“That’s great.”
“But is it enough? Think before you answer.” His nostrils flared as he set his hand on my cheek. “ ’Cause I love you too, and I do not want to fuck this up.”
I crinkled my brow, aware of my speeding pulse. “You love me?”
“Fuck, yes. I do. The bed hog, the avocado toast maker, occasional milkshake connoisseur. But I’m scared as fuck, Seb. My walls are thick and high, and my bullshit meter is terrifyingly low. I’ve gotten it so wrong in the past and—”
“You won’t get it wrong this time. It’s not possible. All you have to do is be you…and love me.”
“I do. I love you, baby.”
He gave a teary half laugh and swept me in his arms, slanting his mouth over mine in a searing, possessive kiss. We came up for air, resting our foreheads against each other as the city seeped in, pulling us back to reality.
After a moment, he bent to pick up the milkshake and linked his fingers with mine before passing the cup to me.
“Mmm. That’s good. I’m hungry now.”
“I bet. We’ll get you somethin’ to eat. I need wodder.”
“Wodder? What’s that?”
“Wodder is wodder.” Trent tilted an imaginary cup to his lips. “You know…drinking wodder.”
I busted up laughing. “You mean water.”
“That’s what I said.”
“I have never heard you say wodder before now.”
“Lucky you. Now you get all the real me.” He slipped his arm over my shoulder and nuzzled my neck. “And…I hate to break it you, but you’re the one who’s talkin’ funny.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yeah, you are.”
We made our way to my hotel, trading silly barbs as we shared a milkshake. I felt as if I could walk on air. My heart soared at the brush of his fingers and the timbre of his deep voice as he pointed out famous landmarks and talked about introducing me to his parents. His mom was going to want to make dinner for me and would want to know my favorite kind of pasta.
He wanted to include me and invite me into his world to share his life. He made it seem so simple. As if love wasn’t a game of careful reciprocity but a beautiful dance that required honesty and pure intentions.
I wanted this. I wanted to give him everything I had. My truth, my time, my heart. The real me.
It was time to begin again.
EPILOGUE
“To love or have loved, that is enough. Ask nothing further. There is no other pearl to be found in the dark folds of life.” —Victor Hugo, Les Misérables
Trent
The scent of garlic and basil wafted from the kitchen along with the clatter of pans and my mother’s lilting voice describing the proper way to press tomatoes. I shot an “Oh, shit” glance at Seb as we made our way downstairs. And immediately did a double take.
Sebastian Rourke was an incredibly handsome dude, but he was next-level hot in a tuxedo. I mean…jaw-dropping, crazy handsome. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and reached for his hand, pulling him to my side.
“You look…good enough to eat, Mr. Rourke,” I hummed in his ear. “And I fully intend to do so later. You can keep the monkey suit on…at least the jacket, anyway.”
“Gee, thanks. But you’d better stop with the dirty compliments. I can’t walk into the kitchen with a boner in front of your parents and Ollie.” Seb straightened my bow tie and ran his forefinger along the buttons of my dress shirt. “And by the way, you look dashing too.”
Me? Dashing? I stepped in front of the mirror in the grand hallway next to the new wall of family photos and gazed at my reflection. I supposed I cleaned up okay too. Not like Seb, but I wouldn’t embarrass him tonight. Then again, this wasn’t my first rodeo in the Hollywood gala circuit. I’d been Seb’s plus-one for the Golden Globes, the Writer’s Guild, SAG awards, and a few lesser-known ceremonies. Tonight would be a piece of cake.
Except for the fact that Seb would have preferred to stay home to eat my mom’s homemade spaghetti with Dad and Oliver.
“Babe, they’ll be here for a week,” I reminded him when I caught his longing look toward the shenanigans in the adjoining room. “She’ll cook every damn day and leave us more leftovers than two men and a teenager should consume in a month.”
“I know, but…it smells so good and—” He paused at the sound of Oliver’s laughter. Then he turned to me and beamed…one of those sunshine smiles that uses every facial muscle a human possesses to convey extreme joy.
I returned his grin. “My dad must be keeping Ollie entertained with his red-carpet play-by-play. Come on. We should rescue him.”
Seb laughed. “He doesn’t want to be rescued. He loves them.”
True. My parents could be highly entertaining. Unintentionally so. And Oliver thought they were the coolest new people in his life. He couldn’t get enough of Al and Francesca Mackay. They’d bonded the first time they met…soon after Seb had showed up in Philly with a milkshake in hand and his heart on his sleeve.