Page 130 of Perfect Composition
I lean forward and press a soft kiss to her lips.
It’s not possible I could have composed a more perfect day. After all, Paige is by my side.
That’s all I need. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.
BECKETT
EPILOGUE- FIVE MONTHS LATER
February
Paige has four days off from the hospital, so we’re spending them at my penthouse in the city instead of her home in Connecticut.
“Ward and Angie do it every weekend. Why can’t we?” I love the atmosphere in Collyer, so much so I’m debating buying another piece of real estate there.
“And what happens when the schedule isn’t as flexible as it is now? What if we can’t be as flexible as we are now? You won’t find it too confining? Too…rustic?” She frets over her morning coffee.
I pause with my own mug halfway to my mouth. “Why this sudden concern? We’re getting married. I told you before I needed exactly one thing for my home. That’s you, remember?”
The diamond I slipped on her finger months ago winks at me. It’s enormous. I really think Paige may have carpal tunnel from lifting it on her hand when we’re ninety and in side-by-side rocking chairs. After we made love and I slipped it on her finger, she pretended to let her hand fall to the floor like it was holding an anvil.
Of course, she’s been followed by as many media crews as I am these days. Her security has been upped as a result. At first, she felt more than a little confined at not being able to zip off to grab a cup of coffee in her pajama bottoms without it being reported on some blogger’s Worst Dressed List.
As for me? I’m completely unrepentant. I want everyone to know she’s mine, finally and forever.
“Yes, Beckett. But I want to be certain Collyer is where you want to make our home.” She chews on her lower lip.
I put my tablet down from where I’ve been looking at larger properties and reach for her hand. “What are you thinking so hard about over there, baby?”
Her head swivels first left, then right, doing everything but looking me in the eye. “We’re almost forty.”
I reply cautiously. “I know.”
“I went to the doctor to check about my birth control because I wasn’t sure if I should renew it.” This time she bites down on the inside of her cheek.
“Why not?” We’d long dispensed with condoms once I’d had a physical that I think even checked for toe fungus to satisfy my Paige.
“Because of my age! I’m reaching a point where…”
I break in. “I’ll start using condoms again. I’m not risking you.” I’ll never risk losing Paige again, not for anything.
“No, Beckett, you don’t understand.” She moves between my legs and takes my hand. “We have a window—it’s a small one, but we could…if you wanted to…”
“If I wanted to what?” Then it hits me harder than any punch I ever endured from my father and sweeter than any kiss from Paige’s lips. She’s offering me the chance to experience fatherhood all over again from the beginning. My lips are frozen just at the moment when she needs me to speak.
But she just presses her lips to me. “Don’t say a word. Just when you’re thinking about buying a house, factor that in. The home might have to be a little bit bigger than you planned if you decide that’s something you want.”
If? I’m about to tell her to chuck the birth control when my iPad dings. “If that’s the real estate agent, she has really shitty timing,” I growl.
Paige tries, and fails, to suppress a smile. “Did you have something else on your mind?”
I grab her hand and pull it down to my iron-hard cock. “Yes. It involves the way one and one make three. And it’s not nice to…what’s wrong?” I demand when she snatches her hand away like it’s just been burned.
She just hands me the tablet. Then she dashes away into the bedroom.
I scan it before roaring, “Shit!”
Rumors are swirling around Grammy-Award-winning artist Beckett Miller. How long has he known that a composition he wrote long ago resulted in a melody of a different sort—the nine-month variety that wore adorable booties? And what does his new woman have to say about it?
