Two years later
“Oh my God. It’s here.” I stared at the shelf. “It’s here.”
“Of course it is. That’s why we came.” Vivian nudged me toward the bookcase. “Go! This is your moment.”
I didn’t move. I couldn’t quite process the sight in front of me.
The red spine. The name printed in white. The years of work and editing, all bound up in one paperback.
My debut novel Mistress in Waiting, sitting right there in the middle of my favorite bookstore’s thriller section.
A warm hand touched my back. “Congratulations,” Kai said. “You’re officially a published author.”
“I’m a published author,” I repeated. The words tasted ephemeral at first, but then they solidified, taking on the earthy flavor of reality. “That’s my book. Oh my God.” My heart rate accelerated. “I did it. I did it!”
My stupor snapped, and I threw my arms around him as the weight of my accomplishment sank in. He laughed, his face wreathed with pride as I squealed and did a little happy dance.
I didn’t care how stupid I looked because after all the agonizing, the failures, and the setbacks, I was finally a published author.
Jill Sherman had loved the revised manuscript and officially offered me representation two years ago. She shopped the book around, and after a couple of nibbles but no bites from the big houses, I signed with a small but well-respected publisher who was building out their thriller imprint. Now, after endless edits and revisions, it was out in the world.
I wasn’t going to turn into Nora Roberts or Dan Brown overnight, but I didn’t care. I finished my story, I loved it, and that was all that mattered.
I was already in the middle of drafting the sequel. Kai read it in chunks as I wrote it, which made the process much smoother than the original. It was hard to get lost in my own head when he was always there to pull me out.
But even if he weren’t there, I’d have an easier time. I’d developed a routine that worked for me, and I put less pressure on myself to write a perfect first draft. Everything got edited and revised to hell before it went to the printers anyway.
Once I released my need for perfection, the words flowed. There were still days when I wanted to tear my hair out over sentences that wouldn’t form or a scene that wouldn’t crystallize, but for the most part, I was really fucking excited to work on the story.
After years of drifting, I’d finally found my purpose—to create, both for myself and others.
“Let’s take a picture,” Alessandra suggested. “We need to commemorate the moment.” She, Vivian, and Sloane had accompanied me for moral support.
I was no longer working at Floria Designs, but it was always supposed to be a temporary job. Alessandra had built a great team since I left, and the small business was thriving. The same couldn’t be said of her relationship with Dominic, but that was a whole other story.
I plucked one of the copies off the shelf and posed with it. It was probably the cheesiest picture I’d ever taken; I couldn’t wait to print and frame it.
“Turn two inches to your left,” Sloane ordered. “Now lift your chin, smile…smile some more…perfect.”
She was such a perfectionist that her photos took forever, but they came out so good that no one complained.
I held onto the book after the picture, reveling in its weight and texture. I’d received advance copies from my publisher, but until that moment, it didn’t feel real.
This was mine, from concept to execution. I’d taken an idea and created a whole world, one that other people could enter and get lost in. Every book was a footprint in history, and I’d made my mark.
A lump formed in my throat as my tiny seed of pride blossomed into a full-grown tree, roots and all.
My phone buzzed with an incoming FaceTime call. Felix’s face filled half the screen when I answered. Behind him, Miguel and Romero poked their heads above his so they could see too.
“Well?” he said, skipping his usual greeting. “Is it there? Show us!”
“It is.” I grinned, swinging the camera around to show the paperbacks of Mistress in Waiting sitting pretty on the shelf. “If you’re nice to me, I’ll autograph one for you.”
“We don’t get a family exception? That’s cold.” Miguel shook his head. “Just published and you’re already forgetting about us.”
“It’s a natural progression,” Romero said. “The cost of celebrity.”
“Oh, be quiet, you two. Stop teasing your sister.” My mother’s voice appeared before she did. Felix stepped to the side, and her gentle features replaced his chiseled ones onscreen. “Oh, look at that,” she breathed. “Your name on the cover! I’m so proud of you. Now, make sure to send copies to your relatives in the Philippines, or I’ll never hear the end of it when I go back—”
“Isa!” My lola shoved my mother aside and peered at me. Her wrinkles seemed to have doubled since the last time I saw her, but her eyes were as sharp as ever. “Let me see. Hmm. Are those cufflinks on the cover? I can’t tell. Eyesight’s not so good these days. Arturo!” she yelled, calling my grandfather. “Get over here. Do those look like cufflinks to you?”
I laughed, warmth fizzing in my chest as my family shoved and argued on the other side of the screen. They were a mess sometimes, but they were my mess, and they’d been incredibly supportive of my publishing journey. Most of them anyway.
My smile faded when Gabriel showed up. He was the last to get on the call, and his stern, solemn demeanor was a marked contrast to my other brothers’ teasing.
“Congratulations,” he said. “Publishing a book is a big accomplishment.”
“Thanks.” I hugged it tighter to my body with my free arm. “Proved you wrong, didn’t I?” I said it lightly, but we both knew I wasn’t joking.
“You did.” To my shock, a tiny curve of his mouth softened the severity of his expression. “And I’ve never been happier to be wrong.”
My voice stuck in my throat. I was so thrown off by Gabriel’s answer I couldn’t summon a proper response.
He hated being wrong. I thought he wanted to see me fail just to prove he was right about my flakiness, but he looked genuinely happy for me. Well, as happy as Gabriel could look, which was still dour by normal standards.
Maybe I wasn’t the only one in the family who’d underestimated a sibling.
“Oh.” I coughed, heat coating my skin. “Um, thank you.”
Perhaps I should’ve seen his reaction coming. I came into my inheritance last year after he and my mother agreed that my finished manuscript and book deal met the clause’s terms. My mother had done most of the talking during our call, but Gabriel had voted yes on giving me the money. That counted for something, right?
“You’re welcome,” he said. “I’ll see you in a few months for Mom’s birthday. Hopefully, you’ll have started your second book by then. You can’t make a career off of one.”
I rolled my eyes as our moment of sibling bonding evaporated. It was nice to see Gabriel hadn’t changed that much.
When I hung up, my friends had drifted over to a non-fiction display featuring Leo Agnelli’s new travel memoir and a former Black & Co. executive’s tell-all detailing the company’s demise. Alessandra kept checking and pocketing her phone. It was probably Dominic calling—and getting ignored—for the hundredth time. Good. The man deserved to suffer a little. Kai, on the other hand, was flipping through the latest Ruby Leigh.
“No,” I said. “Absolutely not. You’re not allowed to ruin her by translating her into Latin.”
“I hardly understand how that would ruin her,” he said, sounding offended. “I can translate Wilma Pebbles, but I can’t translate Ruby Leigh? You love both of them.”
He hadn’t done many Latin translations lately because he was so busy at the office. The work of a CEO never ended, especially not after the DigiStream acquisition, and its integration with the Young Corporation had taken over his life for months. Fortunately, it’d gone as smoothly as he’d hoped.
I guess he had time to indulge in his hobbies again, but I refused to let him touch my favorite author.
“I do love both of them, but I only let you translate Wilma so I can watch you struggle to find the right phrase for dinosaur dick in Latin.”
Another laugh bubbled in my throat when he placed the book back on the shelf and pulled me toward him with a mock threatening scowl.
“You should be glad it’s your big day, or I wouldn’t let that slide.” Kai stroked the back of my neck with his thumb. “How does it feel to be a published author?”
“Pretty damn amazing.” My face softened. I’d moved in with Kai last year, but no matter how many mornings I woke up next to him or how many nights we fell asleep together, I couldn’t quite get over the fact that this amazing man was mine. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Yes, you could have.” His mouth skimmed mine in a gentle kiss. “But I’m glad we were able to do it together.”
He’d been there through the late nights, the caffeine crashes, and the mid-edit breakdowns. Yes, I could’ve survived them on my own, but he made the journey so much better. He always did.
I smiled and returned his kiss. “Me too.”
KAI
“Are you cheating?” Miguel demanded. “There’s no way you can win this many times in a row. It’s statistically impossible.”
“I don’t cheat.” I cleared the Scrabble board of tiles. “I simply have a large vocabulary.”
“Don’t bother arguing,” Isabella said over her family’s groans and protests. “He’s insufferable when it comes to board games.”
“To any game,” Romero muttered, obviously still smarting over his tennis loss earlier that day.
Isabella’s family and I were gathered at her mother’s house in Los Angeles for Christmasbirthdaynewyearpalooza, which they’d finally shortened to CBNYP. When I suggested the solution at last year’s celebration, they’d stared at me like I’d sprouted an extra head. Apparently, shortening the ridiculously long name into an acronym had never crossed their mind.
It was my second year celebrating with them, and I was comfortable enough that I no longer held back when it came to our games and activities.
We’d started the day with piano performances in honor of Isabella’s father. She’d played a Chopin piece while I followed it up with the “Hammerklavier.” My rendition had come a long way since the stunning realization that Isabella could outplay me years ago. After much practice, I’d perfected it to the point where even her lolo greeted its conclusion with tears in his eyes.
Isabella insisted I owed my improvement not to practice but to finding the thing I’d been “lacking.”
Heart.
Which was ridiculous. Practice made perfect, not heart. But I kept her close to me anyway.
“What’s next? I don’t think I can stand losing another round to Mr. Vocabularian here,” Clarissa quipped.
In her jeans, tank top, and sandals, she looked wildly different from the pearls and tweed-wearing socialite who’d moved to Manhattan two years ago.
Clarissa and Felix officially started dating not long after Isabella and I got back together. She’d moved to L.A. last year and currently worked at the local museum where he was the artist in residence. Her parents had pitched a fit, but there wasn’t much they could do about it, and California suited her. She seemed happier and more relaxed here than she ever had in New York.
“Darts,” I said, exchanging a quick glance with Felix. “Last game of the day.”
This time, Isabella was the one who groaned. “I’m convinced you’re doing this on purpose,” she said as we walked out to the backyard. “You keep choosing the activities I’m not—oh my God.”
Her steps came to an abrupt halt. She stared, open mouthed, at the sight before her.
With her brothers’ help, I’d replicated the balloon wall from our first unofficial date in Bushwick. We woke up at the crack of dawn that morning to set it up, but it was worth it for the shock on her face.
“How did you do this?” Isabella breathed.
“With an overabundance of caffeine and assistance from your brothers,” I said. “I figured everyone should experience this at least once in their lives. Also, Gabriel is a big Princess Diaries 2 fan.”
He glared at me from his spot next to the darts. “I’m not a fan,” he said. “I enjoy the storyline. That’s all.”
Our rocky relationship had smoothed since he confronted me in the hotel bar two years ago, but we were too similar in too many ways to ever be best friends.
“Sure.” Romero smirked. “That’s why you make us rewatch it every Christmas.”
“I don’t make you do anything,” Gabriel snapped. “I don’t have time for this foolishness. Lola needs my help.” He spun on his heel and marched stiffly to where Isabella’s grandmother was trying to open a jar of salsa.
“It’s not CBNYP if Gabe doesn’t get pissy over something,” Isabella said with a laugh. She went on her tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss on my mouth. “Thank you for putting up with my family. I know they can be a lot sometimes.”
“I like them. They’re entertaining.” I looped an arm around her waist and grinned down at her. “Besides, you put up with my parents’ vow renewal, so I owe you.”
We both shuddered at the memory.
My parents officially renewed their vows seven months ago in a lavish ceremony on Jade Cay. The ceremony itself had been beautiful; the preparations leading up to it had not. My mother had roped Isabella into helping her and Abigail plan the event, which meant I’d been roped into helping with the event. I still had nightmares about tulle and floral designs.
“Quit the PDA. It’s sickening.” Miguel shoved a dart in each of our hands. “C’mon. Let’s get this show going. The sun is about to set.”
Isabella had gotten better at darts, but her aim was still fifty-fifty. I was counting on her skills to fall on the worse end of the spectrum today.
Nerves played beneath my skin as she shifted her stance and drew her arm up. The late afternoon sunlight found her, spinning purple-black silk with gold and etching shadows across her bronzed skin. Her brows furrowed, and despite my anxiety, I couldn’t help but smile at her concentration.
We’d been together for two years, but I would never get over the fact that she was mine.
The dart whizzed through the air and bounced harmlessly off the wall.
Relief wisped through me, followed by a second barrage of nerves.
“Dammit.” Isabella huffed, seemingly oblivious to my inner turmoil and the way her family slipped back inside the house. “I appreciate you taking the time to set this up. I really do. But next year, you have to choose something I’m good at, like a timed shopping spree or reading marathon.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I fished a folded scrap of paper from the jar and handed it to her. A tiny blue dot marked the corner. “In the meantime, here’s your question.”
She sighed and unfolded the slip. “I swear, if I have to talk about my biggest fear again…” Her sentence trailed off.
I’d written what I wanted to say before I said it, and when she looked up from the note, her eyes glossy and mouth trembling, I was already on one knee. A dazzling diamond glittered in the open ring box in my hand.
We’d had to face plenty of tough questions to get to where we were today, but my next question was the hardest and easiest one of all.
“Isabella Valencia, will you marry me?”
