by Tia Louise
Deacon lifts the veil from my face, and cups my cheeks in his hands. His eyes glow with so much love, it radiates through my heart, down through my torso, into the heart of our baby.
“You have always been everything I’ve ever wanted.”
Blinking fast, I can’t stop the tears leaking from the corners of my eyes. “You’ve made all my dreams come true.”
With that, full lips cover mine, soft and warm. The group bursts into applause, and I hug him closer. “We did it.”
“I’m so proud of you.”
We’re still holding each other when two little arms wrap around my legs. “You did it, Cee-cee!”
I start to laugh, reaching down to place my hand on Sofia’s little back. Suddenly another pair of arms, then more arms surround us. We’re engulfed in a group hug of family, and the small audience of local friends starts to clap again.
Lifting my chin, I see the one holdout is Winnie. She’s standing back beside the arch with her arms crossed. Her expression is a mixture of surprise and confusion… so stubborn. Still, I won’t let her deter me. I stretch out my hand from the clump of my cousins.
Our eyes meet, and she glances down at my palm then to my eyes again. I give my hand an insistent shake, and after another second, she relents. Her arms drop, and she shakes her head, stepping forward to take my hand.
I give her a firm tug, and she stumbles forward—to be immediately surrounded by the love of this expanded new family. Mi familia…
We feast on fresh local cuisine, tacos with red peppers and corn. Tortillas stuffed with chicken or fish and fresh guacamole. Sofia’s favorite is the grilled Mac & Cheese a’la Carmen, which is, you guessed it, Deacon’s special dish with my added spices.
The sun sets, and the arbor turns into a glowing yellow arch. The DJ plays a mixture of local music and pop tunes.
Deacon and I are dancing to Ed Sheeran’s “Thinking Out Loud” when Winnie calls to the group. “It’s time!”
Sofia runs through the crowd distributing paper lanterns with Lola following behind with lighters. The music stops, and we gather in a group while my aunt counts down to zero. We all light the small rings inside the lanterns—Deacon and I have the biggest one, which we light together. When she says zero, we release them, watching as the glowing beacons rise in the dark night, catching the breeze and turning into a swirling line drifting towards the mountains.
It’s beautiful and hopeful, and as Deacon folds me in his arms, I relax into my happily ever after.
We healed our family.
We created a new path.
One vow we did add to our ceremony, and it drifts through my mind. No matter what, from this day to forever, without hesitation or pause, we choose each other, and we’ll go on choosing each other, in a heartbeat, until death do us part.
Epilogue
Deacon
Six months later
“Mi Mamá?” The older woman holds a pair of glasses in front of her eyes as she reads the card beside Angel’s painting of the Sierra Madre at dusk.
We’re at her showing in the Palladium, and the gallery is packed with business leaders, art collectors, students, and the generally curious. Angel is a pro. She’s wearing a tight black dress that shows off her baby bump magnificently. It stops mid-thigh, and her toned legs are accentuated by tall, black heels.
Her hair is darker from being inside all winter, and she had it straightened. Although I prefer her crazy curls, she’s very sophisticated with it shiny and smoothed into a bun at the nape of her neck. Oversized earrings are in her ears, and she is mouthwateringly gorgeous. She’s a smart, professional artist I’d like to fuck. AILF…
I’m getting distracted.
“My late mother preferred a deep blue and green palette for her work.” She gestures with her slim arms and elegant hands at the painting of the mountains. “I typically work in warmer, more vibrant tones.”
“And the mountains?” The woman nods, stepping back to absorb the large work.
“The Sierra Madre. I grew up in the foothills living with her.”
The woman’s eyebrows rise, and she smiles, nodding as if she understands. Another work sold. Angel’s premier showing to the Texas art world is a hit.
“I’m so nervous.” She grabs my arm, speaking into my chest as the woman strolls down the line.”
“You’re amazing.” My hands are on her waist, and I kiss her forehead, inhaling the jasmine in her hair. “You sound like you’ve been doing this all your life.”
“Art, yes. Talking about it to super-rich, judgey, total strangers? No.”
That makes me chuckle, and I lean down to kiss the side of her cheek. “You sound like a pro.”
“Now, Mr. Dring, you can’t monopolize your talented wife all evening.” Her former professor walks up smiling, holding out her arms.
“Professor Roshay.” Angel turns to give her a hug. “I’m so glad you made it.”
“How could I not? You are one of the finest students I’ve taught. I wanted to tell you you’d get the residency, but how could I?”
“You’re too kind.”
“Farrell?” Winnie joins us, a glass of white wine in her hand. “Aren’t you so proud of my niece?”
“Winnie, how very fortunate you are to have such a talent in the family.”
“I have the privilege of saying I was one of her first portraits.” My aunt preens like a peacock, and I feel pretty proud of myself.
We built this bridge.
Angel looks up at me, her cheeks rosy pink, and I slide my arm around her waist. “How are you feeling?”
We’ve been at this show for more than an hour, and the doctor is pretty sure Angel’s about thirty-six weeks along. She could go into labor any day now, which means we’re staying at my penthouse for the duration.
“I’m tired, but I’m excited.” I hand her a glass of punch. “I think everybody likes what I’ve done.”
Over the last six months, she’s created several new pieces, but the show also includes works she did before she received the prize.
“That one’s getting a lot of attention.”
I gesture to an oil painting of a male torso in blue and orange with the face obscured and the waist covered by a small towel. The gallery priced it at nine thousand dollars.
She gives me a sly grin. “A man walks into a bar?”
“What can I say? You gotta pay to have all this sexy on your walls.”
She leans into me, wrinkling her cute little nose. “I would have marked it priceless.”
I kiss the tip of her nose as a shrill voice cuts through the low roar of voices.
“Who is the artist?” Looking up, I see Cecilia Westbrook making her way through the crowd of elegantly dressed patrons with one of her little minions at her side. “Why, Winnie. I didn’t expect to see you here. Isn’t this a fabulous exhibition?”
“Yes.” My aunt crosses her arms, her answer clipped.
I haven’t kept track, but my aunt has spent less time with her former bestie since the Cattleman’s Masque.
“I haven’t seen works like this since they had the O’Keefe exhibit here.” Cecilia places her hand on her chest. “I want to buy all of them. Particularly that horse at the entrance. Spirit? It says Not for sale, but everything has a price, right?”
“You’ll have to ask her.” Winnie, gestures to where I’m standing with my hand on Angel’s lower back.
“Why, Deacon…” Cecilia looks from me to my wife. “Is this—”
“The woman you disrespectfully called a little brown girl last year? Yes, it is.”
“My goodness, that was a silly night.” Cecilia blinks quickly shaking her head as if she’s embarrassed. I hope she’s embarrassed. “I think we’d all had a bit to drink.”
“I hadn’t.” Angel smiles, holding out her hand. “It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Westbrook.”
“My dear, you’re very elegant. And who knew you had such a gift?”
“I knew. Winnie steps
forward. “I agree with Deacon. I believe you owe Angelica an apology.”
“Of all the things.” Cecilia huffs. “People can’t take a joke anymore. I’m certain I didn’t mean to offend you, Miss Treviño.”
“It’s Mrs. Dring.” My voice is firm as I set her straight.
“Mrs. Dring? I don’t remember reading about a wedding.”
“We were married at my family’s estate in Mexico.” Angel rests her hand on her bump, showing off her large diamond and the wedding band set around it.
I put my hands on the top of her shoulder so my band is visible as well.
“Your family’s estate?” Cecilia’s little minion finally pipes up. She’s a birdlike woman peeking around her friend. “That sounds very refined.”
“My mother was a well-loved artist. She owned a ranch house at the foot of the Sierra Madre mountains.”
“Clearly we misjudged you, Angelica.” Cecilia places her hand on Angel’s arm. “You are a talented, smart young woman. Now about that horse at the entrance. Spirit, I believe?”
“It’s not for sale.” Angel smiles, tilting her head towards me. “Spirit is our painting. It represents a very special time in our lives.”
“But surely—” Cecilia starts.
I interrupt her. “It belongs to me.”
“Well…” She huffs, taking her friend’s arm. “I’m sure you’re very busy this evening. I’ll let you get back to your exhibit. It was very nice meeting you. Winnie, Deacon, good to see you again.”
She huffs away, into the crowd, and I look at my aunt.
Winnie grins and puts her hand on my forearm. “Hopefully that’s the last we’ll see of her. Now, have you tried this Gruyère cheese? It’s delicious—sweet, but slightly salty.”
“I’m not a big fan of the swiss cheeses.” Angel walks with my aunt to the refreshments area, and I stand back, amazed at how close they’ve become.
Winnie takes her shopping all the time, she planned her shower. They have an entire wardrobe purchased for the baby already. Winnie goes to any doctor’s appointment I can’t attend, which are few. The very first time, they shared a moment I didn’t completely understand. Now they’re like partners in crime.
Another hour passes, Beto and Lourdes make an appearance, and Angel’s brother purchases two of her sunset paintings. Both are dramatic mixtures of primary colors. Lourdes complains her bestie is too rich for her blood. Almost every painting is sold, except for the ones we’re keeping for ourselves.
It’s finally time to go, and I pick Angel up in front of the gallery.
Stretching back in the car, she slips off her shoes. “I think I’m walking on my ankles,” she groans, rubbing her calves.
“Foot rub when we get home.”
“Mm… And a snack. I’m starving.” She slides her hand behind my neck, smiling over at me. “You’re the best. Do you know that?”
“You’ve said it once or twice.”
Back at the penthouse, she’s showered and stretched out on the couch in one of my sweatshirts with a bowl of watermelon cubes covered in red pepper on her lap. Her cute little feet are in my lap—which she keeps freshly pedicured for the delivery—chowing down.
“I don’t know why I’ve been craving this so much.” She slurps another piece, making it look so good, I steal one. “Hey!”
“You’re really selling it.”
“Speaking of selling, can you believe I sold every piece?” Her light brown eyes widen, and I answer without hesitation.
“Yes. Your work is brilliant.”
“Even the newer ones… the ones with the angels?”
She included a few paintings she’s done in a more classical style, featuring beefy men ravaging beautiful angels with round breasts straining in ecstasy. To the unsuspecting observer, they’re interesting and imaginative. To me, knowing my nickname for her, they’re incredibly erotic. Thinking about them has me growing a bit thirsty.
“We should have kept one for our bedroom.” The tone in my voice has shifted, and she glances up at me from under her lashes. Sex kitten.
“I plan on doing more…” Her voice is sultry. “Maybe we should practice poses.”
My hand stills on her foot, and I lift it to kiss the arch, the side of her ankle, running my nose along the soft skin of her lower leg. She exhales a sigh, and my cock stirs.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
She sets the bowl aside and stands, taking my hand. “Come with me.”
Angel’s back is against the headboard, and she’s surrounded by pillows as I slowly remove my shirt, followed by my slacks. When we entered the bedroom, she took off the sweatshirt she was wearing, trailing it to the ground followed closely by her panties. Now she’s lying in bed in only a black lace bra, biting her bottom lip as I slowly disrobe.
My cock springs out and her eyes widen. “Sure you’re not too tired for this?”
“Am I ever?”
That whole pregnancy makes you horny rumor? It’s true.
Climbing on my knees onto the bed, I start at her ankle, tracing my lips up the inside of her thigh, watching her breasts rise and fall as her breath becomes shallow. I kiss the inside of her knee and she exhales a whimper.
Tracing my tongue along her inner thigh, I kiss, and pull the delicate skin as her fingers thread in my hair. Her back arches and her body sways like a dancer the closer I get to her bare pussy, and I’m doing my best to draw it out.
Apparently watermelon has the same effect on taste as pineapple, and I’ve been craving her as much as she’s been craving it. Wrapping my arms around her thighs, I catch her heated eyes before lowering to slide my tongue around her slippery clit.
“Oh, Deacon!” She gasps, her fingers curling against my scalp.
I give her another long, slow figure eight, returning to focus rapid sweeps across that hot spot, and her back arches off the bed. I touch her lightly with my teeth and she cries out, tightening her thighs around my ears.
“That’s it…” she gasps. “Keep doing that…”
She’s bucking against my face, straining and moaning, and my cock is a rod of iron. I have her right on the edge when I quickly move around behind her, moving her leg forward and grasping my erection. As soon as I’m lined up, I thrust to the hilt, and we both exhale a groan.
I want to hold it, to make it last, but she’s bouncing her ass against me, pumping my cock as I snake my hand around her waist, grasping her inner thighs, and trailing my fingers higher to her center. Our fingers entwine, stroking her clit as we move.
“Right there…” Her moans are feverish.
My forehead rests on her shoulder, and we move frantically, chasing the climax just within reach.
“Angel…” I groan, moving faster. “Angel, yes…”
Her moans grow more frantic, her movements desperate, and I know she’s right at the edge. I move my fingers, circling faster, faster as I feel her shimmering around my cock. I’m right there, pleasure snaking up my thighs a bead of sweat trickling down my cheek, when she breaks into spasms.
“Ooh…” She jerks, placing her hand over mine to lighten my touch.
I close my eyes, ready to let go when something unexpected happens. A surge of liquid pushes me out.
“Holy shit!” I move back as Angel’s face crumples.
“Deacon! Oh no… Oh, shit. I think my water broke!”
“What tha…” I’m out of the bed, confused and grabbing towels.
Angel crawls to the side, holding her stomach. “Oh, ow… It hurts…”
“We’ve got to get you to the hospital!” My heart rate kicks higher. Hell, I haven’t come down from that shocking coitus interruptus. I jerk my slacks over my hips and grab the sweatshirt she discarded off the floor. “Can you walk?”
“Bring me a dress.”
I run to her closet, ripping a black dress off a hanger and carrying it to her. It feels like I’m moving too slow but I’m moving as fast as I can. Angel lowers the dress over her head then put
s both feet on the floor and tries to stand.
Immediately, she buckles over. Her head is bowed, and her shoulders shake. She makes a shrieking noise, and terror punches me in the chest.
“Angel?” I put my hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong, baby? What do you need me to do?”
Her chin lifts, and when our eyes meet I realize she’s laughing. Loudly. “I shot your penis out like it was on a waterslide at an amusement park!”
My panic fades, and I’m about to laugh with her—it was pretty damn funny, after all—when she leans to the side and gasps loudly, “Oh, shit! Oh, shit… This hurts!”
Diving forward, I hold her arm, rubbing her shoulder and trying to remember what the hell I’m supposed to do to help her. I hold her hand and count… seven seconds…
She takes a few deep breaths, then she explodes again, laughing hysterically. “I can’t believe my water broke… That’s what I call coming.”
I think my wife is losing her mind. “Honey… we need to get you to the hospital. Can you walk?”
“Yeah…” It’s a high-pitched squeak through a peal of laughter.
I hold her under the arm, and we quickly make our way to my car, grabbing the hospital suitcase on the way.
“You’re doing great, Ang!” Angel’s doctor is a woman just a little older than my aunt, and I’m convinced she was a former cheerleader.
I keep waiting for her to start chanting “Push her out, push her out, waaaay out!”
Winnie, Lourdes, Beto, Valeria, and the girls are in that plush waiting room, and the perky male nurse peeps in every few minutes to get a status check.
“We’re almost crowning,” the doctor calls, and he holds up both hands doing a big nod, before heading out the door again to share the news with our family.
Angel’s face is covered in sweat, and her cheeks are so red. Our hands are clasped, and she’s squeezing the fuck out of my fingers. “I can’t do it anymore.”
“You’ve got this… You’re almost there.” I kiss her forehead, keeping my arm around her shoulder as she sits forward on the bed.
“This is it!” The doctor orders. “We’re right there. Give me one more big push, and we’ll have her.”