One Last Shot: Epilogue

“I got it!” Jackson gasps as she comes running through the open doors of the house to the pool out back.

Sierra, Lauren, and I look up from the lounge chairs we’re relaxing on under umbrellas. For the past twenty minutes we’ve been the judges for our significant others’ diving competition, where each dive has gotten more ridiculous because they’re nothing if not competitive.

“Got what?” Sierra asks, then groans as she pushes herself up to a full sitting position. She folds her legs under her so she’s sitting crisscross with her adorable baby belly resting on her thighs. The girl is glowing, her skin radiant and her long blond hair piled into a messy bun on top of her head; she looks like she’s going to have this baby any minute, even though she’s not due for another two and a half months.

Jackson pulls a rolled-up magazine out from behind her back and walks around the pool to bring it over to us. I’m splayed across the cover in a white pantsuit with the black letters of the Vogue masthead above me. I’m sitting with my knees spread out, the heels of nude Louboutins pegged over the rungs of a black stool. One of my hands is resting on the stool between my legs and the other on my hip as I lean forward. The low-cut blazer shows a tasteful amount of cleavage, and my dark curls fan out over my shoulders. My lips match the red soles of my shoes.

Even though I’ve seen the photo before, and knew this was coming, it still takes me by surprise. “How . . .?”

“I only had to go to two stores to find it,” Jackson says excitedly.

“Three,” Nate coughs out from behind her, “but who’s counting?”

She rolls her eyes before turning toward him. “Obviously not you.”

Nate’s got two six-packs in his hands and heads toward the built-in cooler of the outdoor bar area on the opposite side of the pool.

Jackson sits down on the foot of my lounge chair, her ankles crossed and knees pressed together. Her white empire waist dress falls around her baby bump. Jackson’s only a month behind Sierra, but she barely looks pregnant. She was so sick for the first four months of her pregnancy that she actually lost weight, and now she just has the perfect little belly—enough that you can tell she’s pregnant, but you’d never guess she’s so far along.

“What’s that say over the photo?” Lauren asks. She sets her margarita on the table beside her lounge chair and leans over toward Sierra so she can see the magazine better.

“Unstoppable Power, Meet Sex Appeal,” Jackson says.

I roll my eyes. “I begged them not to go with that,” I tell my friends. I hate the way it makes it seem like the two things are exclusive, like it’s an anomaly to be powerful and have sex appeal.

When water drips over my head, I look up in time to see Sasha’s lips descending toward my forehead.

“It’s out,” he says, a bit of awe in his voice, as he rains wet kisses across my hairline. We knew the magazine was releasing this weekend, but I’d honestly hoped to avoid it, and the spotlight, given that we would be away on our vacation.

I reach up and run my fingers through his longer locks. Every member of his team refused to cut their hair this entire season, and even though they lost in the semifinals over a month ago, he still hasn’t cut it. Half the time he’s got it up in a man bun, which isn’t a look I thought I liked until I saw it on him.

Jackson makes a dramatic show of flipping to the article, then clears her throat.

“Petra Ivanova has a face that you just know you’ve seen somewhere, even if you can’t quite place her. But these days, the number of people who aren’t sure how they know her is dwindling. With an Emmy award-winning talk show under her belt, the former Olympic skier, model, and event planner opened up to Vogue about some of the challenges her newfound fame has brought. ‘I really value my privacy, and privacy for my family,’ Ivanova tells me when we meet for coffee on the terrace of the penthouse apartment overlooking Central Park that she shares with her husband, hockey player Alex Ivanov, and their seven-year-old daughter. ‘I know that with my career and my husband’s career, it’s not realistic to believe we can remain out of the public eye, but we used to at least be able to walk down the street without being recognized.’”

Sierra runs her hand up and down my leg like she’s soothing me. “Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I know that famous people problems are not real problems.”

“Petra, acknowledging that you wish you had more privacy in life doesn’t make you a bad person, or ungrateful,” Lauren says. “You didn’t agree to do the show because you were looking to become a household name.”

“Yeah, but what did she think would happen after everyone found out how fabulous she is?” Jackson teases as she swats my knee with the magazine.

Behind me, Sasha chuckles. “Right? That’s what I’ve been telling her all along.” He rests his hands on my shoulders and gives me a supportive squeeze.

I already know I’m awesome, but for those moments when the doubt or anxiety creep in, or on days like today where it starts to feel like maybe it’s too much—too invasive, too taxing, too overwhelming—it’s good to have a support group who believes in me as much as, or more than, I believe in myself.

“Oh, wow.” Jackson sighs as she holds the magazine back up. “They reference ‘The Kiss.’”

“Oh God,” I groan, rolling my eyes back as I tilt my head up to look at Sasha. It may have been one of the best moments of my life, but I’ve been forced to live it on repeat, nonstop for the last year. Everyone remembers it. Everyone brings it up. It’s the romantic grand gesture that will not die. “You made the whole freaking world fall in love with you that day, you know?”

He raises his eyebrows and gives me a small shrug.

“Let’s hear it,” Sierra says, leaning toward Jackson so she can see the print. “Ooh, they included a photo of it too.”

Lauren reaches across the space between our lounge chairs and takes my fingertips in hers as Jackson reads, “Maybe it’s true that there was a time that the two could walk down the street together incognito, but that all changed a year ago when New York clinched the Stanley Cup in game seven of the finals. The team celebrated on the ice as each player took his turn skating a lap around New York’s home rink with the Cup hoisted high above his head. Quietly and without ceremony, Alex Ivanov skated away from his teammates, over to the side of the rink. There, he kissed his hand and pressed it up against the glass in front of a beautiful woman wearing his jersey. On the other side, she kissed her fingers in return, and held them up against his. Fans near her caught the moment on video and everyone realized she was wearing a wedding ring. His wedding ring, as it turns out.

“Despite his long tenure on the team and his role as team captain, Ivanov mostly stayed out of the public eye, preferring to lead quietly by example. That all changed the night he skated over to his wife instead of basking in winning the Stanley Cup. But the two are secretive about their marriage. Ask them how long they’ve been married and they’ll tell you ‘a while’ . . .” Jackson trails off and looks up at me. “Do they only care about your marriage? What about your career?”

“Calm your outrage,” Sierra says. “I’m sure it’s all in there. They’re just starting out with how everyone first learned who Petra was.”

“That’s bullshit,” Jackson says. “Her show had already aired and been picked up for a second season before that even happened.”

Sasha is running his thumb up and down my neck—our secret signal that one of us is ready to leave.

“It’s all in there. Aleksandr and I have both read it,” I say, nodding up at my husband, “so while this is all new and fun for you, I’m getting bored of hearing about myself. I think we’ll go get ready for dinner.”

“We don’t need to leave for”—Lauren looks at her phone—“almost two hours.”

“Yeah, but I’m hot and sweaty and you know how long it takes for me to wash this hair,” I point to the rat’s nest of curls currently pulled back into a ponytail as I stand.

“Uh huh,” Sierra nods, her lips between her teeth like she’s trying not to laugh. “You go have fun ‘getting ready.’”

We turn to walk back into the house at the same time they all burst out laughing.

“They definitely know we’re leaving to have sex,” he says as he clasps my hand in his, “and I couldn’t care less.”

“Finally alone,” Sasha breathes into my neck as he pulls me up against him. We’ve only made it three steps into our bedroom.

“If I’d known you were trying to get me alone, I’d have made an excuse to come inside much sooner.” Thank goodness for our sign, I think as I run my hand through his hair. I can’t believe how sexy I find him with this shoulder-length hair.

“I’m always trying to get you alone.” He nips at my neck, grazing his teeth along the length of my skin until his lips are at my earlobe.

“Does that mean you don’t like hanging out with my friends?” I ask. This isn’t the first time we’ve all hung out together, and every time I’m thankful for how at ease he seems with my friends’ husbands. But this is the first time we’ve gone away on vacation together.

“You know I like your friends,” he says, then trails his tongue across my earlobe. “But this is the first time we’ve been away without Stella, and I want as much time with you as possible before we go back to being parents.”

“You have no idea how much things are about to change,” I tell him, but I can’t keep the affection out of my voice. “When we get back, shit’s about to get real.”

He steps back and drops his hands to the concave curve of my belly. “Shit’s already real. But I can’t wait for it to get even real-er.” He drops to his knees and unties the long white kimono where the belt is strategically tied around my waist, hiding the still-small bump that we’re told is a girl. “You really don’t want to tell your friends yet?”

“This is Jackson and Sierra’s joint babymoon. It’s lovely that they wanted to include us, but we don’t need to steal their thunder. We can tell them once we’re back.”

“Earlier you didn’t want to tell them because you wanted them to enjoy being pregnant at the same time, and didn’t want to pull the attention away from that and onto you. Don’t you think they’ll be thrilled that we’re having a baby too?”

“I do,” I assure him. “But right now, this is their thing.”

He kisses my belly button, then looks up at me from his knees. “You. Are. Beautiful.” The words are reverent. His lips meet my belly again, and this time they are hungry. He trails his tongue down to the triangle of fabric that makes up the front of my bikini bottoms as he slides his hands over to my hips. With one tug on either side, he has them untied and falling to the floor.

“God, I’ve missed this,” he says as he leans forward.

“It’s only been since lunch—” I’m about to remind him of our quickie in the pool house bathroom a few hours ago, but my words die in my mouth as his tongue flicks out and the warm smoothness of it slides across that sensitive ball of nerves at the junction between my legs. I can’t help the moan that escapes my throat and shoots right past my lips. Pregnancy has given me an insatiable appetite for sex—there’s no limit to the number of times I want him to make me come every day. I’m told this is normal, and luckily he’s happy to serve my every need while I grow this child of ours inside me.

His fingertips run up my calf to the sensitive flesh behind my knee and his touch is a current that sends shockwaves throughout my body. He lifts my knee and places it over his shoulder, then rains kisses up my inner thigh until his mouth is back between my legs. He’s so close, but he doesn’t touch me like I want him to. Instead, the heat of his soft breath washes over me. My entire core clenches with desire, white-hot need running through me.

“Take your bathing suit top off,” he says as he gazes up at me. “I want to see you.”

I reach up with both hands, untying the bow behind my neck and then behind my back, before pulling the suit away from me and dropping it on the floor.

“Holy shit,” he says, his eyes focused on the undersides of my breasts. “Have they gotten bigger in the last few hours?”

I cup one breast in each palm, testing the weight of them as they spill over my hands. Then I run my thumbs up and over each nipple just to tease him. His breath is a hiss as it escapes his lips. “They may have,” I tell him. It does feel like it’s possible, given the rate at which they’re enlarging now that I’m pregnant. I run my thumbs over my nipples again and my thighs clench in response. I bring my hands down to his head, run my fingers through his hair, letting my nails drag against his scalp in the way I know he finds erotic. “Sasha, please. Please touch me.”

“Shit, I love it when you beg,” he says, then buries his mouth into my folds, licking the length of my opening and then circling my clit several times. His thumbs spread me open over his mouth and his tongue laps me up like I’m an ice cream cone and he doesn’t want to lose a single drip. I groan because I’m so close already, and he takes that as his signal to intensify his assault. Suddenly, his tongue is gliding over me with a fast but controlled energy.

“I’m so close,” I whisper, reaching out and gripping the side of the armoire to hold myself up. I glance down and see the huge length of him jutting out against his swim shorts, and I’m filled with an aching need to be joined with him. “I need you inside me.”

His eyes flick up to mine and I can read his meaning clearly—soon enough. This is just the warm-up act, and he wants to leave me wanting more.

There’s a gaping emptiness where he’s not filling me, and it edges out the pleasure of his tongue. But then he clamps his lips around the bundle of nerves and sucks hard, pulling me into his mouth and running his tongue over me. The pleasure is so intense I start to come undone and I drag my fingernails along his scalp and he repeats the motion over and over until the white-hot sensation is flooding my core and sending waves of pleasure through the rest of my body, making every single cell stand at attention. I come down from my orgasm, immediately wanting him again.

“Now, Aleksandr,” I insist, as I pull him to his feet and immediately untie his swim trunks. He pushes them down to the floor and I take a moment to marvel at the monstrosity that is his erection—thick and hard, so smooth and long and perfectly made for my body.

He reaches to my shoulders and pushes my open kimono down my arms, then sweeps me into his arms and walks toward the bathroom.

“What are you doing?” I ask. What the hell? We were standing two feet away from the bed.

“We’re supposed to be showering and getting ready for dinner. We’re going to have to make this a two-for-one.”

I understand his meaning perfectly. “We haven’t had shower sex in a while,” I note.

“Exactly.” When we get to the shower, he opens the glass door and turns the water on, and while we wait for it to warm up, I press myself up against the back of him. I reach my arm around and grip him tightly at his base, then slide my hand up and down his shaft. “Petra,” he groans as he grows even harder in my hand.

I turn him around and drop to my knees to take him in my mouth, letting him slide through my tight lips and cupping him between my tongue and the roof of my mouth as I suck the length of him into me repeatedly. Then I let him slide out, and slowly stand so that his cock runs along the length of my throat, through my cleavage, and along my stomach as I rise.

I step away from him, into the shower, and can feel him on my heels as the water sprays over me. Before I have time to turn around, he takes my hands and places them against the wall in front of me. He runs his hands from mine, slowly down my arms until he cups my breasts in his hands, which has me pushing my ass back into his erection. I’m so ready for him to be inside me. He pinches my nipples between his fingers gently, and my hips move back against him in a rhythmic motion.

With one foot he spreads my feet, then his hands trail down my sides and are on my ass, pulling me open and pushing me forward. He brings his cock up and slides it along my seam until he is slick with my juices. One of his hands comes above my head and plants itself next to my hand, then he’s pushing into me achingly slow until he fills every last bit of space inside me, stretching me until I feel impossibly full. He wraps his free arm around my lower belly to keep my hips at the exact angle he wants, then he pulls out a bit and slides back into me over and over again. His movements are small and precise, because he knows the exact spot deep inside of me that he needs to hit to get me to orgasm. I can feel the pressure building and hiss out a “yessss,” but instead of continuing, he pulls out slowly. I’m pretty sure I whimper, but I don’t even care—he’s prolonging this when he knows how much I need this release.

He spins me around and his mouth crashes into mine as he backs me up until my spine rests against the tile. The water cascades over our bodies, but I don’t even need its heat. I’m burning up with my need for him. He pulls one of my legs up to wrap around his lower back, then he’s sliding himself along my wet seam again. He bends his knees slightly and then enters me so quickly my back arches in response, pressing my breasts up against him. With one hand under my knee and the other cupping one of my breasts, he picks up the pace sliding into me and out again so quick and deep it almost takes my breath away. When his mouth latches onto my nipple, I’m pretty sure I stop breathing entirely. The pressure’s building in my core and every time he rolls his tongue over my hardened nipple or sucks me further into his mouth, I climb closer to the peak of that orgasm I’m chasing. He brings his mouth to meet my lips, then his hand moves between us and his thumb finds the ball of nerves above our joined bodies and with that additional pressure, the sensation builds until I feel like I might actually explode. I groan into his mouth as the orgasm rips through me and as I convulse around him, I can feel him spasming inside me too as he finds his release.

“Holy shit,” he whispers into my hair, his body still connected to mine. “How does it just keep getting better?”

“I don’t know,” I tell him, “but I’m sure glad it does.”

He pulls out of me, then turns me toward the shower head as he reaches for the body wash. “Here, let me clean you up.”

“I don’t understand how you just slept for an hour and you’re still tired,” Sierra says. “Only I’m allowed to be that tired right now.” She rubs her hand over her belly.

I can hardly keep my eyes open in the back of the car as it bumps along the road outside the city we’re headed to for dinner. “I think the sun just took it out of me today. After my shower, I felt like I had no energy left.” Sasha glances at me in the rearview mirror and I can see the laughter he’s holding in dancing in the gleam of his eyes. He knows why I’m tired, and how he wore me out. Twice. “I don’t even remember lying down, and next thing I know, Aleksandr is waking me up and telling me I have fifteen minutes until we leave.”

In the front seat, Beau glances over at Sasha and I can tell he wants to say something but is holding it in. I’m half afraid he knows. There’s a lot more going on behind the party-boy image he’s shown the world for so long. I’m glad he’s found Sierra and that they’ve settled down in Blackstone with Jackson and Nate. Both my friends are getting the happily ever after they wanted, and the fact that they get it together is amazing.

“What’s wrong?” Sierra asks. “You look like you’re going to cry.”

Oh God, my eyes are all watery as I think about how happy I am for my friends. And for myself. I got the happily ever after I didn’t think I wanted, and it’s better than I ever expected.

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just thinking about how lucky we all are. And how happy I am for you and Jackson that you’re both going to be mamas soon.”

“And that got you all teary eyed?” Sierra’s skepticism is clear in her voice. I don’t get sentimental like this. These fucking pregnancy hormones are messing with me. Rein it in, Petra, I tell myself.

“Probably just PMS,” I say.

In the driver’s seat, Sasha snorts, then says, “Sorry. Hormones really are the one thing that makes my wife emotional.”

“Well, that got awkward fast,” Beau says. Then we drive in silence for the remaining few minutes until we arrive at the restaurant.

Jackson and Lauren are already at our outdoor table with their men when we arrive. The seating is built into the corner of the deck, with two sides of bench seating covered in cushions and pillows leaning up against the solid deck wall. This part of the restaurant is built out over the rocky coastline of the Caribbean Sea, with waves crashing directly beneath us on this beautifully warm night. A palm tree growing on the shore overhangs our table, and string lights are strung between its tall trunk and the roofline of the restaurant. It’s a magical setting, and I think again about how great Nate is at finding places like this. He has a knack for ambiance, whether it’s finding the right property to add to his vacation rental empire, or finding the right restaurant for dinner on his wife’s babymoon.

Jackson and Nate are sitting on the benches, and Lauren and her man are sitting in two of the four chairs. “Do you want the bench seating or the chairs?” I ask Sierra.

“I’ll take the bench,” she says. “I can probably get more comfortable there.” Beau helps her get situated and then takes his seat next to her on one edge of the table while Sasha and I take the seats along the other open edge.

The waitress arrives to take our drink orders and I ask for a club soda with lime. “Hold up,” Jackson says. “You can drink all of us under the table and you’re not drinking? At least let me drink vicariously through you. I can’t tell you what I’d give for a margarita right now.”

“We make a really great virgin pineapple margarita,” the waitress says, eyeing Jackson’s maternity dress. “You won’t even miss the tequila.”

“The hell I won’t,” Jackson says, but she’s laughing. “All right, fine, I’ll take a virgin pineapple margarita.”

“Me too,” Sierra says.

When she’s done taking drink orders, the waitress heads off with a promise of returning with chips, salsa, and guacamole. Meanwhile, I try to pretend like I don’t notice Jackson staring at me like she’s trying to figure out if telepathy is real and if she can use it on me.

The guys are asking Aleksandr about the coming season and I laugh, reminding them that the current season just ended a couple weeks ago. I can’t help but think about how different this year is going to be. At least I know Stella will be the best big sister ever. That girl is my mini-me, but her heart is bigger and more open, and she wants a little sister more than anything. We’re going to have so much fun bringing another little girl into our family.

On my left, Lauren leans toward me. “Are you really not going to tell them?” she whispers and I close my eyes, focusing on keeping my face as serene and unaffected as possible. “I’m pretty sure they already know,” she continues. “And they’re going to be mad if it comes out before you tell them.”

I lean my head even closer to hers. “How did you know?”

“Besides that adorable belly you are trying to hide under your kimonos and loose-fitting dresses? You also haven’t been drinking even though you are pretending to.”

“What are you two whispering about?” Sierra asks from my other side. “You better not be telling Lauren you’re pregnant and not telling us too.”

Her words are a record screech that brings all conversation and movement to a halt. Mouths hang open, water glasses are suspended in hands midair. I don’t think the entire table could go silent more quickly if I said I was dying.

“Um, what?” I ask, my voice small and high-pitched. I feel Aleksandr bring his hand up to the small of my back, rubbing a circle there.

“I knew it!” Beau says, his face triumphant. “PMS my ass.”

“I don’t even want to know what that means,” Nate says, glancing at his brother-in-law.

When it’s clear I’ve lost the ability to speak, Sasha says, “This isn’t exactly how we wanted to tell you all.”

“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “We weren’t trying to lie about it, but this is your babymoon,” I say, looking from Jackson to Sierra, “and I didn’t want to co-opt that with my news.”

No one speaks, we all just look at each other, our eyes roaming around the table making eye contact with every person there. And in those moments, we’re having silent conversations of excitement and apology.

“I can’t believe you’re having a baby,” Sierra finally says, and she sounds breathless. “Like, I really can’t believe it.”

“So eloquent, babe,” Beau teases, then leans over and kisses Sierra’s temple.

“I think this is just a bit of a shock, you know,” Lauren says, “since you were always pretty against having kids.”

“Well, she was always against getting married too, yet she’s been married longer than any of us,” Jackson smiles. “I knew you’d come around.”

“I’m glad someone did,” Nate says, and I shoot him a look in response. “Hey, I’ve known you since you were what, eighteen? You were always a rebel. You always wanted to blaze your own trail—”

“She is blazing her own trail,” Sasha interrupts, and though his tone is supportive, there’s a note of warning there for anyone who’d disagree.

I take his hand and squeeze. “I’m just not doing it alone.”

“Tell us more about this baby,” Sierra says. “How far along are you?”

“Just passed the eighteen week mark. We’re having a girl!”

“What are the chances?” Lauren murmurs. “All of us with little girls. My girls will be so excited to have three little girl cousins.” She beams at the love of her life, and I have this moment of gratitude that after the horrendous year she’s had, things are better for her now than they’ve ever been.

“And now that you’re in Boston,” Jackson says to her, “we’re all finally at least in the same region again.”

The waitress arrives then with our drinks and sets several baskets of chips, along with salsa and guacamole, on our table.

I hold my glass up. “To new beginnings and growing families, and to all being together-ish again!”

There’s a chorus of “yeah” and “hear, hear” and “finally” as we all raise our glasses in a toast. When Jackson says, “This should be an annual trip, next time with kids,” my agreement could not come any quicker or be more adamant. I settle into Sasha’s side, his arm wrapped around my shoulders as I gaze at the happy, slightly sunburned faces of my family—the one I built for myself—and feel nothing but utter contentment.

If the last couple years have taught me anything, it’s that there will be ups and downs for all of us. But we’ll get through it like we always have: together.