Happily Ever After: A Romance Collection

by Amelia Wilde

  It’s a long time before she lets me go.

  The dappled sunlight plays over her pink cheeks, her hair spread out on the pillow, and I hate the fact that I have to disturb her.

  Only...I don’t. She can stay in my bed forever if that’s what she wants.

  “Are you good?” I ask her.

  A slow smile lifts her lips. “Almost.” She opens her eyes and grins at me. “Maybe if we came back to it later tonight...”

  “You can fucking bet on it.” I push myself up on one elbow and grab my phone off the bedside table. “I have to pick up Rosie in half an hour. But I should shower first.”

  She leans over and kisses me, her tongue darting out to lick my bottom lip. “What, you think you can shower alone now?” She shakes her head. “I don’t think so, mystery man.”

  Four minutes later, she’s standing under the stream, head tilted back, and I’m admiring the way the water rushes down over her perfect breasts. “You know what?”

  “What?” I say, reaching up to circle her nipples with the pads of my thumbs.

  She giggles, arching toward me. “I like you better now that you’re not a mystery.”

  “Oh, you think you know everything about me now?” Ellie’s giggle turns into a laugh. “I’ll show you.”

  Ellie sits in the passenger seat with her camera on her lap, twisting her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck. She’s radiant, and she smells soapy and clean.

  “Are you nervous?”

  “To pick up your daughter?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No,” she says. “We’ve met before. At Medium Roast. Remember?”

  I wait for the worry to come—the worry that this won’t work out, the worry that this will be too much for Ellie. It never does. “Right. You two are old pals.”

  Ellie shrugs one shoulder. “We will be one day.”

  When I pull into Norma’s driveway, she’s waiting at the door with Rosie in her arms. Rosie lifts a chubby baby hand and waves, her arm flying, a big smile on her face. Soon she’ll have more than four teeth, and won’t that be a party.

  Ellie doesn’t hesitate. She gets out of the car at the same time I do, bringing her camera along.

  “Daddy!” cries Rosie. Ellie is right by my side as we climb the porch steps.

  “Hi, baby.” I take the squirming baby in my arms. She’s not going to be a baby much longer. “Norma, Rosie, this is Ellie.” I grin down at Rosie. “Can you say Ellie?”

  “Lee!” she chirps, giving Ellie another charming smile.

  “See you tomorrow?” Norma says to Rosie. “Hi, Ellie. I’ve seen you downtown.”

  “White chocolate mocha, right?” God, Ellie is the real deal.

  “You’ve got it,” says Norma, and closes the door with a wave.

  I take Rosie down the steps, Ellie following close behind. We’re halfway down Norma’s walk when Ellie calls out. “Wait!”

  I turn to face her. She’s got the lens cap off her camera and the camera up to her face. “Smile!” Rosie giggles in my arms and I look into the lens. For once, it’s a real smile. How could it not be? I’m looking at the love of my life.

  “Perfect,” says Ellie, putting the lens cap back on. “You’re going to love this.”

  “Hold on,” I say, as she gets close. “We need one more.”

  “Of what?”

  I take the camera in one hand, flip it around, and hold it out with my arm. “You belong in these photos, too.”

  Ellie’s eyes shine. She wastes no time tucking in beside Rosie, her arm going around my waist. “Ready? Look at the camera, Rosie! Say happy! One, two, three!”

  49

  Shira

  I load the last box of my things into the backseat of my car.

  College is over.

  It’s done.

  I have a diploma—well, a fake diploma, because the real thing will arrive in the mail in four to six weeks—and four weeks of vacation, coming right up.

  In the dorm room’s front office, Susan is waiting at the reception window to take my keys and sign me out for the final time.

  “You’re done packing already?” She lifts one pencilled eyebrow.

  “I…purged a lot,” I tell her with a little shrug. “I’m just going back home for a short stint, so…”

  “No job offers yet?”

  “I’ve had lots of interviews.” I try to keep the hope in my voice front and center while I hand over the keys to my room and the community bathroom, my heart squeezing at the thought of it. Maybe it’s lame to live in the dorms for all five years of college, but after what happened, it’s the only place I wanted to be. Someone sits at the front door all night, did you know that? Plus, I lucked into a single room for the last two years. It’s the height of student luxury. “I’m sure one of them will let me in at that entry level.”

  “Good luck, sweetie. Keep in touch, will you?” Susan leans over the divider and gives me a tight hug.

  “I will,” I lie.

  I won’t.

  I head back out to my car, which is parked in front in the fifteen-minute loading zone, and hop behind the wheel.

  It’s time to go back to Lakewood.

  Part of me wishes I already had some fancy job lined up in the city—don’t ask me what city. Any city, really. But another part of me trembles a little when I think about going straight from here to an apartment I’ve never seen before, with people I can’t trust.

  Plus, I owe my parents this.

  They’ve given me pretty much everything, and they haven’t taken a vacation since I was a kid.

  It’s time.

  Even if that means going back to the family business.

  It’s only for a month. Two months at most, I remind myself as sternly as my mother would, only I try to inject more compassion into my inner voice. I’m doing them a favor, and I should take it for what it is—a rest for my brain, if not my face. My father will expect perfection, since I’ll be the face of his business while they’re on vacation. So.

  Well. Not really a favor, is it? Paying a debt.

  Yes. Paying a debt.

  I linger in front of the dorm for another moment, then square my shoulders and hop into the car.

  It’s a drive.

  There’s only one thing to do on a drive, as far as I’m concerned. First things first: buckle up. Check the mirrors. Make sure there are no distracting objects.

  And then hit play on the CD player.

  It’s not the newest, fanciest tech, but it doesn’t matter. It gets the job done. And its job is to play Pilot Five.

  Wilder Felix’s voice washes over me along with the first chords, and all of that bullshit—all the anxiety about going back to Lakewood, all the wishing I had chosen to do anything different, all the regret over what happened—it fades away into a bright glow in the center of my chest.

  I’ll never meet Wilder Felix. But right now, it feels like I’m sitting right next to him, with that gorgeous, sexy voice crooning right into my ear.

  He sings to me all the way home.

  50

  Ellery

  One year later

  “Hug each other like you really love each other!” I call the instruction and the cute family of four does, Dad wrapping his arms around his gorgeous wife’s shoulder, her auburn hair catching the sunlight. Their blonde daughter grins cheesily at the camera, and the toddler girl, dark-haired and beautiful, wraps her arms around her sister’s waist.

  Nailed it.

  “That’s a wrap!” I call, and there’s a flurry of goodbyes and thank-yous and rushing to get the kids home for a late dinner. The things we do for the golden hour.

  My shoulders ache, but it’s a good kind of ache. I’ve been shooting sessions all day, and the weekend is booked, too.

  “Hi! Hi! Hi!”

  A little figure is running at me across the grass, barreling on toddler legs.

  “Rosie! Rosie! Rosie!” I cry, running to meet her, barely getting my lens cap on in time.


  It’s been a hell of a year.

  Honey was right. I can start a successful photography business. It’s so successful, in fact, that I’ve been pondering getting a second assistant. If I keep booking at this rate, I’ll never be able to take a vacation again. And Dash needs a vacation. He’s got five coffee shops open in three of the neighboring towns.

  I scoop Rosie up in my arms. “Did you go to the playground?”

  “Yeah!” she cries. “Yeah!”

  “How’d the session go?” calls Dash, coming along right behind her.

  “Good!” I say. “They’re here on vacation. Really nice couple. Valentine went to high school at the same time as me. She used to work at the Short Stack.”

  “Love that place.”

  I frown a little. “I wish they lived here all the time. We could have couples’ nights.”

  We start back toward the parking lot, and Rosie leans toward Dash. He takes her smoothly, without missing a beat. “You’ve got their number, right? Send a text. We can always hire Norma. It would be fun for Rosie, too.”

  It’s all so pleasantly normal that I give a sigh. This is contentment. “I will.” It’s a glorious July day, and the sun is setting over the woods giving everything an unearthly glow. “Let’s get to Aunt Lisa’s. I’m starving.” Things are good, now that they’re fully in retirement and letting Dash manage the coffee shops from afar. He likes it that way, too. He never spends any time behind the counter, so he never smells like coffee at the end of the day. I’m into it.

  “Okay,” says Dash, but then he frowns.

  “What?”

  “There was something I wanted to do. I woke up this morning, and I had to get it done. You know that feeling?”

  “I do.” I feel it every day. I’m busy, and I’m busy in love. My brand-new camera feels like a dream in my hands. So does Rosie. And Dash? He always felt like one, too.

  “All right. I know you’re hungry, so—” He drops to one knee, right there in the grass, and pulls a little velvet box from his pocket. “Ellie, I love you. And I want to make it official. Will you marry me?”

  I burst out laughing, a glorious belly laugh. This is so Dash. Efficient. To the point. I drop to my knees in front of him and wrap my arms around his neck. “Hell yes,” I say into his neck.

  “Ell yes,” says Rosie.

  We laugh all the way to dinner.

  Epilogue

  Wilder

  “You look like a dead man walking.” The words come out of Nigel’s mouth and he flinches, catching himself too late. “I’m sorry, Wilder—I didn’t mean—”

  I hold up a hand. What am I supposed to say to that? I am a dead man walking. If it weren’t for my daughter Isabella, I’d be a dead man.

  And it shows.

  I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirrored wall behind Nigel’s desk. His assessment might not have been tactful, but it was accurate.

  I look like hell.

  I’ve looked this way since Courtney died.

  “I’ll get a shave and a haircut, if that’s what you want.”

  He looks even more uncomfortable. “That’s the thing, Wilder. It’s not just the…general state of disarray.”

  “What is it, then?” I honestly can’t think of a single fucking thing I should be doing at this moment in time, other than forcing myself to draw my next breath.

  Nigel glances down at the top of his desk, drumming his fingers together. “It’s the album.”

  “The album.”

  “Yes.” He lets it hang between us. “Wilder, you know—you know—that I hate to rush you in this…process.”

  “The process of having a dead wife.”

  Nigel takes a deep breath, clearly forcing himself not to slap his hand over his eyes. “I am devastated for you about Courtney—” He has the look of a man who’s about to say but. “—but we’ve pushed things as far as they can go with the album.”

  The album. The album. Who gives a fuck about the album?

  Well, Nigel does. And the rest of the band. The contract they gave us as an astronomical one. It was all over the internet five minutes after we signed it. I don’t even think the ink was dry. One of the biggest contracts in music history.

  And then Courtney.

  “I’ll get it done.” I stand up, effectively ending the meeting, but Nigel’s not having it. He stands up and blocks my dead-man shuffle to the door.

  “You won’t.” He puts a hand out on my shoulder, a bracing pat. “You’ve been trying.”

  A dull defensive feeling rises up. “I have—”

  “I know. But LA is killing you.”

  It’s not LA that’s killing me. It’s the ragged hole Courtney left in the world when she died. It’s sucking the life out of me. And the hope. And the music.

  Not to be dramatic.

  “I’ve booked you a work retreat.”

  “What?”

  I’m ready to be pissed, but any feelings I might have about the situation—the fucking imposition—are buried under a thick layer of cold, grey grief.

  “I booked you a getaway. Somewhere else. You and Isabella need a change of scenery.”

  “To where? Wine country?” If he’s sending us to some bullshit vineyard—

  “Lakewood.”

  I’ve never heard of the place in my life.

  “It’s in upstate New York?”

  “What the fuck, Nigel?”

  He raises both his hands in a gesture obviously meant to calm me. Lucky for him, I’m only going through the motions. Mostly. Upstate New York? What is he thinking?

  “There was an affordable rental.”

  “I don’t need an affordable rental.”

  “I know that. But this is on the label.”

  “The label doesn’t need an affordable rental.”

  Nigel draws himself up, steel in his eyes. “You’re going.”

  “Fucking make me.”

  “Wilder—”

  “That’s the other side of the country.”

  “And you need it.” Nigel jabs two fingers into my chest. “You’re losing it. And the band is losing it along with you. If you can’t come up with material for an album, there’s going to be a problem.”

  “Worse than losing my wife?”

  “No. But if you want to keep your career for your little girl, you might want to do something.”

  He hit me right where it hurts, that asshole.

  “Is it a city, at least?”

  Now Nigel has the grace to look sheepish. “It’s a vacation town.”

  “Great.” So, not a city. A small town, with small town people, as empty as LA.

  Everywhere is empty, without Courtney.

  “I have to go,” I tell Nigel. I’ll need a week to prepare for this. Maybe two. We’ll have to arrange…I don’t know. Arrange everything.

  “Get going.” Nigel holds the door open for me, patting me on the back on my way out. “Oh, and Wilder?”

  “Yeah?” My brain is already sinking back into that grieving pit.

  “Pack quickly. You leave tomorrow.”

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  LEGALLY YOURS

  Nicole French

  Legally Yours

  Nicole French

  Enemies turn to lovers in this bad boy billionaire romance with a twist.

  I had a plan.

  Finish law school. Start a job. Stay away from men like Brandon Sterling. Cocky, overbearing, and richer than the Earth, he thinks the world belongs to him, and that includes me.

  Yeah, no. Think again.

  It doesn’t matter that his blue eyes look straig
ht into my soul, or that his touch melts my icy reserve. It doesn’t even matter that past all that swagger, there’s a beautiful, damaged man who has so much to offer beyond private planes and jewelry boxes.

  But I had a plan: no falling in love.

  I just have to convince myself.

  To my husband, who always thought I could do it.

  And to my mom, the incurable romantic in the family.

  1

  I glanced over the top of my cubicle toward a window about ten feet away. Snow was coming down hard, in big, fat flakes that shone white against the black night and stuck to the pane whenever a sudden gust of wind slammed into the building. I looked at the clock on the opposite wall and sighed. You’d never know by the looks of the office that it was almost 9 p.m.

  “The Pit,” as everyone called the group of cubicles that housed temps and interns, included a pod of hopeful, over-achieving, third-year law students like myself. The four of us still had one week left on the job. After working the standard summer internship at Sterling Grove’s full-service firm, I had been asked, along with the other three interns, to stay on when the firm took on a major trial case. The trial had finished up last week, and the firm had won, with some thanks due to the countless hours Steve, Cherie, Eric, and I had put in over the last four months. Our hard work paid off when we were offered full-time positions after we finished school and passed the bar exam. It was no small carrot—the firm was one of the largest in Boston, and the positions some of the most coveted for any new grad.

  But unlike the other interns, I wasn’t actually sure I wanted to work at Sterling Grove. It wasn’t that it wasn’t a good firm (despite the first-year associate hours that would be undoubtedly hellacious). There was simply something missing. Two and a half years ago, I had left a job in investment banking for law school, hoping to find a career that would make me feel, well, complete. Law had seemed like a good idea. It was lucrative, analytical, and I had the potential to do more for the world than just stockpiling money. And upon starting my classes, I quickly learned that I loved the philosophical side of justice just as much as the practical. Law school was a practice of existing somewhere in the middle.