Page 32 of Tempting the Billionaire
He presses a soft kiss to my forehead. “I mean it,” he whispers. “You’re mine, Emma.”
I reach up to gently cup his face.
He smiles. “And I’m yours.”
Epilogue
Ezra
One Year Later
“You and your spicy romance novels,” I say with a shake of my head.
Emma pushes a strand of her long, red hair out of her face, laughing that melodic laugh of hers. I swear I’ll never get enough of it. She peers at me over a pair of bright pink sunglasses, her tan skin practically sparkling in the sunlight. “As if you didn’t read this first,” she shoots back, repositioning herself in her lounge chair.
I sit up, my toes scrunching in the sand beneath us as I lean toward her, taking a closer look. The sound of ocean waves thirty feet away caresses my ears. “Oh yeah, I might have already read that one,” I say with a shrug.
She cackles in triumph, slapping me lightly with the book. I glance back over my shoulder at the Bar Harbor beach house behind us. The beach house that,almost exactly a year ago, we’d basically started our relationship in.
I think back on the last year. The ups and down, everything that led us here. Other than our rocky start, it’s been a fairytale. Something for those romance books Emma loves so much and I pretend to hate.
The buzz around Diane’s and my divorce died down within a week or two. I guess normal people don’t really care all that much about local celebrity drama. Can’t say I blame them. Diane and I divorced somewhat amicably—as amicably as two people can, I think. She’s set for life—without it truly impacting me at all—and is off living somewhere in Italy with her new lover. Whatever. I hope she’s happy, although I don’t spend much time thinking about it.
Justin, thankfully, never showed his ugly face again. Neither I, nor Emma, have heard from him. Hopefully he’s learned from his mistakes and become a better person. Who knows? And if that video ever shows up somewhere, I’ll keep true to that promise to sue him into the ground.
I glance at the time on my watch, glancing around. “We should head inside,” I suggest.
Emma gives me a curious look. “Why? It’s so nice out.”
“I don’t know, I …” I purse my lips. “I’m getting kind of cold.”
She squints up at the hot sun beating down on us. “You can head in, I might stay out for a little longer.”
“I’m afraid I’ll miss you too much,” I insist.
She laughs.
I stand. “Come on, I’ll make us some lattes.” I’m hoping that will coax her. There’s an expensive espresso machine in the kitchen that she loves.
She still seems a little bewildered by my request, but she acquiesces, slipping her sandals on and following me the few steps to our porch and then into the house.
Once inside, I shoot off a text with my phone, then make sure she’s in the kitchen with me while I make the espresso.
“Cinnamon?” I ask.
“Of course,” she replies, smoothing out the wrinkles in her sun dress.
I glance out the window while preparing the drinks. You can’t quite see much except the space directly in front of our house—much to my luck. I glance at Emma, then focus back on the coffees.
I purposefully take my time, presenting her with her latte with a dash of cinnamon on top.
She thanks me with a smile, immediately bringing it to her lips and sipping. “What if we go out on the boat this afternoon?” she asks.
I shrug, pretending to ponder the idea. “Maybe,” I say. I have a sailboat docked at the Bar Harbor marina, and Emma has finally gotten enough of a knack for it to help me take it out.
She frowns. “Not feeling up to it today?” she guesses.
I shrug again, nonchalantly checking my phone. “Just kinda tired,” I say.
