She has her eye on Hello Nasty Records, a coveted indie label that focuses on unique rock. Little does she know, my new manager has been in contact with them, negotiating a contract that I’m hoping will give her the kind of career she’s dreaming of with ample artistic control and the rights to hand-pick her own band. She’s still trying to decide if she wants to start over with a new crew or work something out with Stew and Chaz. I hope like hell that she’ll at least ditch Chaz since he’s made it clear he doesn’t like me and I’m convinced it’s because he’s jealous. In all honesty, he’s talented enough, but she could find better.
Since our return to the city, whenever she’s not working with her students or helping me hammer out ideas for the next Broken Euphoria album—including a few tracks she’ll be appearing on—she’s fixing up the studio apartment we purchased in the heart of SoHo a few weeks back. I decided the music room she’s been busting her ass remodeling needed one major addition before it would feel complete. And she deserves it for a shit-ton of reasons.
Belle lowers down to perch on the black padded bench in front of the grand piano, sitting tall before gently pressing down on a few of the ivory keys. A veil of dark hair falls down beside her face, curling beneath the swell of her breast. God help me, I’ve never seen anything more exquisite. My dick swells in anticipation of filling her again later.
“I wanted to give you something to commemorate your success,” I tell her. “You deserve it after your performance on this tour.”
Her dark brown eyes slide back in my direction as her subtle lips quirk. “What made you think I wouldn’t want chocolates or flowers like most girls?”
“Because you’re nothing like most girls.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I lean against the door frame and grin. “Thank fuck.”
With a quiet giggle, her attention swings back to the keys. She inhales deeply before her skilled fingers pick out a beautiful, haunting melody that I vaguely recognize.
“Wow, babe, you’ve been practicing,” I comment with an impressed grunt. “Sounds amazing.”
“What do you think I do at your grandma’s every Tuesday?”
“Talk about her charming grandson?” Chuckling, I cross the room to sit beside her. When I dust my fingertip down the bumps of her spine, she shivers. “What’re you playing?”
“The opening to ‘The Fighter.’ It’s one of my favorite In This Moment songs.” After a few more bars, her soulful, sexy voice that will one day sell millions of albums croons the lyrics.
As she continues the beautiful tune, eyes closed and neck tipped back, the words hit too close to home. My girl is a fighter and a survivor in every way imaginable. Some nights there’s no chance of sleeping when I remember what my father did to her, or even what she went through when she thought she had no other choice other than to let me go. Those five years are something we’ll never get back, but I sure as hell plan to spend the rest of our lives making up for them in every way possible.
With an ache in my chest, I push her hair over her shoulder and brush my lips over her smooth neck, breathing her delightful scent in. I’d give anything to stay locked away with her for all of eternity, consuming her in every way imaginable. Outside these walls there are too many goddamned forces with the potential to break us all over again.
Déjà vu ripples through me as I’m reminded of camp all those years ago when we were singing a duet together and I finally manned up enough to kiss her, then fucked it up with a stutter. There’s no forgetting how badly I wanted her to be mine and being terrified knowing she could decide to turn me down. And now that feeling is back, settling like a ball of concrete in my gut.
“Marry me,” I whisper through a tight throat.
Her fingers still. She stares down at the keys, unmoving.
My breath hitches. I will not fucking stutter.
“We can have a huge wedding or elope,” I continue, reaching across her waist to swing her around so she’s facing me. Thick tears fill her eyes. “I don’t care how we do it, baby. I just want to be able to call you something more meaningful than my girlfriend.”
Lips quivering, she reaches up to run her fingers along my jawline, but her expression remains neutral. It’s hard to say if she’s actually upset or on the verge of a smile.
A nervous, bubbling laugh rises in my chest. “Don’t leave me hanging here, B-belle.”
“I thought you hated the idea of marriage after what your parents put you through.”
“We’re nothing like them, and besides, you’re stuck with me for all eternity whether as your husband or lover.”