Page 95 of Lost Kingdom

“A dancing monkey?” Cato asks.

But Aubree shakes her head. “A co-conspirator in the mafia world. I’m not moving to New York, and I’m not becoming your newest enforcer.”

“Dammit.” Felix slams his hands into his pockets. “How does she do it?”

“You said you can’t read minds,” I whisper. Fuck me, how are those words even leaving my mouth?Mind reading. “But you just read his?”

She wraps her arms over my shoulders and pulls up to touch her lips to mine. “That was an easy guess. Now you owe me a divorce.”

“Excuse me.” My heart stutters to a painful stop. “What?”

She flashes a wide grin. “Do it properly. Engagement ring. Get down on one knee. Ask me to marry you, and then I’ll consider your offer and get back to you in three to five business days.”

“I’m not divorcing you!”

“I want a real wedding.” She kisses me again. “I want a gown. And a first dance. I want photos to frame and set on our mantle. I want my best friend to be my maid of honor, a job she’ll hate, but one she’ll do anyway because she loves me, even when I make it weird. And I want Mia to be my flower girl. And then I want you to carry me over the threshold so we can follow tradition the proper way.”

“You made me do the Malone story twice. Now you want the marriage twice? Seriously?”

“What can I say?” She flashes a teasing grin. “I’m high maintenance. And I saved your life today, so…”

EPILOGUE

AUBREE

A few months later

There’s a house on the hill, of course. Because Tim won’t let us live above a noisy, smelly bar forever. There’s a wedding. And a dress. A ring. There were vows, and sex…

Good lord, the sex only gets better with practice.

“Tuck your damn head in.” He carries me across the threshold, almost bashing my skull against the doorframe as we pass through. “Aubree! You’re being a pain in my ass.”

“I’m tired!” I’m dead weight. Lazy and languid, but he’s strong enough to carry us both. “I’ve been up since four o’clock!”

“Your leave started three days ago.” He stalks through the hall and cuts left to stride upstairs. Past artwork Tiia gifted us over the last few months. And furniture Christabelle shipped across from New York. Because apparently we can’t be trusted to furnish our own home, seeing as how Tim is… well, he’s Tim. And I’m a workaholic.Allegedly. “No one made you take that phone call this morning.”

“It’s like the bat signal!” I wrap my arms around his neck and tuck myself in closer when the wall comes perilously close to my head. “Minka called. Dead body needed to be processed. It’s hardly my fault.”

“You were already on leave.” Emerging at the top of the stairs, he turns left again, moving along a wide hall and past bedroom doors that’ll someday, probably, be filled with a kid or two. Because if good and evil can create Tim, then what magic will come when we mix him and me?

“You had a nine o’clock appointment with the salon,” he grumbles. “Hair and makeup. Ya know, for that wedding you nagged about, and the photos you want on the mantle. Either you wanted the pretty hair, or you didn’t.”

“I got there in the end.” I pepper my lips along his neck. Biting, then soothing. Nipping, then sliding my tongue across to cover the pain I left behind. “And we got married. We got the photos.”

“And I got the bride.”

“Exactly!” I choke out a laugh when he turns into our room and my knee slams against the doorframe. “Ouch!”

“Tuck it in,” he taunts, taking my bottom lip between his teeth and nibbling. “I’ve been up since four, too. You wanna be carried over the threshold, then you’ve gotta help me out.”

“You’re making it not romantic!” Though I laugh; this was the most romantic day of my life. Because when most others say love, Tim describes the air in his lungs. When others make a vow to wed, he makes a vow to live. For me. For himself. For the family we make and the traditions we’ll pass down. “You’re supposed to seduce me now.” I slide my fingers into his hair and grin when a pair of emerald eyes, the same color as the clip in my hair and the chain around my neck, come to mine. “All the great literary pieces speak of how a person’s wedding day is about romance. Andus. You’re supposed to deflower me now.”

“Deflower.” He tosses me onto the bed and follows me to the mattress, his knee settling between my legs and his hands dragging the long, white fabric of my gown up to expose my thighs. “I already did that.”

“Rude.” I firm my lips and look up at the ceiling, if only to rob him of the chance to look into my eyes. “You could at leastpretendI’m pure and you’re dying to get a taste.”

“I am.” He brings my dress up and exposes my panties. Goosebumps sprint across my flesh, sending shivers along my spine and a breathy exhale from my lungs. He takes my hand, like he does so often these days, and presses my palm to his cheek.

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