His Vengeful Tradwife

Epilogue

Tallulah (One year later)

" T ruly a regal woman," my father-in-law said as we stood respectfully before the Mona Lisa. "Look at the smile on her face. Small, prim, that elusive coy look on her visage that presages the explosive volcanic passions beneath the surface."

"Nonsense, you nincompoop," his mother-in-law retorted hotly. "That's a frown on her face, not a smile. She's clearly irritated by the chauvinistic attitude of the painter, Leonardo da Vinci. The expression on her face is her rebellion against the unfair cultural and social expectations placed on her as a model. She was probably a painter herself. A much better one."

"Preposterous," he blustered, and the two Drs. Laurent began to squabble between each other as my children watched avidly like a tennis match.

"Perhaps we should move to a little cafe for some coffee and a croissant?" Dad interposed tactfully when their argument reached heated proportions.

We had the entire Louvre Art Museum to ourselves, the famous museum agreeing to close down for the day to give my family and I a private showing.

In the year since Maverick cheated, A Bit of Ginger has exploded in popularity, and now it's difficult even to go to Europe without getting recognized.

My in-laws finally agreed.

"We'll be there in a second," Maverick said. "I have one more painting I want to show my wife."

I straightened the wedding band on my finger and followed him.

"Look at this one," my husband said, his arm, firm and possessive, around my waist, as we contemplated a Biblical painting with David after he chopped off the head of Goliath.

"Do you still feel like doing that to me?" he asked, nuzzling my neck. "It's OK if you do."

"The urge to literally murder you and scatter your remains to the birds has been decreasing," I said tartly.

And it's not a lie.

Every week that goes by with my husband gets better and better.

Without having to worry about money, he works as a public defender now, using his magnetic appeal and silver tongue to defend those who don't have money to hire lawyers.

He kept his promise with the kids, too. He doesn't miss dinner. He doesn't miss evenings with them.

I know it will never be like it was before.

But before there were things he wasn't happy about and he was too selfish and pigheaded to mention them. And there were things I didn't know either.

That I could have survived without my husband. I could have taken my kids and left sexy gorgeous fucking Maverick Laurent.

I could have been happy, even. I could have had my pick of suitors.

But, in the end, I chose Maverick.

In the end, I didn’t want to live without him, despite what he had done, loved that infuriating messy bastard.

And it was the right choice for me.

My husband's big hands were on the back of my neck, tangling up in my auburn hair, a tiny tug that meant he could pull my hair if he wanted, could make me moan with barely-controlled jealousy and possession.

"You are mine, Mrs. Laurent" he said. "And that will never change."

And, hand-in-hand, we walked out into the Paris streets to get a croissant with our children.

THANK YOU FOR READING! 3

Coming soon. . .