Happily Ever After Collection

by Melanie Moreland

  “How?” I whispered.

  “Loved. Cared for. And only for me. You make me feel like I matter.”

  I drew in a deep breath. “You are.” I pressed my hand firmly against his rough cheek. “You do.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I love you, Byron. With all my heart.”

  His mouth covered mine, our lips fusing together. He pulled me up his chest, holding me tight and showing me with his caresses how true his words were. When he leaned back, he tucked me under his chin, holding me in place.

  “I want something. Something that would make my whole birthday weekend perfect. And only you can give it to me.”

  “Tell me,” I pleaded.

  “Move in here—with me.”

  “What?”

  “It’s perfect. I have this whole house to myself, and the only time it feels right is when you’re here with me. I want more than the occasional weekend or sleepover. I have for a while now. After last night, I want it even more. You need a place, and I need you.”

  “I can’t afford—”

  He covered my mouth with a gentle finger. “I don’t need your money. I need more of you. The thought of coming home every night and knowing you’ll be here waiting for me? That I can wake up with you every day and spend more time with you? Make love to you anytime I want to? That’s what I want.”

  “I can’t live here for free.”

  “Fine. Then you can pay me what you pay now. On one condition.”

  “Which is?”

  He rubbed his nose against mine affectionately. “You don’t cook alone in the house for a while.”

  A small giggle burst from my mouth.

  “And that,” he stated. “I want that.”

  “What?”

  “Your giggle. Your laughter. The way you look at me. I want to hear them, see them every day.” He gathered up my hands in his. “Please.”

  I looked around, imagining living here with him. Waking up with him. Making love with him. Every day.

  He sweetened the pot. “I’ll add an extra desk in the office for you.” He leaned forward. “Think of all those books in the library you could read, while you sit on a comfy couch with a snack and a cold drink you can refill anytime.” He arched his eyebrow.

  I gazed up at him. “I like all those things, but I don’t need any of that.”

  “What do you need?”

  “Just you.”

  “Julia—” His breath caught. “Is that a yes?”

  “Yes.”

  His lips hovered over mine. “Today? Can we go today and get your things?”

  “I have to go to the bank.” I didn’t meet his eyes. “She never asked for first and last, so I will have to pay this month’s rent whether I’m there or not.”

  He slipped his fingers under my chin, making me meet his gaze. “I’ll pay the old hag, and you never have to go back there.”

  “You really want that?”

  “Yes. It would be the best present I’ve ever received. And then I can tell that bitch off.”

  “Byron—”

  “I’ll do it in Hungarian. Or French. Or maybe even Portuguese. She’ll never know what hit her.”

  I laughed at his expression. “Be good.”

  “Just one good cuss. She deserves it. Consider it part of my present.”

  “Just one.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too. Happy birthday, Byron.”

  “Best one, my love, by far,” he whispered, pressing his lips to mine.

  His kiss was full of promises—of a life together filled with cussing, laughter, and great meals.

  And the main ingredient—the one I’d been missing all my life—love.

  So much love.

  Chapter 7

  Byron

  Julia glanced over at me, her green eyes anxious. She’d been quiet on the drive over, unlike her usual cheerful, talkative self. I pulled into the driveway of the house where she had been living.

  “Why don’t I just go in and get my things? You can go to the market, and by the time you come back, I’ll be done and we can go.”

  I shook my head. “Nope.”

  “Byron, really, it’s not necessary.”

  “Oh, but it is.”

  She sighed, her hands fidgeting on her lap. I frowned at the two small burn marks from her disastrous attempts to make dinner last night. She insisted they didn’t hurt, and I had made sure they were covered in salve last night and this morning, as well as kissing them several times, assuring Julia that kisses promoted healing faster. She had rolled her eyes but didn’t stop me.

  As I remembered last night, my frown became a smile. Hearing the smoke alarm blaring when I pulled up in the garage, I had rushed in, not at all prepared for the sight that met my shocked gaze. Julia standing frozen but looking utterly panicked, holding a burning dish towel as smoke poured from the stove and tomato sauce splattered all over the walls. She’d been so upset even though I assured her it all looked and smelled worse than it was. I had cleaned it all up while she recovered in the bath, and after that—well, the evening got infinitely better.

  Her sweet and thoughtful gifts had warmed my heart. Usually my birthday passed with the minimum of fuss. Gerard always found a special bottle of wine or liquor to mark the occasion, and the kitchen would echo with birthday wishes, but that was about it. Julia’s offerings had shown how well she knew me and how, in her own way, she wanted to care for me, the same way I wanted to care for her.

  And when she gave me the gift I’d been longing for the most—the gift of her and her love—the day, the year, my entire future was bright.

  Finally making her mine, holding her close and feeling her warmth wrapped around me in the most intimate of ways had been nothing but perfect.

  When I saw the problem she’d obviously been trying to solve on her own, my anger raged. Her landlady was, without a doubt, the biggest bitch I’d ever met. Whatever life had done to her, Julia didn’t deserve her attitude or to be kicked out of her small room. She bent over backward to follow every rule the cow put in place, constantly polite and never once complaining. I had never even seen her room, as I wasn’t allowed to enter the house.

  Until now.

  “Really, it’s fine. I don’t have much,” she insisted.

  “Good. It won’t take us long, and we can be done.”

  She made a small distressed sound in her throat. “Maybe you could just wait in the car.”

  I chuckled as I shook my head. “Nope. You promised. It’s my birthday.”

  “Byron, it’s fine.”

  Leaning over the console, I dragged Julia close and kissed her hard. “She kicked you out. In the middle of term, for no reason. It’s not fine.”

  “But now I’m going to live with you. So, it’s a good thing in the end. Just leave it. I’ll get my things, and you come back in about an hour.”

  I ran my finger down her soft cheek. “I’ll bring in the totes and help you pack. I’m not leaving you alone with her so she can berate you more, my love. Not happening.”

  “Will you be polite?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “But—”

  “What’s she going to do? She already kicked you out. As soon as she opens her mouth, I’m going to let her have it. She deserves it.”

  Ignoring her groan, I glanced past Julia to the nondescript house. Today would be the last day she had to worry about stepping over an imaginary line or upsetting the old hag. I had a check in my pocket and some totes we had stopped and picked up at the restaurant. I was going in with her, no matter what her landlady said.

  I opened my door, sliding out, and went around to her side of the car. I tugged Julia out of her seat, dropping a kiss onto her hand. “Come on. Let’s go get your stuff, and then we can get out of here.”

  She stood, not moving. “I can do it alone.”

  “I know you can, but you don’t have to. So, why?”

  “She’s going to be upset.”
/>   I laughed. “So? What else can she do?”

  She bit her lip, worrying the plump flesh. “What if…” She trailed off.

  “What if what?”

  She peeked up, her wide eyes filled with worry. “What if I need to use her as a reference at some point? If I…if I needed a place to live one day.”

  “Oh, Julia.” I wrapped my arms around her, pressing her into the side of the car. “My love, do you really think once I get you under my roof, I’m ever going to let you go? I love you. I want a life with you.”

  “I might burn the kitchen once too often.”

  I chuckled as I traced my lips over her sweet mouth. “There is nothing you can do that would make me not want you with me. Nothing.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yes.”

  She drew in a deep breath. “Okay.”

  I noticed the curtain move in the window behind us and saw the flash of brassy blond hair. The cow was home and watching us. She told Julia once she didn’t want any PDA on her front lawn. She strictly forbade it.

  With a grin, I lifted Julia, pressing her farther into the metal of the door and covering her mouth with mine, kissing her passionately. She whimpered, wrapping her arms around my neck and holding me tight.

  Time to start breaking the rules.

  We were both panting by the time I lowered her back to her feet. I leaned my forehead against hers, nuzzling the supple skin. “We may have to skip the market, my love.”

  She giggled breathlessly. “Okay.”

  The crunch of tires behind us made me grin. My sidekick was here.

  “Byron, why is Gerard here?”

  “The totes won’t fit in the car once they’re full. His SUV will hold them.”

  She glared up at me. “Byron.”

  I grinned. “Gerard is even more fluent than I am in foreign cussing. He wanted in on the action.”

  She rolled her eyes, pushing me back and glaring at the both of us.

  “The two of you need to behave.”

  We shook our heads.

  With a groan, she pushed past me. Gerard and I shared a smirk as we reached in and grabbed the totes, following close behind.

  The door flew open, Mrs. Gertrude Newcombe standing in the space, blocking our way. “What is going on? You aren’t allowed visitors. Certainly not men—and especially not them!” she screeched, her arms flailing.

  Gerard chuckled dryly, taking in her overdone appearance. “You weren’t kidding, Byron. What is the hag’s problem?” he muttered in Italian.

  “I have no idea. Probably that Julia is getting some. Grumpy old bat,” I replied in the same language.

  “What? What did they say?”

  Julia’s cheeks darkened. “They said you look nice today. Mrs. Newcombe. I’m only here to get my things, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

  Mrs. Newcombe’s face under the layers of makeup turned a strange shade of puce. She poked Julia’s chest with her finger, jabbing the skin as she yelled. “What? You think you can come move out and not pay your rent? What are you trying to pull?”

  I grabbed her hand. “Touch her again, you peasant, and I’ll break your fucking fingers,” I swore in German.

  “Why isn’t he speaking English? What is he saying?”

  Julia laid her hand on my arm. “It’s, ah…Gerard. He doesn’t understand English. Byron said he is only here to help.”

  I pulled the check out of my pocket. “She isn’t doing anything. Here is your money. We’ll take her things and be done.”

  Mrs. Newcombe grabbed the check and scowled at us. “You can’t have her things until this clears. It might bounce, and then I’m screwed. I wouldn’t put it past you.”

  Gerard let out a string of profanities anyone would recognize, no matter the language they were uttered in.

  I glared at her. “You are the most obnoxious woman I have ever met. I’m glad Julia doesn’t have to deal with you anymore,” I spat out, lapsing into French.

  Mrs. Newcombe’s eyes narrowed. Julia’s nervous voice piped up. “He says he’d never do that. Gerard said your dress is very pretty—very bright and flowery.”

  I snorted. It looked like a paint store had exploded on it. It matched the overprocessed hair piled up on the top of her head like a helmet.

  “I’ll pay you cash,” I hissed between gritted teeth.

  Julia looked at me, aghast. “It’s five hundred dollars, Byron.”

  I reached over and grabbed back the check. “Fine. Once we have your things. And I want a receipt.”

  “No men.”

  I shook my head. “We’re coming in and doing this. If you want your money, you’ll let us in, you…”

  “Byron,” Julia pleaded.

  “…awful excuse for a human being,” I finished in Spanish.

  “I think I want to accidentally run her over, thirty or forty times,” Gerard announced cheerfully, the r’s rolling off his tongue in his perfect French.

  “Not sure if even that would kill her.”

  “But what fun I would have trying.”

  That made me chuckle. Mrs. Newcombe continued to glare at me, and I grinned widely in her direction.

  “Do you want the money or not?” I asked in English.

  I could see her wavering. She wanted the cash. And she wanted rid of Julia.

  “If we help, she will be done in thirty minutes, and we’ll be out of your hair. Otherwise, it could be hours, and Gerard and I will stand here on your doorstep the whole time,” I stated.

  “Naked,” Gerard added with a smirk, in Hungarian.

  Mrs. Newcombe began to protest when I threw out my ace in the hole. “Or I contact my lawyer, who is waiting for my call. He’ll start proceedings against you for keeping Julia from collecting her things, and he’ll be making inquiries to the Canadian Revenue Agency about the cash payments you insist on from her monthly. Just to be sure that all the income is, indeed, being claimed.”

  She went pale beneath her layers of makeup. But she shut up and huffed out an exaggerated breath. “You have thirty minutes. And I’ll be watching.”

  “Trust me, Madame, so will we,” Gerard stated dryly.

  She frowned. “Wait, I thought he couldn’t speak English?”

  Julia waved her hands. “He can speak it. He just can’t understand it.”

  I glanced at her, trying not to laugh. That made no sense.

  But the woman bought it.

  “Oh.”

  “Ignorant cow,” I muttered in Spanish as I pushed past her. I wanted Julia out of here as fast as possible.

  I was horrified at how Julia had been living. The room was small. A bed and dresser, an old, small desk with a battered lamp, and a bookcase was all the room held. Her bathroom had a stand-up shower, sink, and toilet, all of which had seen better days. Everything was neat, orderly, and totally depressing. The walls were beige, the cover on the bed a dull yellow, and the only picture was a ghastly oil painting you would find at a garage sale.

  “This is it?”

  “I have two boxes in the cupboard.”

  I handed Julia an empty tote. “You get your clothes. Gerard and I will do the desk and bookcase.”

  Not meeting my eyes, she nodded. Gerard pulled open the closet door and lifted the two boxes from the floor.

  “I’ll take these down.”

  I knew he was giving us a moment. I stepped forward, tugging Julia close. “Hey.”

  She looked up at me, her gaze nervous. “I know it’s ugly. She wouldn’t let me do anything. I knew it wasn’t forever, and at least it was clean.”

  I had to give her that. The entire house smelled of bleach and cleaning products. How she lived with the smell burning her nose, I had no idea. But she had no reason to be nervous or ashamed. I was in awe of her—she was strong and positive, never complaining.

  “I’m not judging. I just want to get you out of here and home with me.” I dropped a kiss on her head. “That is your forever place—with me.”

&nbs
p; She smiled, and it was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. “Yes.”

  “Hey! That’s enough! You are supposed to be packing. I didn’t let you in here so you could defile my house!” Mrs. Newcombe thumped on the door for good measure.

  “If I thought that bed could take it, I’d throw you on it and fuck you just to listen to her scream and run,” I growled. Then just to piss off the old cow, I lowered my head and covered Julia’s mouth with mine, kissing her hard.

  The screech I heard was so worth it. I pulled back, grinning.

  “Okay, my love, let’s get you packed.”

  Twenty of the longest minutes of my life later, Julia was packed, the totes in the cars, and I handed Mrs. Newcombe the five hundred dollars, refusing to leave until I had a receipt in my hand. I still planned to make that call to the CRA. She held out the slip of paper, the look on her face telling me exactly what she thought of me.

  I stepped forward, keeping my voice low.

  “You are, without a doubt, the nastiest piece of work I have ever met. The way you treated that lovely young woman, you should be ashamed of yourself.”

  “I don’t have to take that from the likes of you,” she sneered. “I know your type. You’ll use her until something better comes your way.”

  “There is nothing better.” I eyed her up and down. “If you treated your husband half as badly as you treated her, no wonder he left you.”

  She gasped, raising her hand. I arched my eyebrow. “Go ahead and try, lady. Give me an excuse to return the favor.”

  I never would hit a woman, but she didn’t know that. She stepped back, clutching her frilly collar. “I hate cooks.”

  I laughed. “Good thing I’m not a cook. I am a chef. A fucking great one. Not that your opinion matters in the least. And I doubt you would know good cuisine if it bit you in the ass.”