I rack my brain trying to remember a time when I’ve been happier and draw a blank. Even signing our first record deal or getting our first platinum discs didn’t come close. Yeah, they were amazing in the moment, but nowhere near as good as knowing for sure that I’ve won London’s heart. I mean, I knew before today, but nothing beats hearing those words coming from her lips: “I love you, and I want to be with you. That is all.” She has made me the happiest man alive. I’m willing to bet that my grin is so wide, it’s one of the few things on Earth visible from space.

As we approach the top of the stairs in the studio hand in hand, about to face the room full of family, friends, press, and other music and photography industry people, I stop dead in my tracks suddenly, pulling London to my chest, catching her unaware. Startled, she slams into me with an “Ooof!” and turns to me in mock anger.

“Arlo, if this ‘thing’ between us is going to go the distance, you’re going to have to stop pulling me around like a rag doll. I’m not your toy.” I know she’s got a point, and it’s not that I do it on purpose, it just kind of happens. Besides, despite her effort to sound stern, she really doesn’t. I love when she does the mock indignation thing; it’s crazy cute. Hell, everything about her is cute.

“I’m sorry, babe, I didn’t think. I was too focused on needing to do this.” I pull her sideways toward the wall of the mezzanine area and out of sight of the guests below, walking her backward until she’s leaning against the smooth white surface.

“But—” I know she’s going to protest that we just finished fucking each other senseless over her new desk, just fixed her messed-up hair, clothes, and makeup, and just told ourselves we need to go downstairs and face the room of people who more than likely heard the whole thing through the paper-thin ceiling of her office. She’s right, but I don’t care. I give zero fucks what other people think at the best of times, but when it comes to this woman, it’s even less than that. I lay one palm flat on the wall above her head and pull the hand that I’m holding behind her back.

I dip my head, dropping my impatient lips to her expectant ones. Moments later she’s kissing me as hungrily as I am her. That’s one thing about us—no matter how tumultuous things have been, and boy, have they been rocky, the sexual chemistry has been off the charts from day one. Moment one, really, and every day ever since. Even when she made it clear that she didn’t like me as a person, there was never any hiding the fact that she was as wildly attracted to me as I have always been to her. If there’s anything hotter than a man knowing his woman wants him more than she wants her next breath, I don’t know what it is.

My woman. I love the way that sounds. My. Woman. I’ve thought of her that way for a long time, way before I had any right to, but today I’m totally justified in thinking of her in those terms. Today and always. London Llwellyn loves me, and she’s happy for the world to know it. I might just be the luckiest bastard alive. The thought has me pressing my lips down even harder and using my tongue to request entrance to her mouth. Despite her earlier protests, she opens to me without hesitation.

I release the hand behind her back and slip mine into the deep V of her shirt. I love that her small, pert breasts are unrestrained. I use the fact that she is braless to my advantage, running my forefinger in circles over her nipple, knowing it drives her wild. As predicted, her nipple pebbles at my touch. London groans, pulling me closer to her. My dick goes from the semi I was still sporting as we left her office to diamond hard in the space of a few seconds. I want to fuck her again so bad, but I know it’s not an option right now. It takes all my willpower to resist kissing her again, this time rubbing my rock-hard cock against her clit instead. Pulling back a little, I look at her long and hard.

The advice given to me by my grandfather months earlier plays over and over in my head. "If you want this girl, you’re going to have to work for it; it’s not going to come easy. Treat it like a hostile takeover. Find out what she wants most in the world, and then give it to her. Finally I say the words that have been playing on my mind since London admitted she loves me

“Move in with me.” It’s a statement, not a question.

London looks momentarily startled, but quickly schools her features, regaining her composure. “Umm… you live in LA. I live in New York. You’ve just bought me this studio, and honestly, even if you hadn’t, there’s no way in hell I’d be relocating. No offense.”

“None taken. This has always been home, in the true sense of the word. The guys are here, my mom and Gramps are here, Brad and Justin too, not that they’re a consideration—but LA was only ever a means to an end. I needed out of the scene for a while, so I split. Home is where the heart is, right? There’s nothing keeping me there now, but there’s sure as shit something drawing me back here. Big-time. You could tell me you’re relocating to one of Saturn’s rings, and I’d be right there with you, babe.” Fucking understatement of the year.

I followed Gramps’s advice to the letter, and then some. I knew she wanted to establish her photography career, so I offered her an opportunity to do that. It’s not every day a dude buys a chick an entire fucking building. Even still, I know it’s not enough. London is no easy nut to crack, by any means, and if there’s one thing I know about her, it’s that she’s not impressed by material bullshit. Although she’s admitted she loves me, I know her confidence in me and in us is fragile. Buying her a whole city block isn’t going to fix that. Not that I’m trying to buy her affections, but if I was, I’d go bankrupt before my plan worked.

When we met, she’d all but given up on the idea of finding love again after losing her fiancé. Now that we have each other, I need to instill confidence in her that although she was unlucky once, lightning isn’t going to strike twice. She needs stability and security, and despite my crazy lifestyle, I know I can offer her that. I want to offer her that, and for the first time in my life, I want it too. With her.

“Yes.” She stares me down. Wait. What? Surely I’ve misunderstood, or she has, or we both have.

“Yes what?” I have to be sure.

“Yes, I will move in with you, Arlo. It’s fucking crazy, but for once, I’m prepared to embrace the madness. Yes, I will be your live-in lover, or significant other, or de facto spouse, or ‘life partner,’ or whatever other descriptor you can think of. Yes.” She seems pretty clear, and with that response, so am I.

“Ahh… okay. Yeah!” I don’t really know what to say. I had no hope that she would actually agree. Fuck me dead.

“Well, now you don’t sound too sure. Did you really mean it? It’s okay if not, I won’t be offended. We can just pretend this whole conversation never happened.” The look in her gorgeous Bambi eyes tells me otherwise.

“Of course I meant it. I mean it. I was just kinda expecting you to say no. Hoping you wouldn’t, but anticipating you would. I had a game plan for that outcome, but not for you saying yes.” I figure that at this point, honesty’s the best policy.

“You don’t need a game plan, my love, you just need to keep that hard-on on ice until we get home tonight and can put it to good use. I’m so horny right now, you’d better be ready to ride me all night.” Hell yeah, I love this woman. I don’t answer, just bend down again and plant a feathery kiss on her forehead. Anything more, and we’ll never make it downstairs.

As we descend the stairs to rejoin the guests at the launch, a hush ripples through the room. Great. Without looking, I know London will be mortified, a deep blush just visible on her latte-colored skin. I squeeze her hand, silently conveying my strength and support. After so many years in the limelight, I’m used to being scrutinized and endlessly speculated about, but London’s new to this and already she hates being in the public eye. It’s weird given that in her previous career she was a dancer and often under the spotlight. I guess a lot has changed in her life since then, and she’s no longer comfortable taking center stage.

As we reach the bottom step, I perform an exaggerated bow, causing our guests to chuckle but also take that as their cue that the Arlo and London Show is officially over. Hint taken, everyone returns to their conversations. Beside me, London relaxes instantly. I squeeze her hand a little tighter and whisper down to her, “Just breathe. You got this.”

She nods mutely, relaxing a little more. She’s got this.

I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of anyone than I am of her right now. When I came up with the idea of asking her to come on tour with me, my reasons were twofold. Sure, I wanted to get into her pants. Actually, more accurately, I wanted to continue to get in her pants, more than I wanted to draw breath, and the prospect of three months on the road without being able to was like hell on earth. On the other hand, I genuinely believed she would deliver the goods, thus killing two very worthy birds with one stone. As it is, the end result has surpassed my wildest expectations—and everyone else’s.

I had known she was ridiculously talented, and had been sure she’d nail this gig, but even so, when I saw the photos, I was shocked by her creative genius. I was present when each and every shot was taken, yet I had no idea what magic she was weaving. As front man of one of the most popular bands on the planet, I’ve seen tens of thousands of photos of myself over the years, but as I hoped she would, with these shots London brought something completely different and unexpected. The images are everything you wouldn’t associate with someone with a job and reputation like mine—they’re light, tender, intimate, raw, loving, and hauntingly beautiful.

Yeah, the shots expose a lot more of the real me than I would have expected, or wanted, but I’m okay with that. The same can’t be said of London. Luckily for her, she has me to guide her. I’ve been doing this for almost as long as I can remember. It’s pretty much second nature to me at this point.

I scan the room, watching the attendees as they look at the photos in rapt silence, or chat animatedly about their favorites. I’m looking for three people in particular. When I spot them, I pull London gently in their direction.

“C’mon, you need to meet my folks.”

Having already had the pleasure of her parents’ company for the first time just before we went upstairs to scratch our itch, I figure it’s only right and fair to return the favor and introduce her to my family also. As we approach, the tension returns to her body. Maybe this isn’t the best idea after all. Too late. I’ve already caught Gramps’s eye, so we have to go over or appear extremely rude. Gramps already thinks that of me, but I don’t want him to hold a similarly low opinion of London. He’s an ornery old bastard at the best of times without adding an imagined snub to his list of complaints.

It’s now or never. I stop, pulling London close to my side and giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

“Mom, Pete, Gramps, this is London. London, this is Mom, Pete, and Gramps.”

Gramps responds with a sarcastic snort. Not exactly the response I was hoping for.

“What is it, Gramps?” I narrow my eyes in his direction.

“We’re not stupid, young man. It’s obvious who she is, unless you’ve been upstairs for the past half hour banging a woman other than the one who has been making you miserable for the past six months.”

Oh. God. I squeeze London’s hand again, not daring to look at her. I’m already regretting the decision to introduce her to my peeps so soon after asking her to move in with me—this is going to shit real quick. What the fuck was I thinking?

“Dad!” hisses Mom in a voice far louder than a whisper and more like a whisper-yell, causing the people nearest to us to stop their conversations and look on in interest. Just fucking great. Way to turn a shit storm into a shit blizzard.

“What?” asks Gramps with a nonchalant shrug, his innocent expression totally downplaying the razor-sharp mind he wields like a knife.

“Don’t be rude, is what.” She turns to London, apologetic on Gramps’s behalf. “I’m sorry about my father. He doesn’t get out much these days, and he clearly left his manners back in Brooklyn at the bottom of a bottle of beer. So nice to meet you, London. I’m Rebecca.” She smiles broadly. London returns the gesture and reaches out her hand.

“Hi, Rebecca, so nice to meet you. Arlo has told me so much about you.”

Mom beams, ignoring the outstretched hand and moving in for a hug instead. London looks a little like a deer in the headlights, but she plays along, allowing herself to be swept into the tight embrace. Mom turns to me and stage-whispers, “She’s stunning. Look at her beautiful skin. She’s positively glowing.” It’s true. Having worked herself almost to the bone to get the book and launch together, London suddenly looks radiant—probably with the relief of everything going according to plan.

“She’s also standing right here, Mom, and not at all deaf, so….” Fuck my family.

Gramps speaks up again. “Let’s get this over with. I’m not getting any younger over here. He’s Peter, the stepfather”—he motions to Pete with his thumb—“but everyone calls him Pete. I’m Jack, but if you don’t want me to kick your ass into next Tuesday, you’ll call me Gramps just like everyone else.” Speaking of ass kickings, if Gramps carries on this way, he’ll be in line for one himself. He ignores my frustrated glare.

“I’m glad to finally meet you. I mean, who wouldn’t want to meet the woman who almost broke this dipshit?” He elbows me in the ribs, and I wince. He’s on a roll tonight, and not in a good way. London smirks, in a vain attempt to keep a straight face. I’m glad she’s enjoying the show. That makes exactly one of us.

“This kid of all of them was the toughest from the get-go. Always the first one to step up to a fight and the last to back down. Never cried. Ever. Never apologized. Ever. Heck, I was beginning to think he was a sociopath or something and would never love anyone even half as much as he loves himself—he’s always been so big headed. Then you came along and blew the lid right off that theory, young lady—he’s been moping around like a dog with his balls cut off ever since he met you.”

Kill. Me. Now.

“Can’t say I blame him. You might have been a tough nut to crack, but you’re even more beautiful than he let on. If I were fifty years younger, I’d—” Oh. Hell. No! If he were fifty years younger, he’d be even more likely than me to be the recipient of a well-deserved slap in the face from her. If not that, I would have decked him for sure.

“Gramps!” This time all three of us yell at him, causing everyone in the room to look our way yet again. Poor London.

“What? What did I say? I only spoke the truth.” He holds his hands up in mock surrender. I wonder idly what the word is for murdering a grandparent. I know the words for killing your parents or siblings, but draw a blank on how to describe strangling your grandfather with his own ugly-ass tie.

Pete steps forward, offering London his hand. She takes it, clearly grateful not to have to deal with Gramps any longer.

“Hi, London, pleased to meet you. Listen, a word of advice, if I may. I know they seem a little crazy.”

She beams his way, clearly still suppressing her laughter.

“Well okay, they seem a lot crazy right now, but take it from one who’s been where you are right now and lived to tell the tale: these are good people. Mouths like sewers, but hearts of gold.”

“Hi, Pete. Thanks for the advice.”

I think she’s going to need it, but I keep that gem to myself, all the while silently praising myself for convincing her to move in with me before she met these crazies. There’s no way in hell she would have agreed to after this train wreck.