Epilogue

Three years later

Silver

“I’m a whale,” I moan, staring into the full-length mirror at the bottom of the bed. “No, scrap that. I’m bigger than a whale. I’m the house the whale family lives in. I’m their country estate.”

It’s a week until my due date with our first child, and I’m growing increasingly tired of feeling like a walking, talking blob.

Logan appears in the reflection behind me, circling his arms around my waist and resting his hands on my huge pregnant belly. “You’re a beautiful whale,” he murmurs in my ear. “The sexiest one I’ve ever seen.”

My jaw drops. “So you agree, then? That I’m fat?”

His eyes widen as he realizes he’s dug himself into a hole. For the past few weeks, with my hormones wildly out of control, I’ve been trying unsuccessfully to pick a fight.

He’s been quite clever up until now, stopping my rants midsentence with long, deep kisses, taking advantage of the other side effect of my pregnancy—the quadrupled sex drive. But there’s no getting out of this one.

“I was playing along with the whole whale metaphor,” he says. “Of course you’re not fat!”

I shove his arms away. “I can’t go to the party. I’ve got nothing to wear.” Tears replace anger. I slump down on the bed like a simpering brat.

In an ideal world, I wouldn’t even have to get dressed today, let alone host a family party. But as it transpires, my husband turning two hundred years old is kind of a big deal. Drink will be taken, barbeque food consumed, and worst of all, every single member of my annoying family will be there.

Logan sinks down beside me, draping an arm around my shoulders. “I thought you were going to wear that new dress you bought.”

“Oh, you mean the one with more material than a six-man tent?” I snap.

He attempts to stifle a snicker by pulling me close. “Well, I happen to think pregnancy suits you. There’s nothing sexier than seeing the woman I love carrying my baby.”

This isn’t the first time he’s pulled this line, and in spite of myself, I smile. Somehow, it always does the trick. “Sexy enough to indulge in a little fun?” I ask, squeezing his denim-clad knee.

He laughs. “Jeez, you never give up, do you?”

“Oh, come on. It’s been almost a week,” I whine.

“It’s been three days,” he exclaims. “You have back pain. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Because I look like a heifer,” I snipe, taking the argument full circle.

“You’re beautiful. It’s nothing to do with that.”

I stand up and open the wardrobe. “Fine, I’ll wear my tent to your two-hundredth-birthday barbecue. But I warn you, Logan: I will get you into bed today.”

He grins, picking out the stretchy, pale-yellow dress and handing it to me. “Oh really?”

“Yes. Really. You’d better watch out, birthday boy.”

* * *

I take my time getting ready, applying extra makeup and curling the ends of my hair in my bid to seduce Logan. After a while, the doorbell starts to ring and I hear voices and chatter drifting up the stairs.

It’s a sunny July afternoon, a perfect day for a barbecue. When I finally waddle out onto the patio, our guests are already milling around and admiring our new garden. We only moved in a couple of months ago, but I love it here already. With its large rooms and quiet location, it’s the perfect family home. I still pinch myself on a daily basis. Swollen feet and varicose veins aside, I feel like the luckiest girl on earth.

Dad spots me as I step out onto the patio and rushes over to help me down the steps. I’m well used to being treated like an invalid these days and accept his hand graciously. “Hello, love,” he says, kissing me on the cheek. “Not long now.”

Recently, that’s all anyone ever seems to say to me.

I greet the rest of my family with a little wave. Sheila is parked at the buffet table, fussing over one of her famous strawberry pavlovas, and everyone else is standing or sitting, making small talk. Logan has Debra’s son, Luca, my little nephew, held in the crook of his arm, chatting as he pokes at the barbecue with a pair of tongs. My heart melts as I watch them. I just know he’s going to make an excellent father.

I glance around at the rest of the guests. A few of Logan’s homeopathic doctor colleagues are gathered around the drink table, talking shop, and Jess is all over her latest boyfriend on the sun lounger. Then my eye snags on a tall, good-looking man chatting to my stepbrother, Chris.

Surely my eyes are deceiving me.

I cross the garden as quickly as I can to the barbecue. “Logan,” I hiss, jabbing a thumb over my shoulder at the handsome guy. “Is that who I think it is?”

Logan grins. “Vincent. I invited him.”

“Vincent, as in the vampire?”

“The very one. Oh look, he’s coming over to say hi. Be nice.”

I cut him a look. “I’m always nice.”

I turn around as Vincent strolls across the grass toward us. I haven’t seen him since the night of the big showdown, when the ancient was destroyed and Logan got his mortality back, and I’d forgotten how dashing he is.

“I bet Vincent wouldn’t have an issue with third-trimester sex,” I mutter, watching his approach.

Logan shakes his head, chuckling as he flips a burger.

“Silver,” Vincent says, leaning in to give me a kiss on the cheek. “You look—”

“Fat?” I cut in.

He laughs, blue eyes crinkling. “I was going to say radiant.”

“Kind of the same thing at this stage in the game,” I tease.

“Not at all. You look very happy.”

“I am,” I concur. “So, what’s new with you? How are Burke and Davies? Still running the operation?”

He shakes his head. “No, that’s all over. After what happened, we shut the division down. Back to good old-fashioned homicide these days.”

“Oh,” I say. “Well, at least you’re keeping it simple.”

He grins. “Exactly.”

As the three of us stand chatting, I’m struck by just how much has changed the past few years. The idea that what we have now so easily might not have happened terrifies me. Sometimes, I dream I’m back in Chelsea in my old flat, and when I wake up, there’s a few horrifying seconds where I think I’m still there, that Logan and my life since has been nothing more than a perfect dream. But then I feel the warmth of strong arms around me, the steady beat of Logan’s heart against mine, and I know that everything is as it should be. That despite the odds stacked against us, life worked out.

I take Logan’s hand, giving it a squeeze as he gazes down at me, his green eyes filled with love.

Vincent glances between us, an odd look of confusion and sadness lurking behind his brilliant-blue eyes. “I think I’m going to see if there’s any more of that excellent pavlova on offer,” he murmurs, leaving us alone.

Logan doesn’t seem to notice him leave. He reaches up, tucking a stray tendril of hair behind my ear. “Are you hungry?” he asks, placing a palm on my swollen belly.

I raise a brow. “I wouldn’t mind a sausage.”

He laughs, wrapping an arm around my waist. “I’ve been thinking,” he says, his tone husky. “It is my birthday, and you do look very sexy in that dress…”

My eyes widen in hope. “Meet you upstairs in ten minutes?”

He smiles and leans in, pressing his lips softly to mine. “I’ll be there, Mrs. Byrne.”

I resist the urge to give a fist pump of victory. Instead, I trail a finger across his stubbly jaw. “Happy two-hundredth birthday, Logan,” I whisper, kissing him again before making a half-baked attempt at a sexy retreat back inside. In reality, I probably look like a melon on two toothpicks.

I’ve barely made it to the kitchen when I feel a sharp twinge in my pelvic area. I lean against the sink, shooting pains radiating up my side. Logan, who must have seen me stop, comes rushing through the french doors.

“Silver? Are you okay?”

Before I can answer, there is an odd sensation, like a release of pressure, and then a puddle of water splashes onto the floor at my feet.

Talk about killing the moment.

For the first time in the entire history of our relationship, I say, “I don’t think we should have sex.”

Logan stares between me and the wet patch on the floor in horror. “Is that…?”

I nod. “My water broke. We’re about to become parents.”

Order Juliet Lyons’s next book
in the Undead Dating Service series

Romancing the Undead

On sale October 2017