I nip at her ear. “You’re amazing. I love you.”

“Love isn’t a strong enough word,” she reminds me with a soft smile.

“No,” I say. “But you’re strong enough. We’re strong enough. And that’s really all that matters.”

“I like that.” She locks eyes with me, and we stand for a moment in the warm sunshine, smiling at each other like fools in love because we are. She may have won today, but I’m the real winner here. This brilliant, beautiful, strong woman is mine.

Eventually, we part ways—me back to the office to finish the edits on her book, and her to my condo to write until I get home. And when I do, I take her in my arms to kiss her and hold her. We eat tacos and make plans for all the things we want to do together, and when words inevitably fail us, as they are known to do, we spend the rest of the night showing each other exactly what it means to love.

Epilogue

Scarlett

One Year Later

I sit cross-legged on the chair in front of my desk in my newly renovated office, typing and deleting, typing and deleting. My hands are shaking so badly that I keep making stupid mistakes. Every few seconds, I glance at the timer I set on my phone. The numbers are moving slower than normal, I’m sure of it. Something must be wrong with it. Ryan’s going to be home any minute, and I can’t wait.

It didn’t take very long after signing my new deal with Anastasios Press for me to move in with him. I spent practically every night at his place anyway, so it only made sense. When Becoming came out, he had the cover—a much better one than the first—framed and hung it in the office, telling me it was my room now.

“Bestselling authors need offices, not desks in bedrooms,” he had said, and that was that.

The press tour was short. I know other outlets wanted to have me, but Trina fielded those calls expertly. And when it was time to pitch another book, she took that on as well. She’s been exactly the kind of agent I always needed—making sure I get breaks and keeping Anastasios in check when they get overeager.

Ryan isn’t my editor anymore, but that’s okay. He still reads every word, and when I turn in drafts, I’m never quite sure what’s mine and what’s his. It’s ours, which is exactly the way I want it.

I take comfort in all of that as I keep watch on the timer. It ticks so slowly.

When it finally rings, I shut it off and rush to the bathroom on shaky legs. And, of course, at that moment, Ryan comes in the front door.