Page 119 of Sweet Poison

Epilogue One

MADDEN

“Our love is like a Christmas star—bright, beautiful, and a whole lot magical.” — W

Iwake slowly to the soft light of dawn spilling through our satin black curtains, painting the room in a warm glow. I stretch, feeling the comfortable weight of the warm blankets, but when I roll to my side, I find the spot next to me empty. My heart dips for a moment, like every time she’s away from my body, but then, a sweet, buttery scent wafts through the air—something mouthwatering and familiar.

Waffles.

With the biggest fucking smile on my face, I swing my legs over the side of the bed, my feet brushing against the cool floor. I push myself up, moving toward the kitchen, where the irresistible scent of fresh baked waffles fills the air, growing stronger with every step.

Fuck, I love this.

I love waking up to a home. She gave me that— a home. She gave me everything and I’ll never take it for granted.

I once thought the American Dream was to become successful and be on top of the world. That’s what my father drilled in our heads every fucking day of my life.

But he was wrong. I was also wrong.

Money? Fame? That shit means nothing.

Willow is my dream. She’s the sun after a long storm.

My peace.

The sweet sound of humming fills the air making me smile.

It’s Christmas morning—once a holiday I dreaded, until her. She made me kind of enjoy the tedious holiday. Hell, she made every damn holiday feel special.

She brought magic into my life and love— so much love.

My beautiful wife.

Yes, wife.

We got married as soon as the media shitstorm died down and everyone forgot about my asshole brother. Like Perry promised, the media found another poor sap to scrutinize.

I then made her my wife in a small ceremony that included her family, her work colleagues and my team. It was simple per her wishes but so beautiful.

I could care less about the wedding stuff. I just wanted to make her mine for everyone to see.

And I did and now we’re here.

Making magic together every day of our lives.

I enter the dim lighted kitchen and the sight before me makes my heart swell with an outpouring of love for this woman. My woman.

Willow stands at the stove, her back to me, wearing matching pajamas—bright red with tiny Santas, just like mine. Her wild curls cascade over her shoulders as she stirs a pot, her movements effortlessly graceful and calm. I lean back, taking it all in. She’s spent the entire month turning this place into something out of the North Pole. There’s not a corner untouchedby Christmas cheer. I might not care much for the holiday, but she loves it, and with me, she gets whatever the hell her heart desires.

She went all out, and with her mother’s help, they strung Christmas lights along the ceiling and windowsill. The lights cast a magical and twinkling reflection on the snow outside.

“Oh, good. You’re up! Good morning, Grinch!” My beautiful wife calls over her shoulder, her voice bright and cheerful.

Fuck, my heart.

Happiness radiates from her and it’s infectious. It always is.

“Morning, baby,” I reply, taking a moment to simply appreciate her. It’s a picture-perfect scene, the kind you see on Hallmark channel during the holiday season.

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