We’ll fly together.
EPILOGUE
SEBASTIAN
ONE YEAR LATER
My husband stood in the doorway of my office, roses in one hand and a gift bag in the other. His smile was a beacon I still sought—a light I still chased.
I ached for him every second he was away from me—my hero turned villain. The man who’d sacrifice the entire world, and all its intricacies, just to save me.
“Baby bird.”
“Daddy bird.”
His lips curved, and with a soft swing of his boot, he latched the door shut behind him. Hips swaying as he walked, his thunderous eyes tagged every inch of my body.
“Do you know what today is, gorgeous?”
“The anniversary of the day you threw my father off a roof?”
“Valentine’s Day,” he corrected, and I laughed.
“Both romantic.”
The roses he held shook when he placed them in the center of my desk. Arm around my waist, he swept me from my chair and brought us chest to chest. His tongue dipped into my mouth, and I sucked on it eagerly.
God.
The man kissed as well as he fucked, and I was ready to drop my pants and fold myself over this desk. We always did sex just right… nasty with a hint of sweet. He fucked me lifeless, but he always held my hand when he did it.
“Good afternoon, Headmaster Hayes.”
“Counselor Hayes.” I chased his lips. “How’s your day so far?”
“Terribly exhausting. How’s one to be a counselor and the board president? I’m going to need a raise.”
I chuckled. “I think you’re managing just fine.”
“As are you. This place feels brand new.”
I’d taken over the headmaster position just two days after my graduation, learning something new each day I sat at my desk. I wrote grants, begged for donations, and tore down all the ugly that rotted the halls of this campus. The gargoyles were gone; the sconces replaced. There were new walkways and a paint job that felt more sun than moon.
Foster’s memory remained in that garden and in our old attic bedroom. I made a spot for him beside my mother and replaced those vines with flowers that never wilted.
Daddy and I visited them often.
Next month, we were breaking ground on a new wing, financed by the Lake family.
Foster Center For The Arts.
Daddy brushed a thumb over my swollen lip. “I’m proud of you,” he whispered, and I felt my wings flap.
Just a little.
“Do you want your present now?”
I thrust my hands outward and made a grabbing motion with my fingers. “Yes, please.”