Page 163 of Unwritten Rules

She peppers kisses across the planes of my face, eventually pulling back to rest her brow against mine. Mila’s golden eyes peer intensely into my dark ones as she rests her palms on my cheeks.

“I want the happily ever after.”

I smile, knowing my dimple is showing when her eyes flicker down and light up even brighter.

“I want a big-ass wedding. I want a house full of kids. I want it all. With you.”

“I think that can be arranged, Hellcat.”

“I love you so much, Nathaniel.”

Mirroring her, I cradle her face in my palms and lean forward, rubbing the tip of my nose across hers. “I love you too, baby.”

“Kiss me, grump.”

Brushing my lips across hers, I whisper, “Always, wench.”

EPILOGUE

NATE

TWELVE MONTHS LATER

A duck lands on the multi-hued water of the lake with a splash, breaking the silence of the late August evening.

The day has been scorching, and I’ve never been as grateful for the cool waters of the crystal-clear lake in the back garden of our favourite writing retreat.

But, despite having penned many words here over the past two years, this retreat is not about work. This return to our sleepy haven has been entirely selfish, soaking up our days as we know them.

I survey the grounds and the plentiful wildlife that roam nearby before my eyes once more return to contemplating my sleeping wife. Her chest continues to rise and fall evenly, undisturbed by the nature sounds surrounding us. Her face is peaceful, a small smile sitting at the edge of her lips even in her slumber, making my heart outrageously happy.

My mother-in-law and her partner – Mila’s literary agent, Daniel Aves – are due to arrive for a late dinner, and we’ve yet even to begin prepping it.

And despite knowing we are potentially moments away from receiving guests, I settle back in my lounger to watch her. To steal more moments, to feed my ever-growing obsession with the woman dreams are made of.

A very wise, much-beloved man once told me the world can wait.

My eyes are drawn from her face down along her body to the swell of her pregnant stomach. Pride and love course through me, filling me in equal measure until I’m near fit to burst.

As though knowing that my attention is fixed on them, the child growing in the sanctuary of their mother’s body rolls, making Mila’s stomach stretch and swell underneath her loose summer dress.

“Ooh, someone’s awake.”

Her hand reaches to rub the area softly as her eyes flutter open to land on mine. “Your son is going to be a damn football player if these kicks are anything to go by.”

I grin lopsidedly, rising to my feet and closing the distance between us to lay my hand on her stomach. “Yes, I do believe you’re correct. My daughter will be an excellent footballer.”

She smiles softly, our running joke on the as-yet-unknown gender of our child still ongoing.

I drop a kiss atop her bump, and our child answers with another twist.

“Ouch.” Mila winces, gripping her side. “He’s definitely run out of room. These kicks are even sharper than usual.”

Standing, I hold my hand out to her. “Come on, maybe a walk will send her back to sleep.”

“Him!” She looks up at me, scowling playfully. “You know I’m right. Even when I’m wrong—”

“You’re right,” I finish, dropping a kiss onto her cheek. “Yes, but this time, Hellcat…this time, I’m right. Just watch this space.”