Copyright © 2024 by Vivian Mae; Midtown Publishing LLC

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This novel is in its entirety a work of fiction, which means all names, characters, organizations, businesses, etc… are either work of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. If there is any resemblance to a person, living or dead, it is coincidental.

*Please note: epilogue below was not included in 9 Reasons Nick Stafford is the Perfect Christmas Gift by Vivian Mae, in the holiday anthology Let’s Get Naughty 2, due to word count restraints. The epilogue was an additional chapter I felt was appropriate to include for the couple, but couldn’t be included due to that. Please enjoy the epilogue below and continue the happily ever after with Nick and Elena.

Epilogue

“Think of it like a festival, but indoors.” I fluffed up a row of bright red pascua flowers, keeping them away from Marty. He sniffed around, his tail beating against my leg in excitement.

“Festival?” Nick shouted from the kitchen, kneeing the oven door shut, “This place is big, but that’s by New York standards.”

“It’s big enough.”

“For fourteen people?”

“Fourteen?”

“Yes, isn’t that how many are coming?”

“Mama, Papa, tío Julio, tía Sylvia, Danny, Mateo, Sofia, Valerie and her three kids—Adrian, Luis, Carmen…” I lost count, using my thumbs and fingers to keep track. “Some cousins?” I asked Nick, my personal living, breathing, memory bank. I moved the pascuas from the windowsill over to brick wall and bookshelves, shoving over an unhung Picasso print.

“Ramon, Paco, and Mateo.”

“I already said Mateo.”

“Aren’t there two of ‘em?” Nick questioned, untying his apron, placing it on a hook next to the hanging pans.

I was struggling to put the flowers on the top shelf, standing on my tippy toes as I reached up. “That’s right! Yes… one is a priest… never leaves home without his collar, always insists on saying grace. The other is the shortest of the entire family.”

“Shorter than you?” Nick asked the back of my neck, licking dulce sauce off his thumb. I fell into his chest as he took the flowers, easily placing them on the shelf. I huffed a curl out of my face.

“Much shorter than me, but try not to stare… he’s so self-conscious of his looks… that and of his nut allergy…wait—nuts!” I squeaked, flipping around, “Nick, I put pecans on the tres leches cake!” I pushed him aside, swooping a pile of garland off the coffee table that still needed to be hung. “If a single nut even touches his lips, he’ll explode.”

“Explode? Sounds dangerous.”

“Deadly dangerous.”

“Should I warn the neighbors?”

“Nick!” I tossed garland over a steel beam, covering its industrial facade with a more forgiving green touch. “I saw him touch a cashew once…TOUCH…and his thumb ballooned into John Goodman.”

“Which version? The Flintstones one?”

“I don’t know! All the versions combined?” I tried to explain, plugging in the garland. “We can’t serve him that cake!” I was totally overwhelmed, piping hot in my black sweater dress, my hair already pinned back in a glittery butterfly clip, keeping it off my shoulders.

Nick turned from the shelf, rolling up the sleeves to his unbuttoned plaid shirt. There wasn’t an ounce of sweat or worry on the guy. “Good thing I already baked another without pecans.” He grinned, rolling his eyes to the ceiling, totally pleased with himself.

I did a double take, pointing my finger.

“You made another?”

“Just call me St. Nick.” He made his way over, his cool hands finding themselves around my bright red cheeks. “You know I’m always looking after you, baby. You mentioned Mateo’s allergy before, just like you mentioned Sofia’s fear of dogs… which is why I already moved Marty’s treats and toys to the bedroom… He’ll be hanging out there tonight. Isn’t that right boy?”

Marty stopped panting, his jingle bell collar silent as he squinted in our direction.

“She’s only afraid of chihuahuas, not all dogs… He’s fine, you’re fine…it’s just…” I pulled my head into my hands wiping down my face, anxious for what was about to come.

I had a secret, and Nick didn’t know about it.

My large, loud, very catholic, very traditional family from San Juan was traveling over sixteen-hundred miles to see both Nick and I in Manhattan.

Exciting?

Yes!

Daunting, and possibly life ruining?

Maybe.

Because there was only one problem with this whole event, a single fact I’d been dreading on telling my family since the moment I knew they were coming.

No one, and I mean no one—not even my own parents—knew that both Nick and I were living together. What’s wrong with that? Oh, nothing, just that cohabitation is a total sin to my family, not to mention the underlining implication what living together meant; if we’re sharing a bed, we must be sharing a lot more.

God, I couldn’t even mention the word sex around my mama, let alone acknowledge the hint of breasts I got at the age of thirteen. Everything felt shameful, but also equally secretive. Don’t ask, don’t tell… well, I was about to tell a whole lot.

“You good, baby girl?” Nick cradled my chin, giving me a peck on the lips, brushing his nose against mine. I shut my eyes feeling safe in his hands, but vulnerable, my back to the door that I expected a knock at, at any moment.

“It’s just… this is the first time I’m seeing my family in over two years. Everything has to be perfect… and not just for me. I need to show them I still have my roots… my traditions.” I rambled, building some defense, assuring myself it was all going to be ok. If I still had traditions, then I could show them that I was still me—the girl who left San Juan, their good daughter.

“We got the flowers, the lights… we’ve been making pasteles for the whole week. Do you know how hard it is to find banana leaves in Manhattan?”

“Very…” I added sheepishly, folding my arms into his chest.

“But I found them, didn’t I?”

“Mmhmm.”

“And aren’t they made with love, and effort, and quite possibly—just a tad—of amateur charm?”

“Some are skinnier than others.”

“Sure, some may look more like cigars than others, but they’ll taste just as great.”

I laughed as Nick kissed me again, pecking me all over my face and down my neck. His hands moved to my hips, commanding their direction as he swayed me back and forth to an old Marvin Gaye album that played in the background. “You do so much for us… for me.” I slowly danced with him, turning my head to rest on his chest.

“What can I say? I love us… I love… you.” He kissed my knuckles, his fingers lacing mine. “And I already love your family. They had you, so I know they will be great, because you’re phenomenal.”

I stayed silent.

I knew they loved me, but could they accept my choices? Wasn’t I just allowed to be in love, to be human, to be swept away by something I believed was more real than anything I ever learned in a pew? I respected my family, I respected their beliefs, I just wanted them to respect mine too, and couldn’t they?

This wasn’t just Nick’s apartment anymore, this was my home…our home; evident with the photos of us on the wall, us smiling, eating overpriced Bryant Park croissants, wrestling with Marty at Jemmy’s Dog Run. This was our life, our beautiful life, and I was in charge of showing it to my family once they arrived. Would living together really cheapen all that? Does sex—the one thing we didn’t talk about growing up—mean that much to them? Couldn’t they see me here, too, my happiness, my books mixed with his, my candles burning in his foyer, my plants hanging from his cabinets? We were intertwined, we were dancing, literally, on top of my rug, that sat below his couch.

“Being traditional is just really important to them. I’m sensitive to how they react to certain things…”

“To like what? The food?” Nick nodded to a counter full of sesame chicken and pork fried rice. “I know Chinese isn’t part of a typical Puerto Rican Christmas, but I’m thinking it’s kind of ours now, right?”

“How could it not be? You know I count that night in the elevator as our first date?”

“Good, because so do I. Speaking of which, are egg rolls an aphrodisiac?”

“Oh, stop!” I laughed, biting my lip, giving his ass a squeeze. He growled in my ear.

“Seriously. What is it about Sichuan Garden? It’s like every time we eat there we fool around.”

“I think it’s the memories more than the food.” I kissed his arms, squeezing him tight as he lifted me in the air. He spun me around, setting me back to my feet, dipping me. “But I agree… there is something about their noodles.”

“Is it the slurping?”

“Sucking.” I emphasized, entranced by the tip of Nick’s finger dipping to my thigh, lifting my dress.

“Lots of sucking, huh, naughty girl?” His hand met the bottom of my ass, cupping it, taking advantage of how my thong barely covered my flesh. I was hot again, but enjoyably so, savoring how Nick kissed me slowly, how our lips parted with a pop. “This is our tradition, and it’s not all about the sex. It’s about being honest with you, about how you’ve always meant more to me than anyone else. It’s about how I finally told you how I felt.” He nodded to a pyramid of fortune cookies. “It’s not just about the past, it’s about where we’re going…”

To hell? I thought.

Nick was right, and our newly formed tradition of Chinese food for Christmas was landmarked by memories of a year full of hot, premarital, sinful—oh, so delicious—sex. I couldn’t unsee it; sucking his cock on the couch, the time he fucked my ass on the kitchen counter, the window he pressed my tits against while eating me out. This house was a shrine of love, and a reminder of what would most likely give my abuela a heart attack. OH, god, the bedroom! While giving them a tour, they’d surely see the bed, the spot where Nick and I fucked at least three times a week. How could I show them that? How could I point and say, ‘This is our bed, this is where we turn into animals and make noises that scare Marty’?

Ugh!

None of this would be weird if we’d only been more open as a family, if the topic of sex wasn’t treated like some fragile bomb of conversation. Did I even hide my dildos?

Shit, it all made me so nauseous.

“Nick, there’s something I—”

Nick’s hand pulled up to the small of my back, his hard body pressed against mine. “I know you’re stressed, baby. I promise everything will be ok. Look at us, what’s not to love? Even the priest will be smitten.”

“Priest? Mateo!”

“Mateo number 1,” Nick assured.

“No! Oh, shit, the nativity! Nick!” I pulled away, scurrying, “They’re going to be here any minute and I forgot to set it up!”

“We got cocquito! That should help.”

I rushed to the box, picking at the plastic covering, impatiently biting into it, “It’s not enough. I’m not sure if this is even enough.”

“Why not? Why are you so panicked?”

Marty barked.

“Because… there are expectations.”

“Is it our home? Our linens? What expectations? Wait, are you secretly royalty?” he asked suspiciously, being playful as I spat out a chunk of plastic.

“No, Nick, not royalty, just… royally dead! They’re expecting to come to my home, to my living room, to my bed where I live and sleep alone. My parents don’t know we live together!”

“What?” he scrunched his brow.

Marty wagged his tail against me again.

“Yes, I know! It’s just… there’s never been a good time to tell them. I got promoted, we fell in love, we moved in.”

“Yes. Good, good, good. Those sound like positives to me.”

“And they are, but they don’t believe in this…” I motioned around the entire apartment. Nick looked around, confused as I pointed to the walls.

“Believe in what? Bricks?” he laughed.

“No. In us, living together… sleeping together.” I whispered, still struggling with the nativity.

“You mean sex?”

“Uh, no, Nick, not just sex! Fucking. We’ve fucked everywhere. This place is a love nest, it’s evidence to what I am: a living, breathing, sexually active woman!”

Nick pursed his lips, furrowing. “We have fourteen people coming to our apartment, most of whom are cousins to the same couple… I think they know all about fucking.”

“Yes, Catholics fuck, but we don’t talk about it… or at least my family doesn’t.”

“So the nativity will fix this?” he asked, confused. “You don’t even believe in it, and you still want it up?”

“I’m just trying,” I said pathetically, as Nick came to help.

“Here, let me open that up.”

“I got it, trust me.”

“You don’t. If I can just—”

I gasped as I yanked on the nativity, dropping it, falling back into the pyramid of fortune cookies. The large styrofoam lid popped open, as a scattering of sheep and wise men rolled along the constellation of unwrapped cookies.

“Oh shit!” I covered my mouth, “The baby! Where’s the baby Jesus?”

“There, there!” Nick pointed as we both dropped to our knees.

“Why is he blonde with blue eyes?” I asked mildly panicked, my hand splayed across the floor as I crawled to him.

“I don’t know? Immaculate adoption?” Nick cringed, trying to get to me as fast as he could, “Wait, Elena just don’t—”

Nick stopped his sentence as I froze.

Stunned.

Speechless.

The room got incredibly quiet, the record in the background ended, and Marty left the room. My heart pounded in my chest.

“Oh my god, Nick.” My eyes welled with hot tears, my curls falling loose from my butterfly clip. Right at my knees, beside Jesus, smashed open from a fortune cookie, was a ring. But not just any ring…

A small.

Perfect.

Diamond ring.

Nick squeezed his face shut, taking a deep breath. “It was going to be a surprise.” He closed his eyes, before peeking up, disappointed, apologetic.

“Is this?”

“It is. Elena… I love you. I’ve loved you since the moment I met you. I knew it then, I know it now, here, in this home we built, in the life we live. And I know it’s quick, and I know it may not be traditional… but I want it forever. My forever begins with you, and it ends with you… and nothing could ever make me believe otherwise, that what I have with you was always meant to be.” He picked up the ring, propping himself on one knee as I sat before him, crying.

“Do you mean that?” I looked in his eyes, surrounded by what others would assume was just a scattering of old, stale, novelty cookies—they were anything but. They were pieces of us, of our story, and for as many traditions as I once had, new ones were forming, and that meant everything to me. Nick wasn’t just my former neighbor, my current boyfriend, or the man of my dreams… he was my home, and if being loved for who I was and what I did was the pillar of what family meant, then I certainly had that with Nick.

“I do mean it… I was just waiting for your family to get here… to get your father’s permission. I wanted to surprise you in front of everyone, I wanted—”

“Yes.” My lip quivered, answering him already. It wasn’t about a ring; it wasn’t about marriage. It was about love, it was about being accepted with no conditions. That was Nick. “I will…”

Nick didn’t even have to ask, slipping the ring on my finger, pulling me in for the longest kiss we’d ever shared. I laughed, I cried, but most of all I felt relieved as a knock came at the front door.

“You ready, naughty-list girl?” Nick smiled, thumbing away a tear. I looked at the door, knowing that regardless of the ring I was just given, that I was going to be proud of my truth—a truth I would admit to with no shame or regard for reactions. This was our life, this was our home, and I knew whatever was to come by opening that door, that Nick Stafford—the man of my dreams—would always be by my side. I loved him. I always would. And now, we would face everything together.

“I’m ready.” I kissed him. “I’ll always be ready.”

THE END.

One Year Later - Elena