“I’m a firm believer that everything happens for a reason. Our paths crossed in the strangest way. There has to be a reason behind it. And I feel this is that reason.”
“What would you get out of this? If it did happen, that is.”
“A sexy wife, great sex, and a beautiful child.”
“That’s all you want?” His words seemed too good to be true.
“I’m a realist so I don’t expect you to love me. However, if you one day did then that would be a bonus,” he smiled.
“What would I do for work?”
He rolled his eyes and laughed whole-heartedly.
“You wouldn’t ever have to work again unless you wanted to, Beautiful. If you wanted to go to school or open up your own business, I’d help you make that possible. The sky would be the limit.”
“You know all of this sounds like a dream, right?” I took a bite of my omelet.
“I’m sure it does, but I mean it… You haven’t told me to fuck off yet so does that mean you will consider my proposition?” he grinned.
“Does it make me a bad person to consider it?”
“Giselle,” he groaned. “Does it make me a bad person for making the proposition?”
“No!” I blurted.
“There’s your answer then,” he smiled victoriously.
“Brat.” It was hard to keep a straight face and soon laughter left me.
“Does this mean you’ll consider being my wife?”
I leaned back in my chair and strummed my chin with my finger as though I was thinking long and hard. Kian rolled his eyes and laughed.
“Well?” he prompted.
“What are we going to do today to get to know each other better?” A huge smile broke across Kian’s face at my words.
“Anything your little heart desires and then some.”
Epilogue
Kian
A Year Later…
“Calm down, Mijo,” Giselle’s mom, Carmella said, rubbing my back. “She won’t kick you out.”
“I don’t know. She seemed really angry,” I sighed.
“She’s pregnant and cranky. She didn’t mean it. Trust me.”
Carmella had been my saving grace throughout Giselle’s pregnancy. The woman was like a saint. I had tried to resist letting my guard down with her, but she would give me a motherly look or tone and I’d end up pouring my heart out to the woman. In fact, I found myself talking to her more than my own mother, when I had questions about Giselle, pregnancy, or life in general.
“What are you doing out here?” Lydia asked, walking up to us in the hallway.
“Your sister kicked him out of the room, mija,” Carmella replied. I could tell she was holding back a laugh.
“What?” Lydia gasped. “Where’s her purse!”
