My Rules (Kingston Lane Book 2)
My Rules: Epilogue

Twelve months later

The dinner table erupts into laughter, and I smile as I watch the game.

Carol, Taryn, and Chloe are on the couch talking to Juliet, and Winston is playing cards with Antony, Blake, and Henley. I’m bouncing Hannah on my lap; she looks up at me with her big blue eyes and tries to grab my necklace. “Hey.” I smile.

“Hey,” she coos right back.

The cutest little baby girl that you ever did see.

“You are one hundred percent cheating,” Henley tells Antony.

“I am not,” he scoffs. “You’re just a sore loser.”

Blake smirks as he looks at his cards, and I get the feeling that he’s the one who’s cheating.

Some things never change, and yet some things do. Life is different for me now.

I live with Blake in his house. Our life is filled with love and laughter, and I guess, as the saying goes, time does heal all wounds.

I’m laughing my way through life with my best friend.

“Could you be any cluckier, Bec?” Juliet teases.

“Not really.” I bounce Hannah as I hold her little hands in mine.

Blake’s eyes are glued to his hand of cards. He’s deep in concentration.

“Give the woman a baby, Grayson,” Henley mutters.

“I want to be married before I have a baby,” I announce.

Blake chews on a toothpick, his eyes not rising for even a second. “You’re as subtle as a Mack truck, Rebecca.”

Everyone chuckles. It’s become a joke between us now. I want to get married, and Blake won’t hear a word of it.

“He’s going to ask me any day,” I tease.

“No way,” he mutters as he pulls a card out of his hand and throws it down onto the table.

“Way.” I widen my eyes. “Henley, I want my ring back out of your safe.”

“Not happening, Dalton,” Blake says as he collects the cards. He scoops them up into his hand. “I’ve still got PTSD from last time.”

Everyone laughs.

“Keep going, and I’m going to have to ask you,” I warn him.

“Good,” he fires back. “I can’t wait to say no.”

I smile. He acts so tough . . . but deep down, we all know the truth.

Everyone chuckles and goes back to their conversations.

Maybe I actually should ask him?

Hmm . . .

Blake

The chatter from the golfing green fills the street, and as I walk over to them, I check the mailbox. I shuffle through the mail as I stand on the driveway and get to one and stop still.

Nooky Nights

Kingston Lane

What?

I tear the letter open at double speed. “The fuck is this?”

I haven’t thought about Nooky Nights for months.

Dear Nooky Nights,

Thank you for your recent inquiry.

We adored your story about Lazarus and Freya and were swept away with your writing.

We would love to offer you a publishing contract. However, our emails to you keep bouncing back.

Please contact us as soon as possible, as we don’t have another means to contact you apart from this mailing address.

Sincerely,

Dark and Dangerous Publishing House

“What the hell?” I march over to the boys. “Look at this.” I hold the letter out, and Henley takes it from me and begins to read.

“The fuck . . .”

“What is it?” Ant asks.

“Hey there, cutie.” I touch the end of Hannah’s cute little button nose. She’s in a sling on Henley’s chest. Her favorite pastime is playing golf with us.

“Shit.” Henley passes the letter to Antony, and he begins to read.

Antony’s mouth falls open, and he looks up at us. “I told you that story was fucking good.”

“What good is it, though, if it doesn’t ever get published? Someone on Kingston Lane is sitting on a gold mine, and they don’t even know it.”

“We have to replace who wrote it.”

“But how?”

“Well . . . we know it’s definitely not Rebecca,” I reply.

“True.”

I glance over and see Carol talking to Winston on her front steps. “How come those two are so friendly lately?”

“Fuck knows,” Henley mutters. Hannah starts to fuss. “I have to go in.”

“But what about Nooky?” I call after him.

He holds his hands up. “Fuck knows.”

“Stop cursing. Hannah can hear you,” I call. “She’s going to learn the word fuck.”

He gives me the bird as he disappears inside.

“Hmm.” Ant reads the letter again. “I reckon just ask everyone.”

“But then their secret will be out. Whoever wrote it wants it to be kept private.”

He holds his hands up. “I don’t know, man.”

“Blake,” Rebecca calls.

I glance up to see Bec standing on our front steps. “Dinner’s ready. Got to go.”

“See you.” Ant keeps putting the ball.

I walk back into the house to see everything in darkness and a trail of candles leading from the front door.

“Huh?” I frown. “Bec?”

“In here.”

I walk into the kitchen and see a mass of candles on the table and little dishes of lasagna.

“What the . . .” I frown.

It’s then that I see the lasagnas are in letter tins.

MARRY ME

I spin around to see Rebecca on one knee. “Blake Grayson.”

I smirk.

“Will you do me the honor of becoming my husband?”

“What do you mean?” I tease.

“Will you marry me?” She smiles up at me, all hopeful.

“What kind of marriage—”

“Blake,” she snaps, cutting me off, “don’t push your luck.”

I drop to my knees in front of her. “You took your damn time, woman.” I smirk.

She smiles. “Is that a yes?”

“That’s an abso-fucking-lutely.” I kiss her softly as I take her face in my hands. Our lips linger over each other’s as we bask in the moment.

“Oh . . . just a minute.” I get up as I remember something. “Stay there.”

“What?” She frowns as she stays kneeling.

I take the stairs two at a time and run into the spare room and reach under the bed. I feel and feel . . . Where is the fucking thing?

Got it.

I run back downstairs and open the ring box. Her yellow diamond rings sits proudly on display.

“Oh,” she gasps. “You told me you returned this.”

I take her hand and slide it onto her finger. “I never gave up on my dream of marrying you.”

Her eyes well with tears. “I love you, Blake Grayson.”

“I can tell by the marry-me lasagna.” I smile against her lips.

“The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, right?”

I chuckle. “We’re a match made in heaven already.”

Rebecca

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The priest smiles. “You may kiss your bride.”

Blake takes my face in his hands and kisses me as our friends and family all cheer.

We did it.

Husband and wife. We made it.

He takes my hand, and we make our way out of the church as everyone throws confetti.

We laugh and smile, take photos and bask in the glory.

We made it.

“Speech,” everyone calls.

Blake holds his hands up and stands, and I smile as I look up at him.

We had a traditional wedding, and now we’re at the reception. He looks so handsome in his black dinner suit.

This is the happiest I’ve ever seen him.

He picks up the microphone. “Hello.” He gives a sexy smile to the crowd, and everyone laughs, unsure what to expect.

This man is so exuberant.

“Hello,” he says loudly.

“Hello,” everyone calls back.

He looks out over the beautiful event room at our closest friends and family. “Thank you for coming today. It means a lot to us to have such beautiful people in our lives.”

I smile up at him as I listen.

“Now . . . many of you are here because you think I fell in love with Rebecca Dalton.”

“Aren’t you?” Henley mutters, and Antony chuckles.

“But that’s not actually how it happened.”

I frown, and the crowd laughs out loud.

Oh hell . . .

What is he going to say?

I smile nervously as everyone laughs hysterically. I never know what’s going to come out of Blake’s mouth at any given time.

“You see, the word falling indicates that it was an accident.” His eyes replace mine. “I didn’t accidentally fall in love with Rebecca. I knew the sound of her heartbeat, craved the feel of her touch.” He gives me a slow, sexy smile. “I purposefully walked into love with open arms, an open heart, and a dream to make her mine.”

The crowd swoons.

“Praying to god that one day, she would hopefully learn to love me back.”

His silhouette blurs.

“We didn’t take it the easy way.” His eyebrows flick up as if he’s unimpressed.

Everyone laughs again.

“But I wouldn’t change a thing, because it brought us to where we are today.” He bends and kisses me softly. “Even though she’s a giant crybaby.”

Everyone breaks into laughter again as I chuckle through my tears and swat him away.

He’s completely right.

“So, I would like to propose a toast to my beautiful wife, Rebecca Grayson.” The crowd cheers once more. “I love you, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life making you happy.” He raises his glass in the air. “To my Rebecca.”

“To your Rebecca,” the crowd cheers.

Paris

The final destination of our wonderful six-week honeymoon around Europe.

We’ve been to the most beautiful places and seen the most incredible things. Tomorrow we fly home, and I start work on Monday.

We are at the Eiffel Tower, ambling along the promenade and eating ice cream.

Blake digs his phone out of his pocket and frowns when he looks at the screen. “Why is Antony awake and calling me at this time?”

I shrug. “Probably can’t sleep.”

“Hey,” he answers. His face falls, and he stops on the spot. “Calm down. I can’t understand you.”

What’s happened?

“What?” His eyes widen before he closes them and drags his hand through his hair. “Oh my god.”

“What?” I mouth. “What happened?”

“I’m so sorry,” he says as his eyes cloud over. “Yeah.” He listens. “Okay.” He closes his eyes. “Okay, when do you go?” He listens again. “Hang on.”

He covers the phone with his hand. “Antony’s brother and his wife have been killed in a car accident in Thailand while on vacation.”

“Oh no,” I whisper.

“Their three kids are with the hotel babysitters, and Ant has to go and collect them. He needs help.”

“Go meet him in Thailand. Of course,” I stammer.

He picks the phone back up. “Okay, I’ll be on the first flight. Text me the hotel.” He listens again. “Ant . . . it’s going to be okay.” He listens again. “I promise you, it’s going to be okay. I’ll see you and Henley soon.”

He hangs up, and his eyes come to meet mine.

“Those poor little babies,” I whisper.

“Three little ones under four.”

“Oh no.”

“It gets worse.” He drags his two hands through his hair. “Much worse.”

“How can it get any worse than that?” I gasp in horror.

“Being a lawyer, Antony did his brother’s will two years ago.”

“And?”

“Her parents have passed, and she’s an only child. Antony’s parents are in Italy and very elderly. Antony’s the last . . .” His voice trails off.

“I don’t understand.”

“They left the kids to him.”

My eyes widen as I put the puzzle together.

Dear god.