EPILOGUE ONE SOFIA
One month. It all started with a deal for one month of my time, but there I was, six months later, lying half across my sexy husband’s—yes, we tied the knot—body.
I traced the lines of the tattoo he’d gotten above his heart, a gothic rose with our names entwined in an infinity symbol in the same style as his other tattoos. It was so fucking sexy, I practically drooled when he’d come home with it.
Stroking my hand across his massive chest, I grinned at the enormous sapphire ring that glittered under the moonlight filtering in from the windows. It was perfect and stunning, but I would have loved anything he placed on my finger to claim me as his.
We lived in the mansion on the Long Island Sound, which was an absolutely wonderful place to write. I’d decided against traditional publishing and had now released my second novel in a romance series set amongst New York City’s fictional elite. It was going well, and I loved what I was doing.