Epilogue
Three years later…
The painting hung above the fireplace in Helene Carlyle’s penthouse. Four feet wide by five feet tall, it was one of his larger pieces, but instead of Hughston’s well-known, if barely legible, scrawl of a signature in the bottom right-hand corner there was—in clearly visible red paint—Hudson’s signature. Helene had insisted. And then Felicia had agreed. He’d known when he was on the losing end of an argument and didn’t even try to charm his way out of signing one of his paintings with his real name for the first time ever.
“You know what I love most about that piece?” Felicia asked as she stepped next to him, barely avoiding the demon-speed whirlwind that was his nephew, Michael, as he ran toward the piano.
“That your soon-to-be husband at the time didn’t paint you in your underwear?” he asked, pulling her close.
“They’re pink tonight, by the way.”
He liked that answer. Every part of him liked that answer. “We can leave now.”
“Oh no, you’re not getting off that easily,” she said, nudging him back. “Everyone’s here to celebrate your show tomorrow at Everly’s gallery.”
And they were. Sawyer and Clover were out on the balcony looking over the city his brother helped construct as the only Carlyle brother still working at Carlyle Enterprises. Their son Michael, named after his dad, was leading Helene on a chase through the room. Clover’s parents were on the couch, laughing at all the commotion. And Tyler stood with his new wife by the piano, looking every bit like they were plotting world domination.
“Yeah, including Captain Clueless.” His brother may have totally made up with Tyler, but he was still holding a bit of a grudge. What could he say, he was a caveman who wanted to think he was the first and only for the woman he loved. “What she sees in him, I’ll never understand.”
Felicia rose onto her tiptoes and brushed a kiss across his cheek. “Hopefully the same thing I see in you.”
“A man with exceedingly talented hands?” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “And tongue? And—”
She just shook her head at him and grinned. “The man I love.”
“Is that why you made me ask you to marry me four hundred and eighty-two times before you said yes?” He started keeping a tally as a joke. He’d never expected it to get that high. After all, he was the charmer of the Carlyle family.
She shrugged. “I told you up front the timing wasn’t right.”
“That’s right. Getting married was on one of your not-to-do lists until you were thirty-three.” And like the stubborn woman she was, she’d stuck to that master plan.
“Tease me all you want. I know you love my lists—especially when they involve shopping trips to La Perla.”
God, did he ever. Who’d have ever thought that his favorite ant scientist could develop such a lingerie addiction—one he was more than happy to indulge.
“Speaking of panties, if the fact that you’re not in yours in the Carlyle family painting isn’t your favorite part, then what is?”
Felicia looked up at the painting, her gaze going soft behind her new red glasses. “That if you look at it from just the right angle, it looks like I have the beginnings of a pregnant belly.”
He suddenly felt dizzy. “You do not.”
“Oh, I do.” She took his hand in hers and placed it on her belly. “On canvas and soon in real life.”
The rest of the world disappeared as he looked down at his wife’s flat stomach, awe filling him from the bottom to the top. “When did you find out?”
“The doctor confirmed it this morning. I figured Eliza for a girl or Henry for a boy.”
She could pick the name Apple Rocket for all he cared; he was too damn excited to think names at the moment. However, that didn’t mean the artist in him didn’t immediately fixate on the possibilities. “I can’t wait to paint you in all your pregnant glory.”
Her eyes went wide, and she shook her head. “No way, the world has seen more than enough of me as it is.”
“Not me. I’ll never get enough of you on canvas, in my bed, by my side.” He dipped his head lower until his lips were nearly touching hers. “I love you, Felicia Hartigan Carlyle.”
“Never as much I love you,” she said as she melted into him. He’d just have to show her he loved her more later that evening.
He kissed her, not really caring if he ever successfully charmed her into posing for him again. He had something better than his muse on canvas. He had Felicia in his life. Forever. And it didn’t get better than that.
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