exquisite taste. Speaking of … I think it’s time to unwrap my Christmas gift. You know, tradition and all that.”

I shake my head. “That’s not our tradition. We do one tonight and then the rest in the morning, just like last year.”

He pulls me onto his lap, already tugging at the belt on my red wrap dress. “I’m talking about the one that’s just for us, mi rosa. Remember?”

A memory of him stripping me naked and fucking me beneath our huge Christmas tree immediately before we left for Dalton’s house last year flashes into my mind. My cheeks flush with heat, as does the space between my thighs. “Oh, you’re not talking about an actual gift.”

He hums, his sinful lips dusting over the skin of my neck. “Yes, I am. The very best gift a man could have—you, Mrs. James.”

He pulls the blanket all the way over us before he opens my dress and slips his hand into my panties. “We’re doing this out here?” I arch into the pleasure his fingers are already bringing.

“Only this part. Gonna make you come out here on our balcony, and then I’ll take you inside to fuck you. I want you fully unwrapped for that. And that’s for my eyes only, right?”

I nod, my bottom lip caught between my teeth while his fingers brush expertly over my clit. He knows my body better than I do.

“You belong to me, Amelia,” he growls possessively.

“Yes, Drake,” I pant as he sinks a thick finger inside me. This right here is like every Christmas wish I ever had rolled into one. I belong to Drake James forever and then some.