by P. Dangelico
Dropping the mangled bouquet of roses and the bullhorn, he jumps out. In his t-shirt and jeans he looks younger than thirty-three. Or maybe it’s the less than confident look in his big brown eyes.
Every conversation at the restaurant goes quite as he takes his time walking over to me. I can feel the collective attention of every single customer burning the back of my neck.
“What are you wearing?” the man I love says, his hands stuffed into the front pockets of his jeans, a small shy smile shaping his lips.
The words burst forth without thought, or edit. “My heart on my sleeve.” My voice sounds thin, strangled, all the corresponding emotions choking me. I can’t hold his gaze. It cuts to the white limo. “Pretty Woman?”
“Someone once told me every epic love story starts with a grand gesture.”
“So you’re not implying I’m a hooker?” My lips twitch, wanting to curve up and failing. Because not only am I overwhelmed and overjoyed, I’m also scared to death. Seeing him again…I know I’m not brave enough to let him go one more time.
“I believe the moral of the story is that he was prepared to change everything about his life because she was worth it.”
Standing before the love of my life, I decide to cut to the chase because I’m greedy for every single scrap of him I can get, because there is only so much will power I possess, and because if I don’t touch him soon I am one hundred percent certain that will die.
“What are you doing here, Ethan?” I fight to keep what little composure I have left by staring blindly ahead, at the spot in the middle of his chest.
“I live here.”
In shocked disbelief, my eyes drag back up to meet his steadfast gaze. “Wut…”
“The woman I love is here, and God knows I can’t stand to be away from her for a single second.” He rubs the spot on his chest where Popovitch likes to sit. “Being without her is not an option.”
“But…but what about the job?” My heart is pounding so hard I may be in the midst of an angina attack.
“I turned it down. Nothing’s more important than her. Most definitely not a job.”
More tears fall. A lot more. The more I wipe, the more keep coming. “Lucky bitch.”
“I just hope she takes me back. I did a really shitty thing to her and I’m not sure she’s ready to forgive me.”
“She’s ready,” wobbles out. A tidal wave of relief hits me. Being wrong never felt so right. He’s not too good to be true. He’s the real deal.
Without fanfare or warning, he grabs me and wraps me in a human enchilada. Then he kisses me, kisses me like we’ve been parted by oceans and wars, like we’re standing on the bow of the Titanic. And I kiss him back. I kiss him with everything I’ve got. For being the man I hoped he was, for not letting me down, for loving me back…for proving that unicorns are real.
The wolf whistles and claps don’t stop us from mauling each other. The screams to get a room don’t do it, either. On the contrary I jump him, clasping my legs around his waist and holding on with all my might, holding on as if he’s the only fixed point in the universe. And for me, he is.
“No more underhanded moves. No more playing with the truth. I mean it, Ethan. You leave that shit at the office.”
“Promise.”
“What about your beautiful home?” I say, caressing his beloved face, the scruff he almost never has prickly under my fingertips.
“It’s a bunch of walls without you.”
Ugh. That’s gross, and disgusting, and damn near perfect. I’m melting. I’m melting into a puddle of gooey love for this man.
“You wouldn’t happen to have a spare bedroom, would you?” I can feel the heavy beat of his heart through our shirts. He’s not taking anything for granted.
Holding his face, I stroke his cheek and force him to look me in the eyes. “Nope. We’ll have to share mine.”
His grin is immediate and true, beaming joy so brightly sunglasses are required. “I was hoping you’d say that. Also, I’d like to be married before minicamp. I’ve got a couple of young guys that’ll need a lot of––”
“What? That’s next month!” I’m screeching. He’s got me screeching. “Have you been doing whippets?” I struggle to get out of his grip but he holds on tighter, big hands squeezing my ass in the process.
“Need a lot of attention so it’s got to be next month.”
I swear he has me by the balls––or maybe the heart. While I huff and glower, he bats those ridiculous eyelashes at me.
“Don’t even. That nonsense does not work on me.”
“Doesn’t it?” the sexy bastard intones, biting his lips to stop the smug smile from spreading across his face.
“Fine, it works. But no kids. Not for a long, looong time.”
“I’m thinking five.”
“You’ve definitely been doing whippets. One––at the most. And no crazy names like Echo, or Horizon, or Genesis. That’s a hard limit.”
“Duly noted. Now tell me how much you love me.” A ghost of something vulnerable passes across his face. It hits me in the gut.
How can he not know? How can he not know that he’s everything? And I realize something then, love isn’t about grand gestures and romance. It’s about forgiveness and acceptance. It’s a million tiny moments. Day in and day out, letting the person you love know that they’re valued, telling them what they mean to you every single day because there are no assurances you’ll get another.
“Fancy McButterpants, you’re my unicorn. Without you, my story has no happy ending.” My bottom lip trembling, I take a fortifying breath and gather the courage to tell him what he should already know. “I love you beyond everything.” His mouth curves up, relief smoothing out the baby v between his brows and joy turning his eyes into crescents. Looking into the eyes of my lover, the love of my life, I feel the truth of that statement all the way to the marrow of my bones. “Every piece of me loves every piece of you, Eth…always will.”
Mischief makes his lips quirk. “I love you much more than that.”
I tsk and chuckle while he wipes the last of my tears away. “So competitive.”
Sagging against him, I drop my face in the curve of his neck, the one place I belong, and breathe him in. “I’ll let you win this time.”
“Hold my trophy while I kiss you,” he murmurs.
“Gladly.”
The end…or better yet, the beginning.
Epilogue
“Nervous?”
I turn to the owner of the voice, as well as my heart. I mean, can anyone wear a designer tux better that this dude? That’s a rhetorical question, the unequivocal answer is no. He squeezes my hand and soothes my nerves with one of his real smiles, the one he reserves only for me.
“This isn’t what makes me nervous, Fancy Pants.”
A few silver strands near his ear get my attention. He’s even more handsome than when I met him.
In case you’re wondering, Ethan continued representing his clients while Andi made full partner and ran the New York office. My brilliant Serpico mind always suspected he was the better one of the two of us and he proved me right. After two years in Los Angeles spent sitting in traffic and logging way too many miles going from audition to audition, we talked about it and decided to move back to New York. We missed our family and friends. Which turned out to be perfect timing because after five years of missing the playoffs, the NY Gladiators were looking for a new GM and my unicorn got the job.
Audrey and I are closer than ever. Creative streak a mile wide in this family. The love of her life is music. She’s attending Juilliard. The kid has an amazing voice. Watching her play the piano and sing gives me goose bumps and brings tears to my eyes.
Ethan’s cell vibrates with an incoming text. Lifting it out of his pocket of his tux, he looks at the screen and blinks twice. I watch those yummy chocolate orbs grow wider and wider.
“What is it?”
He hands me his cell phone. One look at the picture on scree
n and my eyes bug out. This, right here––this is what makes me nervous.
…and the winner for best supporting actress in a Comedy or Musical is…Amber Vaughn, for Lovers and Liars…
I freeze, suddenly ripped out of my thoughts by a roar of applause. My bewildered eyes meet my husband’s and everything else melts away. We may as well be the only two people in the galaxy. For me being in love wasn’t about learning how to give love, it was about learning how to accept it, how to allow myself to be loved.
“Go,” he mouths, everything else drowned out by the roar of the crowd. “I’m so proud of you,” he adds as I rise out of my seat on unsteady legs. He plants a quick kiss on my lips and pushes me in the right direction.
On autopilot I walk up the stairs and take the award from the beautiful Amazon whose job it is to hand them out. Reaching the podium, I take a moment to gather my thoughts. The spotlight heavy and hot on me, I take a deep breath and scan the crowd. I don’t have to read this speech. I’ve been practicing it in the shower my entire life.
“Thank you. Thank you. I’ll be as brief as I can be but I’ve been waiting for this moment for thirty––cough, cough––something years. No way am I coming out of the age closet tonight.” A low chuckle permeates the crowd. “I stand before you a misfit, a dreamer, a lover, a fighter, an artist, an actor…I stand before you an actor. It’s taken me forever to get here and I won’t lie, the ride has been rough.” In the crowd, I see a lot of sympathetic expressions. “In hindsight, however, I can honestly say it made the journey more interesting––this victory sweeter. But if I can impart any knowledge to make the road a little smoother for the next woman, to spare her a little pain, it’s this––
“Success is not glamorous or sexy. It’s hard work and perseverance. It’s falling down but not staying down. It’s never giving up hope. So to all the misfits out there, to all the dreamers, keep fighting, keep working hard. Your chance will come. All it takes is one person to believe in you and that has to start with you.”
My eyes connect with the eyes of the man I have the honor to call my husband and best friend. Ethan never slew dragons for me. He didn’t have to, because he did even better. He slew the dragon in me and filled the space with love and acceptance.
“Speaking of believing, Marty Glaser, my dear beleaguered agent, this is a farfetched dream without you pushing me every step of the way. And finally, on a personal note, I stand before you a wife, and a mother. To my husband who sustains me every day––this means nothing without you. Thank you for being my one true believer. And to my dear daughter who should be watching at home but isn’t.” I stare into the camera, my exasperation as clear as a neon sign. “Tiger Lily Vaughn, get down from the chandelier. I don’t care if Connor Shaw bet you that you couldn’t do it.”
About the Author
P. Dangelico loves romance in all forms, cuddly creatures (four legged and two), really bloody sexy pulp, the NY Jets (although she’s reconsidering after this season), and to while away the day at the barn (apparently she does her best thinking shoveling horse poop). What she’s not enamored with is referring to herself in the third person and social media so don’t expect her to get on Twitter anytime soon. Oh, and although she was born in Italy, she’s been Jersey Strong since she turned six.
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