Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 45943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
“We can, we are,” I growl, giving Jade’s hand another squeeze. “This is the real thing, Yasmin. We’re in this for life. I want to give you little brothers and sisters with Jade. I want to fill our lives with laughter and family and all those things I should’ve given you growing up. I’ll be the first to admit I’ve been a cold bastard, but I’m ready to change, with Jade’s help.”
Yasmin laughs through her tears.
“Now you’ve got me crying happy tears,” she giggles, shaking her head in disbelief.
Jade walks around the table and sits next to her, wrapping her arms around my daughter and both of them crying out their happiness.
I watch, my lips twitching into something like a real smile.
Finally, the tears stop and we all sit in the surprisingly comfortable silence for a time, content to just be in each other’s company.
“I never thought it’d go like this,” I say after a few minutes of watching the winter world drift by the glass enclosure of the balcony. “I’m just so…”
“What, Dad?” Yasmin murmurs.
“Yeah, Jamie. What?”
I look deeply into my woman’s eyes, past her eyes, and into her bright and perfect soul.
“I’m so ready to begin my life,” I say.
Jade giggles. “You’re a multiple world champion in MMA and a billionaire businessman. Plus you have an amazing daughter. I’m pretty sure your life has already begun.”
“My life with you,” I growl. “And I just know it’s going to be the best life I ever could’ve dreamed of. I can’t wait to see you grow and flourish as a writer, a woman, a mother.”
Jade and Yasmin’s smiles are like mirrors of each other, lighting up their faces.
Chapter Twenty
Jade
It feels so good to lie against him at night, to wake into half-dreams and then lull myself back to sleep by pressing my face into the security of his hard muscular chest. I clutch onto him as I wake and sleep, dream and drift, sometimes bolting up terrified that he’s going to disappear like vapor and all of this – the closeness, the emotion, Yasmin’s acceptance – is going to prove to be just as unreal.
But then he murmurs, half-awake, “Go to sleep, princess. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
As the moon shines ice blue through the window, I close my eyes into darkness and watch as the moonlight changes shape, becoming our future, our love, our everything.
Big day? I want to ask him. What do you mean? It’s just another Thursday.
I don’t have work, which is a blessing in a way, despite the reason for it.
After my manager talked to me so bitterly the day of the attack – not the first time he’s done it – I started to think more and more about taking Jamie up on his offer of writing full-time.
Maybe he’s right.
Maybe it is different when it’s my lover, my man making the offer, and not my best friend.
But these are all concerns for tomorrow.
For now, I’m content to drift into the warmth of my dreams, a whole sea of contentment lulling me along, as I bob and smile my way to oblivion.
When I wake, I instinctively reach across the bed to touch Jamie, my fingers clawing at the empty sheets, and my heart immediately starts to thump quickly through my body.
No matter how secure I feel in the moment, there’s always this vestige of anxiety clinging to me, a bitter scared voice whispering that all too soon this is going to be taken away and I’m going to be left wondering just exactly what I was thinking when I believed I deserved this closeness and this love.
I sit up with a yawn, the moonlight from last night replaced with snow laced sunlight.
A note sits on my bedside table, right next to my phone.
A car is picking you up at twelve o’clock, Jamie’s neat script reads. Don’t be late, princess.
Dimly, I remember the words he uttered in the quiet of the night, about having a big day tomorrow—today.
I rise out of bed with my heart pounding even faster, though now excitement fuels each drumbeat pounding, not the anxiety that usually fires within me.
I look around Jamie’s bedroom – with his minimalist décor, everything all modern and straight edges – and find that he’s left a dress hanging on the back of the door for me.
I walk over to it and let my eyes move up and down the glittery copper fabric, sucking in a breath when I see that the cleavage is cut somewhat low and the hem is cut somehow high, meaning I’ll be showing a fair slice of leg and chest.
Don’t wear tights this time, Jamie’s possessive note reads, clipped to the hanger. I want to see those legs.
I bite my lip to stop myself from making a whimpering noise of lust as I take the dress down.