Part-Time Lover (Part-Time Lover #1)(69)

Most of all, I love that the promise of the zinnias feels possible as I kiss my husband once more.



*

Later that night, we all go out to dinner down the road, where we pretty much take over the five-table bistro, toasting with endless glasses of champagne and wine. At one point, Christian grabs me as I walk by and pulls me into his lap. He wraps his arms around me and nuzzles my neck. “At last. I can finally be a kept man.”

I laugh and drop a kiss to the end of his nose. “You know what that means, if you really want to be my trophy husband?”

“What does it mean?”

“It means you have to service my needs, any night, any time I request.”

He puffs out his chest. “I believe I do that already.”

“And I think you’re pretty damn good at it.”

Christian is anything but a kept man. He’s his own man, carving out the life he wants, picking up the jobs he wants, whether it’s talking all day for dignitaries or businessmen, or advising top companies on entering new markets. He makes his own choices, and most of all, he doesn’t let it demand all his attention, like he did in his twenties. He’s learned how to take in work at a pace that makes him happy.

As for me, I’m still working hard, and hope to for a long time, since I love my job and taking care of my employees. Most of all, I love having the kind of relationship that consumes me at night and brings me peace during the day.

I suppose it was fate that brought Christian into my life one fine summer day on a boat tour, but it’s not going to be fate that keeps him in it.

It’s going to be me, loving this man, and giving him my heart all the days of my life.





Another Epilogue





Elise

Four years later



At last.

I have a moment alone to put up my feet and savor the quiet. The boys are outside in the backyard, and I’m away from the crazy day-to-day life of the agency back in Paris—the agency that Polly has been helping me run, now that I’ve become a little busier at home.

Busier baking.

Baking people.

I run a hand over my belly. It’s the second time it’s been this big, and there are a few people who are quite happy about that. Me, of course. My fabulous husband, who’s an even better father. And his mother. She is, quite simply, the perfect grandmother, and she’s convinced us to spend more time here in Copenhagen, so she can dote on her grandchildren.

I don’t mind being here at all. It’s no hardship to spend time at Christian’s home on the canal, especially during the glorious late summer days when the water gleams like a sapphire, mirroring the powder-blue canvas above us in the sky.

But right now, I simply need to sit.

I close my eyes, but the second I do, a little voice calls out to me.

“Mummy, come look!”

I sigh but heed the call of my three-year-old son, James. Rising slowly, I head to the sliding glass door and step into the yard.

The sun is glaring, and the reflection is so bright, I can’t quite make out what Christian and James are doing. But as I shield my eyes with my hand and squint, it becomes patently obvious.

“I can do handstands just like Daddy.”

I groan and march down the yard, shaking my head at my husband. “You’re not making him part of that club.”

Christian holds up his hands ever-so-innocently in a who, me? “Of course not. I’m fully clothed.”

“Do it with me, Daddy.”

Christian flips over on the dock, onto his hands like our son. At least this time, both are wearing shorts.

I smile and relent. After all, maybe the world needs more men who can do handstands, naked or not.

I run a hand over my belly. “Just don’t teach our daughter to join your club.”

Christian laughs, flips over, and stands up. He rushes to me and sets a hand on my gigantic basketball. “Good point. No daughter of mine will ever be flashing tourists naked.”

“She better not.”

“But you can flash me later.” He winks, and then James runs over and joins us, and I take his little hand. We walk to the dock, sit on the edge, and watch the boats go by.

Happily.



THE END