His expression goes oddly blank. “No reason.”
“Oh my God, you’re lying!”
He licks his top lip, but doesn’t look me in the eye. “Nope.”
“You so are!” My breath goes choppy with laughter. I move to press myself up. “Where’s my phone? I—”
Beau’s hand flattens against my chest, and I’m pinned to the bed. “You don’t need your phone.” He’s trying—and failing—not to laugh.
I grab his wrist with both hands, my giggles filling the room. “I d-do. I-I do. I need to look up Alexander Godu-what’s-his-name.”
“No. You don’t.” He rolls on top of me.
I sigh in pleasure. Oh God. He should never be anywhere else but here.
But I can’t let him win that easily.
“I’ll just look it up later,” I goad, but I do allow myself the luxury of running my hands down his back again. He moans, moaning harder when I grab his ass. I seize the advantage. “Or you could just tell me now. Save us time.”
Above me, his eyes go half-lidded. He lowers until his lips brush mine. And then he shakes his head. “No,” he whispers against my mouth.
I squeeze the firm, perfect globes of his ass once more, grinding against his erection. We both moan. I almost forget my mission.
“Am I your girlfriend?” I squeeze again.
His inhale is a sharp stab of pleasure, his exhale a rumbling growl. “Yes, of course.”
“And are you moving in with me?” Again.
Beau draws back and meets my gaze, his focus snapping back. “If you’ll have me.”
I smile up at him. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
And then. “Final question. Do you lov—”
“I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything,” he says hoarsely.
My breath is gone. Completely.
But that’s exactly how I feel. I love him more than I’ve ever loved. Period. “I love you. More than anything,” I vow. And then I grin. “Enough to let you keep your embarrassing secrets.”
He arches a brow down at me. Goddamn, he’s so sexy.
“Alexander Godunov was a Russian ballet dancer who defected to the U.S. in the seventies.”
I blink. “Why is that embarrassing? As far as celebrity crushes go, that’s pretty heroic.”
One corner of his mouth twitches. “He became an actor.”
I give a little gasp. “You’re named after a movie star,” I gush. “What was he in? What was his biggest role?”
He heaves a sigh. I feel it through my whole body.
“Die Hard,” he mutters.
“DIE HARD?!” I shout, eyes bugging. “THAT’S MY FAVORITE CHRISTMAS MOVIE!”
Beau eyes me like I’ve lost my mind. “Die Hard is not a Christmas movie.”
“Yes, it is,” I say, stating the obvious.
“It’s a cop movie,” he counters, scowling.
“It’s a Christmas movie with cops and bad guys. It’s set at a Christmas party and they replay it every year at Christmas. Just like The Grinch and It’s a Wonderful Life. Because it’s a Christmas movie.”
Beau shakes his head. “It’s not a Christmas movie.”
I gasp. “Oh my God. Your mom’s celebrity crush was one of the bad guys.” My chest heaves with excitement. “Karl. The blond one. He was Russian.”
His brows lower. “Yes.”
“HE’S MY FAVORITE BAD GUY IN MY FAVORITE CHRISTMAS MOVIE!”
“It’s not a Christmas movie.” He’s trying so hard not to laugh, but his whole body quakes. I love him so much.
“Do you know what this means? It’s destiny. You were named after my favorite bad guy in Die Hard—”
“No. Die Hard came out after I was born. I was named after a dancer—”
“And we’ll get to watch it every year at Christmas. It’ll be a family tradition. And we’ll name our first son Karl and our first daughter McClain and—”
Laughing full force, Beau’s mouth covers mine. We kiss and kiss. All the while, he shakes his head.
“We’re not naming our children after Die Hard characters,” he mutters between kisses.
I nip his lower lip. “We’ll see.” But I’m doing cartwheels on the inside because he just said our children.
“God, I missed you,” Beau whispers in my ear, wrapping me in his arms and squeezing tight. “I think I forgot how to laugh after you left.”
I claim his lips with mine. Gently. Softly. “I’m glad I could help you remember.”
He deepens the kiss, pressing his erection harder against my belly. “Anything else you’d like to help me remember?” His voice goes husky with desire.
I roll my hips, and we both moan. “Seems like you have a pretty good memory.”
“Good memories,” he whispers. “Let’s make some more.”
“Okay.”
So we do.
Epilogue
BEAU
DECEMBER, THE FOLLOWING YEAR
“It’s almost time. Are you nervous?” I whisper.
Iris’s lashes flutter as she looks up at me. “Of course I’m nervous.”
I try to hold back my grin, but I think that just makes it come out crooked. “Why?”
“Beau, you know how I feel about this.” She gives me a little accusatory frown.
“But when I asked you if you wanted to do it, you said yes,” I tease.
“That was months ago.”
“And we’ve had months to prepare,” I remind her gently.
She narrows her stunning, hazel eyes at me. “In our living room. Without two hundred people watching.”
“They’re our friends and family. The same people who watched Ramon walk you down the aisle not even an hour ago,” I tell my beautiful, zany, anxious wife—to whom I just pledged my troth (as she insists on calling it) under the oaks of Jefferson Island.
Being here is her gift to me. She could have chosen anywhere for us to say our vows. Anywhere in the world. And she picked here. This historic spot on Lake Peigneur outside of New Iberia is just a thirty-minute drive from Lafayette. One that Mom can handle.
I glance over at Mom, sitting to my left. She’s holding hands with Aunt Lorraine, smiling at Nonc as he charms the both of them.
That’s something else Iris has given me. Given us. The first time I brought her home with me to meet Mom, she couldn’t get over Mom’s illness. The brutality of it. The unfairness of Alzheimer's striking someone so young.
She asked questions. Some Val, Nonc, and I had asked in the beginning, but some we hadn’t. Including questions about clinical drug trials. Iris enlisted Laird’s help, and the giant Scotsman became her unofficial research assistant. Earlier this year, they found a trial specifically for women under the age of sixty-five with early-onset Alzheimer’s.
I shouldn’t have been surprised Iris got Mom enrolled, not knowing how determined the woman I love can be. I mean, her vacations include covering one-hundred-and-fifty miles on foot. She was nominated for an Emmy for Outstanding Lead Actress in a Comedy Series.
There’s nothing she can’t do.
And the drug is helping. Mom isn’t better, but she isn’t getting worse. At least, not that I can see. And I should know. We have coffee every morning. Her eight a.m. is my six. We talk. We laugh. She loves hearing about River and Skye, my two hellions—I mean, students.
I glance over at their table. Shep, their manny is seated between them, keeping the peace for now. The boys look deceptively civilized in their little tuxedos. And they did great in their roles as ushers.
Of course, their parents couldn’t make it. Not that I expected them to. Even though their father, Maxwell, has started meeting my eyes when he passes me in their Laurel Canyon estate. Once he realized that I was engaged to the rising star of the season’s hit new comedy, that is.
I was right. River and Skye might have more resources than all my public school kids put together, but they need me just as much. For all the same reasons. To push them. To hold them acc
ountable. To give them attention. To love them.
Oh, and to teach them to speak, read, and write in French.
I bring my gaze back to Iris, and my heart turns to butter. She looks terrified.
“You’ve barely touched your crab cakes.”
She gives her plate a blank stare. Then she aims a desperate look at me. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
I reach for her hand under the table. “We don’t have to do this.”
Her delicate brows steeple. “But then the vampires win.”
“Wh-what?” I sputter.
“In the ‘Fear Itself’ episode of Hexed, Season 2, Raven Blackwell discovers that vampires originated when Adam and Eve were expelled from the Garden of Eden because that was the first time humans felt fear,” she says wide-eyed. “They feed on it. It makes them stronger, and then your fears suck more out of you.”
I soften my voice. “Right, but the undead aren’t going to come after you if you decide you don’t want to do this.”
My wife shakes her head. “Today is my wedding day. The vampires can suck it.”
I arch a brow.
“You know what I mean.” Iris waves an agitated hand.
This woman is going to keep me laughing for the rest of my life.
“I know what you mean. But you’re right. It’s your wedding day. Our wedding day. And I want you to enjoy it.”
For a moment, the tightness around her eyes dissolves, and she gazes up at me with such love my mouth goes dry.
“Of course I’m enjoying it.” The corners of her perfect mouth rise. “I'm sharing it with you.”
I don’t know what I did to deserve this beautiful, vibrant, force of nature beside me. I don’t know how I ever let her walk out of my life. But, somehow, she’s mine, and I am never letting her go.
She shrugs, and my gaze lands on her seductive shoulder wrapped in vintage lace. I follow the undulating line of lace down the deep V of her bodice. When I saw her for the first time today, down the grassy aisle on Ramon’s arm, the daring neckline had me wheezing for breath.
I don’t think I’ve ever been more star-struck.
“You could have warned me,” I’d whispered after Ramon had placed her hand in mine and I’d tugged her beside me.
She’d giggled. “And missed that rabid stare on your face?”
Iris looked proud of herself. Confident and proud. And ridiculously happy.
“I just don’t want to make a fool of myself,” she says to me now, that confidence shaken by the prospect of what’s coming.
I hold out my hand to her. “Then let’s do this now.”
Her eyes widen before darting around the room. “But people are still eating. The dancing isn’t supposed to start until eight.”
I glance at my watch, “That’s in ten minutes. In ten minutes, you’ll be a nervous wreck.”
She brings her tense gaze back to me. My wife—I love that word—takes a deep breath and blows it through pursed lips.
“You’re right. Let’s do this.”
I take her by the hand, rise, and give a nod to the band leader who nods back and signals for his players to wrap up their rendition of “Rewind” by Riley Pearce.
We’re in the middle of the parquet floor before most of the guests even look up from their dinner conversations.
I settle my left hand on Iris’s waist and clutch her trembling fingers in my right.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the band leader croons. “Let’s hear it for Iris and Beau.”
Panic stiffens Iris’s muscles under my touch as our guests applaud. She flits her nervous gaze around the room, and I can just see her tallying the pairs of eyes watching us.
“Just look at me,” I tell her softly.
She brings her wide eyes to mine.
“This is for us. This is us. Everyone here loves you, but none more than me,” I pledge. Her gaze softens and her chest rises in a full breath. The music starts and we’re off.
We entertained other options, but nothing else felt right. The Bonsoir Catin song will always be ours.
I’d like to feel like this at home.
Well, I do.
The lovers in the song may not have been able to work through their obstacles, but we have. At least, we’re working on them. Not giving up.
We have our hard days.
Moira’s suits against Iris are still an unresolved nuisance. Moira and her attorney put out a press release the week Iris’s show Couch Surfing launched. It spawned some bad press and a few days of the paparazzi practically on our fucking front lawn.
Laird earned a raise that week. And the day Mica snapped his jaws at a photographer, who shoved his camera into Iris’s face when we came home from a jog, I cooked him a steak.
Yeah, a whole ribeye.
And a couple of weeks ago, Moira somehow found out the date of the wedding and posted a Tik Tok, begging Iris for forgiveness, asking to reconcile, and pleading to be invited to the wedding.
Manipulative bitch.
She didn’t reach out to Iris’s attorney—as any sane person would if they wanted to reconcile. She didn’t drop the wrongful termination and breach of contract suits. She went to the social media platform where most of Iris’s fans reside. Just to make her life harder. And try to somehow ruin this day for us.
As I move Iris easily through our first turn and hold her gaze with mine, I know nothing and no one could ruin this day.
Moira isn’t going away. She can’t approach Iris. She can’t contact her. But she can post virtually anything she wants online. She can make statements to the press. She can send the paparazzi into a feeding frenzy.
And, let’s face it, she’ll probably continue to do that as long as she draws breath. The woman wants nothing but control, and if she can impact Iris’s life in any way, she has some.
But like my wife said, the vampires can suck it.
Iris’s star only continues to rise. We’re here, in each other’s arms, surrounded by friends and family—the kind made of blood and the kind made of bonds. We’re claiming the life we want.
I lead Iris through the second turn, and we fall back into perfect rhythm. She smiles up at me. A real Iris Adams smile.
“Thank you,” she says, just loud enough for my ears.
“For what, chère?”
Her smile grows. “For always knowing how to get me out of my head.”
My smile is wicked. “And into your body?”
“That too,” she says, eyes glinting.
I pull her tighter against me, relishing the feel of her as we move. Her inhale at the touch ignites me, and I don’t give a thought to who’s watching or who notices that I am gone for this woman.
Time seems to slow as I step back and raise my right arm, sending her into a turn that twirls the layers of her skirt, flaring it out like a trumpet flower. The soft oohs and ahhs of our guests followed by the smattering of applause make Iris giggle with glee.
I catch her at the end of the spin, laughing at her joy.
“I’m so glad I didn’t chicken out,” she says over the applause.
“You never do.”
It’s so true. She stares down any obstacle in her path—even when she’s afraid.
“You amaze me,” I say, letting the feeling overcome me. “I love you.”
“I love you,” she says, looking at me with nothing but joy. But just then, our song winds down, and she gives me a startled frown. “It’s over already?”
I chuckle through a nod. “Not terrible, right? You survived.”
“Survived?” she challenges. “I nailed it!”
“You did.” Laughing, I pull her in and kiss her hard. The applause rallies again as the song ends.
I don’t want to let her go.
This is the part of the evening when the father of the bride dances with his daughter. Neither of our fathers are here. Even if my father and I were on better terms, I think seeing him would have been too confusing for Mom. That made my decision not to i
nclude him easy.
For Iris, this part has been harder.
She has a lot of questions and few answers. I don’t know if that will ever change.
But when I pull back, she’s still smiling her happy, innocent smile. As if no one in the world has ever done her wrong.
From here on out, I’ll make sure she stays that way.
Ramon approaches just as the band strikes up their version of “Count on Me” by Bruno Mars.
“That was awesome,” he says, congratulating Iris before claiming her hand. “Now it’s my turn.”
“Try not to step on my toes,” she teases.
“I’ll do my best,” he says, even though we all know the chances of Iris treading on his toes are way higher.
A crowd has assembled around the parquet dance floor, and I spot Sally and head for her. Iris’s maid of honor greets me with a hug.
“That was so beautiful.”
I kiss her cheek. “Thanks. It was.”
We turn and watch Iris and Ramon laughing as they dance. Ramon keeps it to a simple box step, knowing how much dancing stresses Iris out, but she’s relaxed enough now and having fun.
“You two being here for her means so much,” I tell Sally.
“We wouldn’t have missed it for anything.” The smile she gives me is tinged with sadness, the acknowledgment that she and Ramon are the closest thing to family Iris has.
Before today, that is.
I’m Iris’s family now, and I plan to build a family around her. With her at its center. Kids are a long way off, but we’ll get there. For now, we’re a family of two. And my family is hers. She bonded immediately with Val last Christmas, and she’s always had Nonc wrapped around her finger.
And every time Mom sees her, she wears an excited smile. It doesn’t matter that Mom can’t find Iris’s name most days, but when Iris joins me on a video call, and every time we visit together, Mom lights up when she sees her, recognizing her as someone she loves.
I turn and find Mom still at her table with Lorraine and Nonc. We’re up next.
“I’ll catch up with y’all later, Sal,” I say, and head to our table.
Mom’s eyes find me and awe overtakes her. “You look so handsome.” She’s told me about six times today.
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