Page 95 of Casita Casanova
Because Thor is certainly happy inside this one.
I chuckle and Maryn stirs beneath me.
“What’s funny?”
“Just thinking about how happy I am right now.”
“Mmm,” she moans. “Me, too.”
I kiss her throat, tasting her sweet skin, nudging her earlobe with my nose. “Told you so.”
“Hmm?”
“I told you it would be worth it.” I rise up to look at her.
She chuckles, eyes still closed. I don’t think she’s ever looked more beautiful than she does in this moment. Sated and happy.
I hate to leave her tomorrow.
The thought tightens my jaw. I don’t have a choice in the matter. If I want to step into my rightful place at the helm, I have to go home. I’ve already wasted too much time. Allowing Beth to convince me thatanytime away was the right move was a huge fuck up on my part, but it won’t happen again.
Westcott & Son Investments is my kingdom.
It’s time to take ownership and act like the fucking king I am.
Time to take control.
If I’m going to be the kind of son my father would have been proud of, it’s time to step up to the plate.
First, by getting rid of Beth and the board. I have a feeling there’s something going on there that I’ve missed because I’ve been too distracted by partying and pussy.
“Cas,” Maryn murmurs, her voice heavy with satisfaction and bringing me back to the here and now.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?” I nudge her nose with mine so she’ll open her sleepy eyes.
“For getting my groove back.”
I laugh, wrapping my arms around her so I can flip us over. When she’s upright and straddling me, I look up through the cascade of long brown curls into those eyes I can’t get enough of. “We’re just getting started, baby.”
Even though we only have tonight, I’m going to make every moment count.
Epilogue
Six Months Later
Maryn
After a long shift at the brewery, I make my way up the walkway to the house, Ribbit trotting happily at my heels. I pause when my eyes land on a massive bouquet of calla lilies sitting on my front porch. I’ve been dating casually, but none of those relationships are serious enough to send flowers—especially not an arrangement like this.
Ribbit canters up the stairs and stretches out beside the bouquet, resting his head on his feet.
Hurrying up the stairs, I squat to admire the flowers, stroking the nearest calla lily reverently. There are probably sixty stems, at least, and in the center, three sticks protrude past the flowers. A stained-glass hummingbird with two small babies.
I bite my bottom lip to keep from smiling. It couldn’t be in reference to…
