Lovegame(120)

“It is indeed.” He smiles. “Most people would say that’s reason enough to keep me around.”

“Maybe they would. But I’m not most people.”

“Believe me, I am well aware of that fact.”

“And yet you’re still here.”

He makes an agreeing sound. “I am.”

“Why is that?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I was waiting for you.”

It’s my turn to arch a brow. “Waiting for me to do what exactly?”

“Waiting for you to realize you love me, too. Obviously.”

“You were so sure that was going to happen?”

“Sure, no? Desperate for it to happen? Absolutely. On the bright side, I had a strong hunch you were going to come around.”

“A strong hunch, huh?” I cross the foyer to meet him, wrapping my arms around his waist so I can stick my hands in his back pockets. “And why is that?”

“Because this is Hollywood, baby. Happy endings are what you do.”

“They are indeed.” I lean into him, tilt my head up for his kiss. “You sure you want me to be your happy ending?”

“You’re already my happy ending, Veronica. I want you to be my everything.”

Fuck. “You can’t just go around saying things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I love you.” My eyes well. I’m not embarrassed, though, because his do, too.

“I love you, too, sweetheart. And I’m so f*cking sorry I didn’t tell you—”

“Hey!” I slap a hand over his mouth. “No apologies after the credits roll. Hollywood rules.”

“Oh, right.” His grin turns wicked. “Well, then, is there anything we can do after the credits?”

I glance down at my still nude form. “Maybe. Since we’ve got the R-rating and all.”

“Forget R,” he says with a snort as he sweeps me into his arms. “I say we go for NC-17.”





Epilogue


“And the winner of the Academy Award for best actress is…Veronica Romero-Sharpe for Breathless.”

I’m out of my seat before she is, cheering like a crazy person as they call my wife’s name. Her eyes are huge as she stands up a few seconds later, her skin flushed. And then she’s in my arms, her cheek pressed to mine and her body trembling against my own.

“They did call my name, right?” she murmurs into my ear even as she holds on tight. “I’m not going to humiliate myself by walking onto that stage?”

The small show of insecurity makes me smile as I hug her even more tightly. “They called your name, baby. Now go get your little gold man.”

She laughs at that, just like I knew she would, a bold, rich sound that fills my heart and turns me on, all at the same time. Not that that’s a surprise—Veronica’s been doing that to me from the moment I met her four years ago.

“I bet those are seven words you never thought you’d say,” she murmurs as she brushes past me into the aisle.

I grab her hand, pull her back for one more quick hug. “I always knew I’d say them. Always.”

Her eyes fill with tears, and she glares at me through them. “Don’t you dare make me cry on live television.”

Then she’s turning away from me, moving up the aisle to the stage where she belongs. Where she’s always belonged.

It’s not a quick journey, because we’re not the only ones standing. The whole room is on its feet, the applause nearly deafening, and it seems like every second someone is reaching out to hug or congratulate her.

Eventually she makes it to the stage, though, and I hold my breath as she climbs the stairs. Somehow she makes the ascent look graceful despite her skyscraper heels and five months’ pregnant belly. Of course she does…she is Veronica Romero-Sharpe, after all. She can do anything—including wear that intensely sexy Atelier Versace dress like she owns it, despite her round little stomach.

She takes the statue—her first Oscar but not her last, I’m certain—then turns to the audience with a smile so bright it outshines even the Harry Winston diamonds dangling at her ears. My chest swells with pride, with love…with gratitude, that this woman is mine. That she didn’t let me f*ck things up all those years ago.

The crowd is still on its feet, movie stars and directors and producers alike standing for Veronica with huge smiles on their faces. I think they know—as I do—that few people have ever deserved an award more than she deserves this one.

Eventually the cheers and the clapping quiet down and then she’s speaking. I’m still holding my breath, this time because this is the first I’m hearing her speech, too. No matter how many times I offered to help her with it over the last few days, she wouldn’t let me near the thing. Just told me to mind my own business every time I brought it up.

“Wow, he’s really pretty, isn’t he?” She holds up the statue for everyone to see, then purses her million dollar lips and kisses the thing right on the top of its shiny gold head. The crowd roars with good-natured amusement.

“Standing here before you is a privilege. Making movies is a privilege—and a responsibility, one I’ve been honored to have been graced with for over fifteen years now. We are so lucky to do what we do, to be able to tell these beautiful, poignant, important stories, and I for one am so grateful for every moment of this gorgeous life that I’ve been given. There are so many people I need to thank for making this movie what it is.”