Page 84 of Covetous

Victor runs a hand down his face, wiping away tears he doesn’t want me to see, still trying to be the strong one. “The medical examiner said she was sixteen weeks along.” His voice breaks, and he takes a shuddering breath before continuing, “It was a boy. My son.”

Sixteen weeks. The revelation stuns me, catapulting my thoughts back in time. That night at Midnight Blues when Ian and I saw them—Esme had been pregnant, though barely. She might not have known then.

Cape Cod comes to mind next. I remember her drinking. Surely she was still unaware. But after that? At sixteen weeks, she must have realized. Why the silence? Was she planning a surprise and dramatic announcement? Some of her last words come back to me—like a warning: “Good luck with that. Shit happens, you know?” Her comment didn’t resonate at the time she’d said it; I was still reeling from the realization of her and Ian. But now? Questions swirl in my head, each more perplexing than the last.

My heart physically hurts. I cradle Victor’s face in my hands, drawing him closer until our foreheads touch, our noses brushing. I squeeze my eyes shut, letting the tears fall, mixing with his as they drip onto my hands.

“I’m so, so sorry,” I whisper, my voice breaking.

We hold on to each other tightly, desperate for comfort, for something to hold us together. This hurts. Tears stream down our faces, our chests rising and falling with the weight of our emotions.

Make it stop.

The kiss begins slowly, a gentle exploration as our lips graze each other’s skin, tasting each other’s tears. Hesitantly, our lips brush together. It’s a touch as light as a feather, but it sparks something deep inside of us, a different kind of ache. As our mouths move together, the kiss deepens, growing rougher. Our tongues duel and our hands grab at each other’s clothes.

We break apart, only for a moment, gasping for air as I straddle him, my legs on either side. Wordlessly, we come back together, our mouths crashing against each other in a teeth-clashing, lip-biting, tongue-sucking kiss. I cling to him, my arms locked around his neck when he stands us up from the couch chair. My legs tighten their hold around his waist, his strong arms supporting my weight.

Blindly, he navigates us to the window, pinning me against the cold glass. Frantic hands tear at each other’s clothes until our most intimate parts are exposed. And when he enters me, he does it in one long thrust.

It’s so deep, so hard, and so huge that it leaves me breathless, my heart thumping in my ears as my walls pulsate around him. Letting our bodies take over, we let go, fucking each other with a recklessness and a neediness that lights us on fire. It’s a combustible passion, one that consumes us, stripping us bare as we seek healing from each other’s bodies.

I love this man. With every fiber of my being. Couldn’t help it if I tried. What we have isn’t tainted or doomed or wrong. Do I wish that things could’ve happened differently? All the time. But that’s not our story. There’s no going back, only moving forward—healing, loving, and forgiving ourselves.

This is us, now and always. Our love is the real thing, no matter how messy it started. We’ll get through this—through the grief and pain. Together. Somehow.

Epilogue

Three Years Later

Grief is a weird thing. It doesn’t follow a straight line or stay constant; it comes and goes in waves, with good days and bad days. The pain, the guilt, the grief—it all seemed unbearable at first. But Victor and I clung to each other through it all. Our love, which started as forbidden and messy, is now unbreakable.

Not a day goes by that I don’t think of Esme. The happy memories and laughter keep me going on the darkest days. Even now, three years later, it’s hard to believe she’s gone. Those first few months were the toughest for Victor and me. Losing his son left a hole in his heart that I know will never fully heal. And for me, the absence of Esme in the world will never feel normal.

But life keeps moving forward, even when it hurts like hell sometimes.

After I earned my master’s degree last year, I landed my dream job as a substance abuse counselor at a rehab center. A week after starting my position, Victor opened his own tattoo parlor.

To celebrate our first successful year of career adventures and the love that’s gotten us through the worst of times, we jetted off to the breathtaking island of Ibiza, Spain.

It’s been absolutely incredible. The luxurious beachfront resort we’re staying at is like something out of a movie, with jaw-dropping ocean views and top-notch everything.

Is there anything better than waking up to the sound of crashing waves and the sight of an endless blue horizon? I don’t think so.

Our first day was a whirlwind of sun-drenched adventures. We lounged on the pristine beaches of Cala Comte, sipping fruity cocktails and laughing until our faces hurt. As the sun dipped below the horizon, we found ourselves at a lively beach club, dancing the night away to the beats of world-famous DJs.

Day two was more low-key but just as amazing. We wandered the cobblestone streets of Dalt Vila, marveling at the rich history and stunning architecture. A leisurely lunch at a quaint café was followed by a couples’ massage at our resort’s luxurious spa.

Pure bliss, I’m telling you.

Today, we’re getting ready for what promises to be an unforgettable evening as we chase the sunset on a private yacht.

Victor’s in the shower when I return to our suite from the hair salon.

On my way up, I stopped by the gift shops, snagging a baby doll for Quentin and Fatima’s IVF miracle, little Imani, and toys for my nephews—plural now that Yasmine and Hunter have tied the knot and welcomed baby Miles. I splurged on Novalee’s four kids too; she was right about being pregnant that day at my apartment. They now have three boys and one girl, and their family is complete.

There have been a lot of babies born over the past couple of years, though Niko and my new sister-in-law, Jordyn, say they’re going to put off having babies for at least a few years.

After dumping the shopping bags by the bed, I head straight to the closet to pull out my outfit for the yacht. Yasmine and I shopped like crazy for this trip, so my closet is bursting with outfits, most of which I’ll probably never wear while I’m here. But instead of picking something new, I decide on a chiffon number, a flowing white maxi dress that I last wore to Liv and Smith’s all-white-themed engagement party two years back.

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