Epilogue
Eleven months later…
Relatives, well wishers, and neighbors packed the Avana’s small backyard to celebrate Sofia’s quinceañera. Today was her fifteenth birthday, a girl’s official entry into womanhood.
Dante read his little sister the riot act. “Remember, you’re still a baby. No boys, driving, or makeup for years.”
Their five brothers—Hector aka Tor, Miguel, Angelo, Juan, and Eduardo—nodded solemnly.
Lauren could tell the guys were teasing. They struggled not to smile.
Their macho humor was totally lost on Sofia. Like a typical teenager, she rolled her eyes and looked to Lauren for support.
Lauren tried out her Spanish. “No tienes un tatuaje y te irá muy bien.” Just don’t get a tattoo and you’ll be fine.
Sofia screwed up her pretty face.
Lauren wasn’t sure why. “Did I say that wrong?”
“You nailed it.” Dante bumped her shoulder. “And you’re absolutely right. Sofia shouldn’t get a dog. She’s too young and irresponsible for something that serious.”
“Wait.” Lauren held up her hands. “I didn’t say anything about a dog. I was talking about tattoos. That she shouldn’t get one.”
“As if I would.” Sofia crossed her arms. With her sparkly tiara and ball gown, she looked like a petulant princess. “Tattoos are gross. Now piercings…” She sighed wistfully. “Mmmm, tan caliente.” So hot.
Lauren smiled. “Too bad you’ll have to be forty or so before anyone at Wicked Brand will give you one. Isn’t that right, Dante?”
“It’s worse than that.” He slung his arm around Lauren’s shoulders. She leaned into her man, his size, strength, and heat solid and welcome. “Her kids are going to have to be in their fifties before I say okay to any piercing.”
Sofia’s laughter pealed above the Spanish music and countless conversations. “Get real.” Wide-eyed, she looked at Lauren. “How do you put up with him?”
Lauren patted Dante’s hard belly. Today, he’d worn a white guayabera shirt, lightly embroidered, the same as his hotter-than-sin brothers. Come Monday, Dante would be back in a suit. “He knows how to make real food.”
“Not that it’s necessary.” He tightened his arm around her. “Lauren isn’t half bad in the kitchen. Although I have to say her Spanish is way better than her cooking.”
“Damn.” Tor shook his head. “You’re in trouble man.”
Lauren pointed at him. “I heard that.”
Tor gave her a sexy smile, the same as he did Wicked Brand’s many female clients. He was now a tattoo artist at the parlor, his talent as great as Van Gogh’s. To advertise their skill to passing tourists, Lauren had him and Van Gogh inking customers in the front window, as long as no intimate body parts were involved. That alone had increased foot traffic by 40 percent given their incredible designs.
To entice tourists further, Tor’s drawings and Van Gogh’s paintings graced the parlor walls. On average, they sold several pieces each month with that number continuing to rise.
Since Lauren had taken over the business, the local press had covered Wicked Brand on several occasions. Tor had become a legend on the area TV stations. Van Gogh said he’d rather ink his own eyeballs than ever be on camera. Recently, a major magazine had run a spread about Wicked Brand. Lauren now devoted herself strictly to marketing and HR. Jasmina, who was sailing through her college classes, managed the place as Dante once had.
He’d left the parlor eight months earlier to accept a partnership in Scott’s firm and fought for people who needed a champion on their side.
Money still didn’t matter to him. Lauren didn’t care about it, either, any longer.
Funny thing, they now had more dough than they knew what to do with. Wicked Brand was turning an enormous profit. After giving everyone a huge raise and setting up medical, dental, 401(k) plans, and profit sharing for the staff, Lauren had plowed the remaining funds into the business to help it thrive.
She never wanted the staff to worry about losing their jobs. She never wanted to work for anyone but herself.
With her salary and Dante’s, which was ginormous, they’d paid off her student loans and had bought a modest home in West Palm Beach, took care of his relatives who needed help, and added to the college funds for his younger brothers and both sisters.
Gaby was off to the side, speaking quietly and demurely to her boyfriend.
Sofia boogied hard with a gangly young man. Dante’s father, still strikingly handsome, watched the couple carefully. Dante’s mother, a pleasingly plump woman with a pretty face, wasn’t as discreet. She hurried over to her youngest daughter and said something that not only put distance between Sofia and the boy but also kept them from wiggling their respective booties.
Lauren gave Mrs. Avana a thumbs-up. The woman smiled broadly, then danced back to her husband, who grinned at Lauren. She blinked back grateful tears at how easily they’d accepted her into their lives, loving her as Dante did.
For the first time in forever, she had a family. Her mom could rest easy now, because Lauren wasn’t alone any longer. She wondered again if Frank had wanted this for her and Dante when he’d given her the parlor. She hoped he had, wishing she could have thanked him, needing to forgive.
The booming music the teens had put on stopped, replaced by a slow Spanish ballad. The kids groaned loudly. The adults ignored them.
Dante eased Lauren into his arms and swayed to the sensuous beat. It filled the sultry air along with wonderful scents from flowers, Cuban food, and his clean, musky fragrance. His hips pressed into hers. As usual, he sported an erection.
“Careful.” She pressed her cheek to his shoulder. “Your mom’s gonna come storming over here to tell you to behave.”
He clucked his tongue as his mother frequently did with hers. “I’m a man. I can do what I want.”
Lauren snickered. “Think again, babe. Her balls are bigger than yours, Jasmina’s, and your dad’s combined.”
Dante’s shoulders shook with his laughter. “Good point.” He sighed contentedly. “I’ll misbehave later tonight.”
That he would, and she’d join him, whether it was in their backyard pool, in their bedroom, or in countless places around West Palm Beach. So far, they’d made love in the park, at the carousel again, on the beach, in his office at the firm, and on the roof at Wicked Brand. Moments that had been dangerous and hot.
The best, though, were the quiet times when they simply gazed at each other, content with their lives. They weren’t only lovers but friends who finished each other’s sentences, disagreed without causing hurt, and were simply comfortable being together. For Lauren, that was the sexiest thing of all.
Melting into Dante, she moved with him through the dance as she would through life.
Finally at peace. Finally at home.
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