Page 79 of Hidden Desires

He shoots me a serious look. “Yeah, but this time it’s with you, sweetheart, so it’s worth it.”

My heart swoops and squeezes with love, and we kiss passionately before turning back to the screen. We debate the merits of tropical versus Arctic, with Jack making a surprisingly strong case for snow and hot springs. He argues logistics, cost, and possible visa issues. I counter with poolside cocktails and the chance to wear a bikini for days on end. The fact that we’re even having this argument—half-joking, half-real—is almost too much to process. This is us now. Our bond, shared and real.

At some point, Jack leans over and kisses me, slow and sure, and all the noise fades. For a second, I can’t tell if I’m Bunny or Eliza or both. The line’s gone, and I don’t want it back.

I think of my mom, my old friends, my day job that’s slowly fading into background noise. I think of the secret we’re keeping, and how it could blow up at any second, and how, for the first time in my life, I don’t care. I have a future—messy, uncertain, blazing bright. I have a home, a partner, a place in the world.

I pull the huge male close, the taste of champagne lingering on his lips, and whisper, “This is real, right? Not just a fantasy?”

Jack’s hand finds my cheek, thumb tracing the line of my jaw. “It’s real, sweetheart. You and me.”

It’s everything I ever wanted, even if I never knew it.

Outside is pure chaos. My parents, the law firm, and the ugliness that seems to pervade the news every day. But inside, Jack and I toast to our ridiculous, perfect life, and I know—finally, absolutely—that I’m not running away from anything.

I’m exactly where I want to be.

EPILOGUE – A PROPOSAL

Eliza

Oooh, this is so scandalous. I’m sorting through my lingerie drawer, and it’s definitely all fripperies and lace. Even crazier, some of the items have been seen by an audience of thousands. If that’s not titillating, I don’t know what is.

Giggling, I grab a huge armful of lingerie and dump it onto the bed—silks, lace, two pairs of scandalously crotchless mesh, and one bunny bodysuit that always makes Jack instantly hard (my favorite). I hum tunelessly as I fold and refold, trying to decide what to bring for a weekend away. I settle on the pink set with the bows and a black bustier that’s so tight that my big breasts look like scoops of ice cream heaped on top. The rest goes back in the drawer, minus one weirdly sentimental sports bra I wore the day Jack first said “I love you” out loud.

The bedroom is lived-in proof that I exist here now, not just as a visiting girlfriend, but as a permanent resident: Jack’s camo duffel stuffed under the bench, a nest of tangled USB cords in the corner, my law textbooks he claims to “read for fun” stacked by the nightstand. My senior paralegal badge, which looks more like a dog tag than a mark of distinction, hangs from a hook on the closet door. The camera equipment has somehow leaked into our bedroom, even though we use the spare bedroom as our studio. Every time I look at it, a hot rush goes through me because I do that with him. The man I love.

I lean back on the bed, so content and peaceful. I think about our upcoming trip, about the future, about how everything worked out. I was never doomed. With Jack, I was always going to be caught, safe and sound, sated and happy.

I don’t hear my boyfriend come in, but I feel the shift in air—the tiny static of his presence, the way his footsteps are always confident but never arrogant. He stands in the doorway, arms folded over a t-shirt that stretches across those broad shoulders, and watches me with amused blue eyes.

“Inventory check?” he asks, eyeing the carnage of fabric.

“Packing for the weekend,” I say, holding up the pink thong for inspection. “Do you prefer bows, or, maximum transparency?”

He grins, the lines at his eyes crinkling. “You know I like variety, sweetheart. But bring the bunny suit though. You know how much I love that outfit.”

I roll my eyes, but my cheeks go warm. I gather up the pile, slide it into my overnight, and zip the bag shut with exaggerated care. Only then do I notice the way Jack is lingering, like he’s waiting for something, maybe for me to finish rearranging my entire existence.

“Did you need something?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he crosses the room, slow, and sits beside me on the edge of the bed. He reaches into his pocket—typical Jack, he could be carrying anything from a jet engine bolt to a miniature bottle of Sriracha—and pulls out a small velvet box. Blue-black, the color of midnight. He sets it between us, then looks me dead in the eyes.

My heart tries to climb up my throat and escape through my mouth. I freeze, heart racing. OMG, is this…? Really?

He picks up the box, turns it once in his fingers, then drops to one knee on the battered hardwood floor, handsome features intense.

“Eliza Shaw,” he says, and his voice is so gentle it almost hurts. “I know we didn’t get here in the usual way. I know we’ve done things backwards, inside out, and probably broken at least seventeen rules along the way.” He pauses, his thumb stroking the velvet like he’s feeling deeply. “But you make me happier than I’ve ever been, and that’s something special.”

I can’t breathe. I can’t think. My hands start shaking so badly that I clasp them into fists.

Jack opens the box. Inside is a ring—sapphire, not diamond, a perfect, dark blue stone set in a band of gold so pale it looks almost white. The color matches my eyes exactly, a fact he once described as “hypnotic, and utterly mesmerizing.”

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he says, the words a little bit raspy. “Marry me. Please, sweetheart. I never thought I’d be begging but you do things to me I never thought possible. Please.”

My heart swoops and heaves, as a trembly smiles comes on my lips. I just nod, mute, tears pricking at the back of my eyes. My voice, when it comes, is ragged and small.

“Yes,” I say. “Yes, Jack. I love you, yes.”