Page 83 of Bossing My Holiday
I kiss her lips, and when I pull away, Brax takes over and kisses her. I smile. It’s Christmas, and I’ve just been given the best present of all. Them.
EPILOGUE
WAVERLY
The morning light spills through our bedroom windows, painting golden streaks across the rumpled sheets. I stretch, feeling the pleasant ache in my muscles from last night, and place a hand over my still-flat stomach. Our little secret grows there, beneath my palm, beneath my skin. I haven’t stopped smiling since we found out.
Braxton appears in the doorway with coffee for him and Tristan and tea for me, his smile soft in the gentle light. Across the room, Tristan ends a business call in French, his voice trailing into silence as our eyes meet. Two years together, openly, proudly, and my heart still skips when they both look at me like this. Like I’m the answer to a question they’ve been asking their whole lives.
“The Paris itinerary is confirmed,” Tristan announces, setting his phone on the nightstand. “I have five days of nonstop meetings with Ouest Hotels when we get there, but after it should be relatively smooth. My family’s chef is already planning a welcome dinner.”
“Does Jolie know she’ll be cooking for three and a half?”Braxton asks, placing my tea on the bedside table before settling beside me, the mattress dipping under his weight.
I laugh, leaning into his solid warmth. “Let’s hope your mother and grand-mère don’t faint when we tell them, Tris.”
“You’re joking, right? This is what they’ve been waiting on for two years. Hell, since I was born. Heirs.”
I roll my eyes at that term. Even if their last name will be Ouest. A deal the three of us worked out. I married Tristan. But Braxton and I had a private ceremony where we exchanged vows. He and I might not be legally married, but for our purposes, we are.
Our Boston apartment sprawls around us, unfortunately not decorated for Christmas as I would have liked since we won’t be here, and a tree felt impractical. The master bedroom alone is bigger than my old apartment—not that that’s a shocker or anything—with a custom bed that accommodates three without compromise.
Two years ago, when we decided to acknowledge what we had found in each other, I braced for the storm. OuestHicks Pharmaceuticals trembled briefly under the weight of scandal—the CEOs in love and tangled in the sheets with the new COO. The board meetings grew tense, stock prices wobbled, and even Ouest Hotels got shaky.
But Tristan stepped forward, unapologetic and resolute. He leveraged his influence as a Ouest and made public statements about love transcending convention, about building families on foundations of trust rather than tradition. Braxton worked quietly behind the scenes, ensuring our company remained stable while I faced the press with rehearsed smiles and unshakable conviction.
Now, the whispers have faded to background noise. OuestHicks is posting record profits, Ouest Hotels has expanded into South America, and everyone seems to be doing well. Even Nana. I went to visit her yesterday, and though she doesn’tknow who I am, she no longer thinks I’m her dead daughter. Just that I belong to her, and I’ll take it. Being able to spend time with her again, getting to hug her, and having her meet my guys has been everything.
“What time is our flight tomorrow?” I ask, sipping my tea. The ginger blend soothes the slight morning queasiness that accompanies our growing secret. My OB gave us the green light to fly, and I’m excited. I was worried I’d miss Christmas in Paris.
“Seven thirty departure,” Tristan answers, sitting on my other side. His hand finds mine, thumb brushing over the platinum band on my finger. Official, legal, documented. On my right hand is a matching band from Braxton. Unofficial, meaningful, sacred in its own way.
Braxton takes my tea, setting it aside. “Which means that now that Tristan is done with his calls, we have all morning to ourselves.” His lips find my neck, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot just below my ear.
I shiver, warmth spreading through me. “Again? After last night?”
“Last night was last night,” Tristan murmurs, his hand sliding beneath the thin fabric of my T-shirt. “This is now.”
There’s a rhythm to us now that we’ve perfected over the years. Braxton is patient, sweet, and endlessly considerate. His touch builds slowly like a symphony working toward a crescendo. Tristan, on the other hand, is intense and focused, with every movement deliberate and precise.
Between them, I’m alive. Found. Whole.
Braxton’s fingers thread through my hair, tilting my head back for his kiss. His lips are soft, tasting of coffee and morning, while his free hand traces patterns up my thigh. Tristan watches, blue eyes darkening, before sliding my T-shirt up and over my head in one fluid motion. The cool air pebbles my skin, but I’m far from cold with their heated gazes traveling over me.
“Look at our girl,” Tristan breathes, taking in my naked form. “Carrying our child and even more beautiful for it.”
Braxton hums agreement against my neck, his hands now free to explore. They wander over the landscape of my body. The slopes of my larger and more sensitive breasts, the valley of my waist, the gentle rise where our child grows. Every touch leaves trails of electricity in its wake.
“Lie back,” Tristan whispers, ever one to demand, and unlike before, where I would have told him where to stick it, I comply instantly, sinking into the pillows.
They undress unhurriedly, revealing bodies that still make me drool. Brax kisses the three interlocking circles inked on my inner arm. A present to myself after our first anniversary together.
Tristan moves behind me, replacing my pillows with his body so I can recline against his chest. His arms encircle me, hands cupping my tits with enough pressure that I moan and writhe. Braxton kneels between my legs, pushing them gently apart, his expression sinfully dirty.
“Do you know what I love about you being pregnant?" Tristan murmurs, his breath warm against my ear as his fingers tease my nipples into tight peaks. “How fucking hard you come.”
“Don’t forget how wet her cunt gets.”
“Right. That too. I can’t wait till you start showing. You think we can’t keep our hands off of you now. Just wait.”
