"I love you. I love your daughters. And I love, love, love the way you love Neil." I giggled a little at the overuse of the word; we'd certainly done our best to make it sound nonsensical through repetition. "I'm not as good at the heartfelt words thing as the two of you. And everything nice I ever say sounds sarcastic. But I'm not joking when I say that I can’t imagine a universe that wouldn't have brought us together. I'm just so glad that it did."
“Since there is no power vested in me by the state of New York, unfortunately, to make this a legal marriage,” Reverend Ochoa began with a rueful chuckle, “I can’t pronounce you man and man and wife. But by the authority vested in me by Almighty God, I now pronounce you a family.”
We already were, but it was nice to have it affirmed in front of our loved ones.
The three of us exchanged quick kisses so as not to disgust the girls, and our small audience applauded. The people in our lives who were most important to us accepted our relationship and even celebrated it. It was hard to maintain my composure; this had seemed so impossible just months before.
The party moved back inside, where we ushered in the New Year with a buffet of way too many hors d’oeuvres not to be just a full-on meal. Keeping Olivia from stuffing herself with near-emetic levels of chocolate lava cake proved to be mission impossible; every time I turned around, she was running somewhere with ganache smeared all over her face.
I was just happy I got a second chance to try eating at my own wedding reception. I kinda failed at that with the first one.
On my way into the dining room to destroy my pancreas, Mom stopped me in the doorway. “I wish you would have told me this was a wedding. I could have brought a gift.”
I bristled at that. “Do you want me to be honest, or do you want me just to say no gifts were necessary but thank you for the thought?”
“Sophie—”
“I didn’t tell you because we were afraid you wouldn’t come if you knew it was a wedding.” It hurt to have to say that to my mother, but she’d never given us a clear sign of just how “accepting” she would be.
She hadn’t earned her stricken expression, in my opinion.
“I know our arrangement isn’t what you’re used to. And I know that you have all these moral issues or whatever,” I went on. “But even with all of that, even though I didn’t know how you would react to all of this? I still wanted you to be here. So, I have to know…can I trust you to understand how much I love my husbands? To respect the bond between the three of us without snide little digs or weird judgments?”
She nodded, her eyes glazing with tears. “I had no idea I had made you feel this way.”
“Well, you kinda did. We’ve talked about it before.” I wouldn’t let her off the hook. “But look, it’s past now. And I’m happy.”
Mom took a deep breath and composed herself regally. “Listen…we all make unconventional choices sometimes. Look at me. I was a single mom at sixteen. And people judged me for that. It’s not fair of me to judge you.”
I swallowed a lump of emotion.
“Especially since so many people are going to judge me for having a baby at my age.”
…the fuck did she just say to me?
“You’re not.” I shook my head. “Mom, you’re like fifty.”
“Sophie Anne, you shut that filthy mouth right now. I am not fifty.” She huffed her indignation, and I realized where I’d picked up my hatred of aging. “I thought I’d gone through menopause. Then all of a sudden…”
“I…am disturbed? But also…maybe happy for you?”
“Maybe happy?” She tilted her head as if looking at me from a different angle would make my statement somehow more enthusiastic.
“It’s a lot to process!” I hissed back. “You and I are going to have a long talk about safe sex, young lady.”
“I told you I thought it was menopause!” she hissed right back.
Across the living room, I saw Neil catch sight of us standing apart from the rest of the gathering and whispering to each other, and his expression instantly turned to concern.
“We’ll talk about this later, okay?” I promised. “And I’ll process and get back to you.”
She smiled and put her arm around my shoulders. “And I’ll give you as much time as you need, just so long as it’s on my schedule.”
I laughed and leaned my head on her. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, honey.” She kissed the side of my head. “And I’m proud of you and the life you’ve made for yourself.”
I could have pointed out that I hadn’t made it for myself; I’d fallen ass-backward into it the moment I’d changed my mind about NYU and bought that ticket to Tokyo.
That had been the best decision of my life. Maybe I should give myself a little credit.
Our guests didn’t stay long after the stroke of midnight; we were all way past the days of partying until the wee hours. Though we’d offered to let everyone stay overnight, the unusually crisp, dry night made travel back to the city possible. Holli wanted to sleep in her own bed, the twins needed their cribs, and Mom was dragging ass by the time she and Tony made it out to the car. She’d probably be asleep before they even left the driveway.
Did it worry me that my mom was having a baby in her late forties? Yes, but not because I thought she would die or have terrible complications. My biggest fear was how grumpy she would be. And how much Tony would spoil her.
When the last of the guests had gone, I kicked off my heels and slumped into one of the living room armchairs. “This was fantastic.”
“Agree,” Rashida said, her head resting on the arm of a sofa, her eyes closed.
“I think it’s time for everyone to go to bed,” El-Mudad said, gesturing to where Olivia was passed out in Amal’s arms.
“I can put Olivia down,” Rashida volunteered.
“I’ll carry her for you,” Neil offered. Amal hefted the kid’s dead weight from her lap and into Neil’s arms.
Rashida got up and shuffled toward him. “Maybe you can put her down, then.” She put her arms around his waist, and he wrapped his free arm around her. “Love you, dad.”
“I love you, too, my sweet girl.” He kissed the top of her head. “Go on.”
Amal stood and stretched with a dramatic yawn and an enviable pop-pop-pop of her vertebrae. “Not to get too emotional,” she began dryly, “but for what it’s worth, I love you all, and I’m happy we’re all together. And now, I am going to bed. Don’t expect this depth of sentimental honesty to return tomorrow.”
My heart ached; though they’d never met, Amal was somehow so like Emma, at times. I wondered if Neil saw that. I didn’t know how he could miss it.
“Love you, too,” I responded, hoping I didn’t sound too mushy for her tastes.
El-Mudad slipped an arm around my waist as Amal left the room. He leaned in close and said, “I’ll meet you two in the bedroom.”
Those words went straight to my happy place.
Rather than follow him, I headed to the nursery, to see if Neil needed any help. But when I neared the door, I heard her sleepy voice and his low, gentle one, and I stopped to listen.
“And I’m a very lucky person,” she said, mid-conversation with him.
“I think you are, too. And I’m a very lucky person to be your afi.”
I tip-toed away so as not to interrupt them.
When I got to the bedroom, El-Mudad was in the closet. I headed to the bathroom to brush my teeth and check my blood sugar. When I came out, he and Neil were both sitting on the edge of the bed.
“What’s up?” I asked, coming to sit beside El-Mudad.
“I hope the two of you don’t mind,” he said, handing over a crisp manilla envelope.
“We said no gifts,” Neil reminded him with his intoxicating half-smile. He opened the present, anyway, withdrawing a sheet of very official-looking paper.
“Is that a deed?” I asked, craning my neck to see.
“It is…” Neil’s voice died
away. “Darling…”
El-Mudad took Neil’s hand and kissed the wedding rings—both of them—on his fingers. “Look at all the love here tonight. Deja and Holli, Rebecca and Tony...even my daughter found love, all because the two of you met. I thought this would be appropriate. To show my gratitude for the love you’ve brought to me.”
Through a sudden veil of tears, I read the address on the deed. “You bought us the Los Angeles airport Crown Plaza?”
“Technically, it belongs to my real estate holdings company based in the Emirates, but yes. It’s for you.” He kissed my forehead, then Neil’s cheek. “It’s sacred ground to me. It’s where our love story begins.”
My face crumpled with happy, overwhelmed tears. I threw my arms around El-Mudad’s neck and squeezed him tight.
“You romantic bastard.” Neil chuckled and joined our hug.
“This is the stupidest, most wasteful, nonsensical thing you’ve ever done, and I love it.” I took El-Mudad’s face between my hands and kissed him. Neil didn’t let me monopolize him for very long, and soon our tender moment turned into an aggressive three-way kiss. None of us seemed to care whose mouths or tongues were touching. Someone grabbed my ass and pulled me closer, and we all came up for air.
Though I was exhausted, my emotions were still running at an all-time high that even strenuous sex long into the night couldn’t fully bring down. My husbands, not so much. Sexy shenanigans would have to be put on hold until we recovered from the party.
“After my eyes close, do not expect me to open them until at least this time tomorrow.” El-Mudad padded from the closet to the bed in the plaid flannel sleep pants that made him look like a freaking Abercrombie holiday catalog model.
“Not even for sex?” I teased him as he swooped in to kiss my cheek.
“Especially not for sex.” Then he took a running leap into the bed.
“The mattress is not a toy!” Neil scolded him.
I shook my head and laughed at them. “I’m still keyed up. And sore. I’m going to go take a bath.”
“Do you think that’s wise?” Neil asked, his forehead creasing with concern.
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
He followed me into the bathroom. “You barely slept this morning, and you had an exhausting night.”
“Don’t pat yourself on the back too much,” I teased.
“All right. Just don’t take too long. I won’t be able to sleep if I’m worried about you nodding off and drowning.” He took my hand and kissed it. As I turned away, he pulled me back in. His mouth covered mine, sudden and hungry; it was the way he’d kissed me the night he’d come to my apartment and confessed he still wanted me. The way he’d kissed me after he’d proposed.
He came up for air, nuzzling his nose against mine. “Go on. Unwind. You’ll have a busy day tomorrow.”
I tilted my head. “I didn’t know we had anything planned.”
“We don’t.” He gestured between us. “But I certainly do.”
I shivered and considered following him as he left the room. But patience is a virtue, and delayed gratification a blessing.
Besides, I had a date with my first true love.
My bathtub. My glorious, majestic refuge. My beloved. Smooth porcelain and gleaming copper, an item that could grace Versailles or a humble cottage and still not look out of place in either. I hummed happily to myself as the water ran. I added way too much bubble bath.
From a dinky Chinatown apartment to the Hamptons; that was quite the upward trajectory for a plumbing fixture. I liked to think it felt some gratitude toward me for that.
I stepped into the scalding hot water and sank down with a happy sigh. Life could have been so different, so many times over. I could have gone to Japan. I could have taken Gabriella’s offer instead of staying with Neil. Maybe I would have worked at Porteras under Valerie and loved her. What if I’d written another book? What if we really did move to our god-awful haunted mansion in the English countryside? What if I’d stood outside that isolation room in that London hospital and decided it was too hard to stay?
What if we’d never gone into that weird French sex club and met the love of our lives?
There would be more what-ifs and choices in the future. And I might never figure out what I wanted to do when I grew up. No matter what had happened in my life, I was where I was meant to be, with the people I was meant to be with. Whatever happened in the future, it would be with them by my side. Not because I was incomplete without them. Not because we were destined to be together. I had been given a choice.
And I chose them.
About the Author
Jenny Trout is a USA Today bestselling author, blogger, and funny person. Jenny writes award-winning erotic romance, including the internationally bestselling The Boss series (written as Abigail Barnette), as well as young adult and new adult novels.
As a blogger, Jenny’s work has appeared on The Huffington Post, and has been featured on television and radio, including HuffPost Live, Good Morning America, The Steve Harvey Show, and National Public Radio’s Here & Now.
She is a proud Michigander, mother of two, and wife to the only person alive capable of spending extended periods of time with her without wanting to kill her.
Sophie (The Boss Book 8) Page 29