Chapter 28

28

E pcot is an amusement park designed for adults. I'm sure of it. There is alcohol in every country, great food, and limited rides. I've seen at least a dozen people walking by with shirts that say, "Drink around the world" and I agree it's a smart plan. It's only about fifteen countries or so. How difficult can that be?

Owen thinks I'm nuts. He asked me where I wanted to go for dinner for my birthday, and told me he'd take me anywhere in Florida I wanted. He offered to fly us down to Key West for the evening or to go to a posh restaurant in Miami.

I told him I wanted to go to the pizza and Italian restaurant in Epcot since that's the park we're in today. So far, I also think it's my favorite park, but tomorrow we're at Hollywood Studios, so we'll see after that. I've been drinking my way from country to country, which Owen finds hysterical. Especially when I order the equivalent of a keg cup of champagne in France.

It was a bit of a sucker punch to the gut when we got to France, the area was made to look just like Paris, and it does. I miss Paris. I loved living there, Claude notwithstanding. So the keg cup was necessary. Rory and I went on the Ratatouille ride, which was super cute. We've done rides most of the day, my favorite being Guardians of the Galaxy, and hers was naturally the Frozen ride.

But now we're in Italy, sitting in the piazza as I finish my champagne—sixteen ounces of champagne isn't something you rush—and watching Rory run up and down the stairs of the fountain before we're ready to head into dinner.

Owen's holding my hand, something he's been doing this entire week, and I cast Rory a quick glance before I plant a kiss on Owen's cheek, which never fails to make him smile. It's been heaven here. The three of us are a unit, and Owen and I are a couple.

We haven't talked about it.

Neither of us asking or wanting to know what this means because it might very well mean nothing. But I want it to. I want it to mean everything. I don't want to pop this magical bubble. I want it to stay and grow and never allow anyone to burst it.

I get what that would mean.

Dating a single father isn't small-time. There is no casual or in-between. I'm only twenty-three, and the notion of being a mother—even an eventual stepmother—feels daunting and above my pay grade. But I'm not sure how much I care. I adore Rory. I love spending time with her. I love being the one she turns to with questions, and I have the best time making art and cooking with her.

So… I don't know.

Maybe what feels so wild and undeniably forbidden… isn't. Maybe I can be his Elizabeth, and he can be my Mr. Darcy after all.

Standing, I toss my cup in the trash, and then Owen stands too. "Ready for dinner?"

"You bet."

He snickers and shakes his head, but then we're led inside the adorable Italian eatery with warm, earth-colored walls, alfresco paintings, and Romanesque sculptures built into the walls. It smells like garlic and cheese, and Rory immediately jumps up and gives me a high-five with her good hand.

I throw Owen a smug, gleeful look that continues to make him shake his head at me.

"What?" I shrug. "I don't need you to toss your money around at me. This makes me way happier than any fancy restaurant ever could."

I earn a kiss for that. Straight on the lips. Thankfully Rory seems to be too busy taking in everything to notice.

"Come on. Let's go eat."

And eat we do. Holy hell, I pack in so much food I'm not sure I'll be able to move again.

Rory and I split the manicotti and a pizza with mushrooms and prosciutto because we couldn't decide which one we wanted between the two of them. Owen gets the tortellini, which he seems to love.

Then we're onto dessert of tiramisu and cannoli, but it's delivered to the table with all the staff singing happy birthday to me along with a sparkler in the tiramisu. Rory jumps up and sings along with them, and I can't help but get choked up.

This might be the best birthday I've had.

"Did you make a wish?" Rory asks, dipping a piece of the cannoli in her chocolate gelato and crunching down on it.

"I did. I wish?—"

"You can't tell us!" Rory shrieks. "Then it won't come true."

I laugh at how adamant she is about it and make a motion of locking my lips and throwing away the key.

"Should we give her our gift?" Owen questions and my shocked gaze catapults over to him. I wasn't expecting a gift. He's been nothing but generous on this trip and hasn't allowed me to pay for anything—even things that were just for me and not related to being a nanny like my champagne .

"Yes!" Rory comes racing over and jumps on my lap, making me oomph. "This is from me and Daddy."

"Oh my gosh! Thank you." I'm choking up even before they hand it to me. He pulls out a wrapped box from the backpack he's been carrying around all day with all of Rory's stuff in it.

"We hope you'll like it."

I shake my head. "Whatever it is, I already know that I love it if it came from both of you."

Rory chews on her lip, her small hand tucked under her chin as if she's nervous. I open the paper and then gasp.

"You got me an Apple Watch?"

"You don't seem to ever wear a watch, and anytime you check the time, you do it on your phone," Owen tells me. "But more than that, when you were in the accident, your phone flew out of your hand, and then I couldn't reach you. This way, you'll be able to make emergency calls or just be able to answer the phone when I call."

I smirk, throwing him an eyebrow. "So this is actually a present for you."

He chuckles. "Do you like it?"

"I love it. It's perfect. I've always wanted one but never bothered to get it. Thank you. Thank you both so much."

I kiss Rory's cheek and then Owen's, blown away by what a thoughtful and generous gift this is. After dessert, we watch more fireworks the way we did the first night in the Magic Kingdom. Owen is all about paying for extras, and we have the best seat in the house for them. Rory is mesmerized, and after we work our way out of the park along with a million other people, she is so exhausted—suddenly hit with the extent of this day and the week we've had—Owen has to carry her to our waiting car. She sleeps across his chest as we're driven back to our hotel, and then we're whisked up to a glorious penthouse of three bedrooms and walls of windows and endless luxury.

Traveling Fritz is nothing to sneer at .

He takes Rory to the end of the hall and tucks her into bed. She's out.

And because she's so out, he finds me lingering in the hall, not quite sure what to do with myself. He smiles. "That bedroom is entirely for show. I don't know why you continue to pretend otherwise night after night."

"What if she wakes up and finds me in yours?"

He shrugs as if he no longer cares. Vacation Owen isn't the same as Boston Owen. He's not thinking rationally.

"Come here, sweet thing. It's just us right now, and I have another birthday present for you." He scoops me off my feet and brings me to his chest, bride-style. It never fails to shock me how easily he picks me up and carries me.

I squeeze his biceps, making him laugh.

"I don't think I've ever seen you smile as much as you have this week. Vacation looks good on you, Dr. Fritz."

He peers down at me, smiling as light as air as if to prove my point. "It's been a good few days."

I sigh and rest my head against his chest. "It has been. And Rory hasn't gotten sick."

He groans. "Please tell me you didn't just jinx that."

I slap a hand over my mouth, horror striking my features. "Oops. No, I didn't. I swear."

"Christ, I hope not." He sets me down on the edge of the bed, and steals a kiss. Just a light peck. A taunting brushing of our lips that has me trailing after him, desperate for more as he pulls away. He stands to his full height peering down at me with hooded eyes, only to kneel in front of me. "I got you something else. Well, two things. I couldn't pick which one to get you, so I got you both."

I shake my head, not understanding. "But the watch?—"

"Is from me and Rory. These are just from me. One is here with me. The other is at home because it was too delicate to travel with. "

I swallow slowly, nerves skittering up through my stomach and across my skin. "Okay," I manage. "Owen, you're freaking me out with that tone and expression of yours."

He gives me a wan smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "I don't know how you're going to respond to them. But regardless, I want you to have them."

I place my hand over my racing heart and nearly pass out as he slips a small black box from his pocket and rests it in his hands on my lap. I can't swallow. I can't speak. I can't even blink. He's not… he can't be…

He opens the box, and a bemused laugh tickles past my lips. "Wow."

He laughs. "You were worried, huh?"

I blink at the stunning diamond earrings in the box and then back up to him. "Did you know I'd think?—"

"That I was proposing? A hundred percent. It's why I got on my knees."

A cackle explodes out of me, and I smack his shoulder, wiping at a random, errant tear beneath my eye. Is it weird that I might be a touch disappointed he didn't? Argh.

"You bastard. You totally got me." I snatch the box from his hand and bring them up closer. "Jesus, Owen. These are…" Words fail me.

"You don't wear earrings very often, but I know you have them pierced."

"Much like the lack of a watch, and more than ten outfits, I've been lazy with myself."

"Do you like them?"

"No." I shake my head, and his expression falls a bit. Good. Now we're even for the stunt he just pulled on me. "I freaking love them. They're incredible."

"Yeah? I was worried you'd tell me they're too much."

I snicker. "Oh, they're too much. Way too much. And I have no idea how I'll explain them to everyone. "

"Easy. I'm Owen Fritz. That's explanation enough."

I roll my eyes. "Now you sound like Mr. Darcy again."

That changes his entire expression. "Well, it's funny you should say that because the second thing I got you..." He pulls out his phone, unlocks it with his face, and then scrolls through something I can't see until he finds what he's looking for and hands me the device.

"What is—" Words die in my throat as I squint at the screen. "Owen." I lick my lips and shake my head, my body trembling a hell of a lot more than it was just moments ago. "No. These aren't?—"

"First editions? Yes. They are. Originally, Pride and Prejudice was released in a limited run of only fifteen hundred copies and printed as three volumes instead of one."

Tears well in my eyes and then start to plummet like rain drops, one after the other, down my face. "I can't…" I clear my throat, but it doesn't matter. There is no clearing this away. "I can't accept these. They're too much. The earrings, the watch, these books. Owen, I can't?—"

"Shh," he hushes against my lips. "You can. They're yours. I want you to have them. You've been calling me Mr. Darcy from the start, and now you're my Elizabeth, and that's all there is to it." He kisses me. "Let me spoil you, Estlin. I'd buy you the world and tuck it in your pocket for you to always have and keep with you if I could. You deserve everything, including all of these."

He takes the box from my hand, removes one earring, and then pushes it into the hole in my ear, securing the backing before he repeats the motion with the other ear. He just put my earrings in for me. The man bought me diamonds and incredibly rare first editions, and while they're both unimaginable on their own, they have nothing on the man kneeling before me.

The man I've fallen so helplessly in love with.

I set his phone down on the bed and trail my fingers up his neck and across his face. He's not wearing his glasses today—he prefers his contacts and regular sunglasses at the parks—and so I have free range of him. My lips come in, kissing both his eyelids and then along his cheeks.

His hands stay at his sides, but there is no hiding the burning need building in his gaze.

I start to lift my shirt, bunching the fabric up an inch at a time, exposing more skin the higher I go. His palm skims up the curve of my hip, and I quake, anticipation hot and heavy in my limbs and the short, shuddered breaths I'm having trouble controlling. A devilish smirk lights his face as he continues to trail his hand upward as if to say if you won't do it, I will .

My stomach dips when he reaches the edge of my bra, his finger gliding along the underwire of one cup and then across to the other before traveling up over the lace to find my nipple. I hold perfectly still, allowing him this exploration until I can't take it a second longer, and pull my shirt up and over my head.

"Those too," he rasps, pointing to my shorts.

I stand, forcing him back, but instead of shimmying out of my shorts, I saunter like an alley cat toward the window that has the curtains drawn back, unhooking my bra as I go. It slides off my shoulders and drops to the floor as I reach the cool glass. His silhouetted reflection prowls toward me, and anticipation swirls like a drug through my veins. Reaching back, he pulls his shirt up and over his head, tossing it to a nearby chair.

He moves in behind me, the heat of his chest warms my back, and I shiver.

"They're beautiful on you. Exactly how I imagined them."

The diamonds sparkle in my ears, not too large and not too small, but perfect. Made for me. Like he is.

His mouth dips to my ear, his eyes catching mine in the window. "Hands on the glass," he whispers, and I swear, I have a baby orgasm just from that.

Shakily, I press my palms into the glass and push myself back into him. Warm, soft, wet lips start a sensual path along my neck and shoulders as he reaches around and undoes my shorts, letting them slide to the floor in a pool around my feet. His middle finger skims over the center of my panties, back and forth in a tortuous rhythm with barely enough pressure, designed to drive me crazy.

His chest lands in the center of my back, his mouth sucking and kissing and biting at me until I'm panting and wiggling against him. I look down and watch as he lowers my thong to the floor, and now I'm standing naked in the window with nothing but these earrings in my ears, high up above with water and sprawling lights in the distance. He starts to rub my clit, his ragged, hot breath on my skin.

I feel beautiful and sexy with how he's touching me. With how he always touches me.

It's as if someone has been keeping him away, and now that he's been set free to touch me however he wants, he doesn't know how to hold himself back. His blue eyes are feral, locked with mine, and I can't look away. I don't want anything other than him.

He dips one finger in me, pumping it in and out, and then adds a second. My fingers curl against the glass as his curl inside of me.

"I need you," I whine. "Please, I need you."

He continues to fuck me with his fingers as he uses his other to undo his shorts. I feel the hard ridge of his cock spring free, and I moan, my eyes closing. The way I'm addicted to all things Owen Fritz should make me feel some sort of shame, but all I feel is wanton and frenzied.

"Here?" he whispers against me, and I don't care. I just need it.

"Yes." I gasp with a jerky nod as he pulls his wet fingers from me and starts to swirl them around my clit in dizzying circles. I'm so close, but I want to come on him. I want to feel him inside of me as I do.

He keeps playing with my clit, even as he tilts me forward a little and lines himself up. I hold in my breath, anxious for that first thrust that never fails to blow my mind, but instead, he teases me with it. Fingers on my clit and the head of his cock toying with my opening. My eyes roll back. It's so much, but not enough, and it has me floating. My legs shake, and on my next breath, he pushes inside me with a wickedly hard thrust.

And because he's been playing with my clit all this time and because he's so big and thick and fucking perfect and because I fucking love this man with everything I am, I come. The glass holds my weight as I plaster myself against it and grind into him, pushing into his fingers and deeper on his cock and it doesn't stop. It just goes on, and I can't breathe or see anything other than the sparkles of dazzling light behind my eyes.

My forehead lands on the window, and I sigh, a small giggle on my lips. He chuckles too, and gives my ass a smack that makes him groan. I'm a curvy girl. I've always been a curvy girl. I got over feeling self-conscious about it when I came to accept this is just who I am, and I'll never be a tall, slender model type. But for a bit, after Claude, I couldn't help but feel girlish insecurity about my body.

But Owen fucking loves my body. Every inch of me.

His cock starts to slide out, and I wince, my walls thick and swollen and sensitive. More than that, my legs are mush, barely holding me up. He laughs some more and then pulls out all the way.

"No," I protest. "Please no."

"Oh, my sweet thing. I'm far from done with you."

He spins me around and cages me in against the glass. My back hits it with a small bang that rattles the pane, and I arch, crying out, only for him to bite my bottom lip in warning. His hands drag along my thighs, and he hoists me up, forcing them around his hips. I run my hands along his biceps that stretch and bunch, but then he's back in me, and that's all I know.

The way he grinds against me, moves his hips, holds me up, buries his face in my hair, and groans into me, anchors me to him. My arms snake around his neck, and I hold on, able to do little else as he fucks up into me, harder and harder with each delicious thrust. My thighs grip his hips, and my nails drag over his hot flesh. I might be dying with how good this feels. The contrast of the cold glass and the heat radiating off his body and the feel of him against me and inside me are everything that is magical between us.

I tell him that and he bites my chest before he starts sucking.

"You're giving me a hickey," I accuse.

"Mmm," is his only reply, but he's busy taking me, rocking into me so deep I have no idea where he ends, and I begin.

My orgasm is already starting to build, and I know he's getting close too. He's straining, grunting into me, sweating.

"Estlin," he moans. That's it. Just my name. For a man who is so vocal and dominating during sex, that's all I'm getting tonight. Sounds and my name. But, oh, is it good. "So. Fucking. Tight."

"Right there," I plead desperately because he's hitting the perfect fucking spot inside me. Pounding into it. My pussy starts to spasm, my toes curling to the point of cramping, digging in and forcing him deeper with a push of his firm ass.

I've had orgasms before. A lot, even. I've been blessed with good lovers who liked to give in the bedroom. But this one? I don't know how to categorize this one. It's more. It's extra. It's… love. It's freaking love, and I feel it swell within me from the roots of my hair to the pink nails on my toes.

It's Owen. This man. The one who would turn over the world for his daughter and for me. The one who reminds me there isn't anything better out there because better than him doesn't exist.

He's it. My guy. And it doesn't matter that I'm twenty-three and he's thirty-four. It doesn't matter that he's a successful doctor and I'm a struggling artist. It doesn't matter that he's a single dad and I'm the nanny. Or even that he's my brother's best friend and I'm his little sister's.

Nothing matters but us.

I must tell him that. I must say a thousand different things because after he's come inside of me and we're still and quiet against the glass and he's still inside of me and I'm leaking him, he can't force his gaze from mine. It's intense. The sort that would make your heart pound. The kind that makes your breath quicken and your stomach flip.

"You mean that?"

Shit. I honestly don't know what I said.

"Which part?"

He's not amused. "You said nothing else matters but us. Did you mean it?"

I gnaw on my lip, finding my brave. "Yes. Nothing matters but us. The three of us. I want you both."

He loses focus as he starts to tremble against me. Suddenly my feet end up on the floor, but he's still around me, holding me, lifting me again, and then bringing me into the bathroom so we can shower off the long day and the sweaty saltiness of sex.

Neither of us says much else. Our minds drunk on exhaustion and catatonic with thoughts. I shouldn't want him and Rory the way I do. But that doesn't stop me. It's them for me. My home. My love. No matter the risk.