Sweet Submission (Devil's Sons Motorcycle Club Book 3) (9 page)

EPILOGUE

“Bionca’s on the way to babysit the kids,” Sam replied in a hurry. He breezed into the kitchen where Afia was preparing an early dinner and kissed his wife’s lips, lingering with a smile at the familiar feel of her mouth against his. Sam closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.  “Mmm, smells good. You almost done in here? If we hurry, we can squeeze in a quickie while the twins are asleep before she arrives.” 

“But, if we wait, we can have something to look forward to for the date we have planned this evening,” she said with a waggle of her eyebrows.

“Better suggestion—how about we do both?” He grinned as he backed out of the kitchen.

“I like that idea, too,” she called after him. “Maybe we can grow some tentacles while we’re at it so we can really
multi-task! Cook, clean, make love.”

He laughed out loud and darted through the house picking up the kids’ things to get the place in order before the date. The normally neat and orderly living room was covered with toys for Arayan and Taraneh, their three-year-old twins. Sam and Afia had spent the first day of their vacations from work having a play-day with them, and there were books strewn across the couch. In the middle of the room Arayan’s model train set looped around Taraneh’s dollhouse, and army men were conferring with stuffed animals around the coffee table. The three year olds had had a blast, but Sam had finally gotten them to take a nap, and now he was in a rush to put the place back together before Bionca arrived.

He smiled in excitement at the prospect of getting out of the house. The couple had been married for five years, the last three years of which were spent navigating the oft-times unpredictable waters of being first-time parents to rambunctious, lively twins. Between their kids and their careers, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a chance to take Afia out. They were overdue for some QT, and Sam had the night mapped out.  They’d check in at the hotel and maybe wile away the evening doing grown-up stuff in the room, and then they’d grab a bite to eat from someplace laid back. After that he wanted to take her back to the biker bar where they’d first met.

Sam hadn’t been to The Wisecrack in ages. The years of happily wedded bliss had led to a gradual but natural shift of his focus from the motorcycle club to his family, but every now and then he liked to remind Afia that the mechanical engineer in the business suit, the dad in the jogging pants, was still the leather-clad biker dude with whom she had fallen in love, even if they did drive a minivan now. He grimaced at the thought of that van.

“So, dinner’s done. I’ve portioned out the kids’ snacks and left them on the countertop for Bionca, along with emergency contact numbers and anything else I thought she’ll need. All that’s left is to get dressed. Need some help in here?”  Afia popped into the living room, and Sam marveled at how motherhood and her satisfaction with her life only seemed to make her more beautiful.

“Looking good, Mrs. Elison.”

“Not too shabby yourself, Mr. Elison,” she fired back with a saucy grin. Their eyes collided, and she felt the same jolt, the same thrill that always happened at the sight of the man who had defied the odds and won her heart and her hand. He had taken the brunt of her family’s anger, and she had lost their support completely, but Sam and Afia had made it through together. She couldn’t picture herself being any happier with anyone else. Jabar, the man chosen for her by her parents, flashed unbidden into her thoughts, which made her think about the loss of her brother, whom she had named her son after.  Yes, Afia had sacrificed a lot for the life she now lived, and she valued what had come of the sacrifices—despite the accompanying hardship of being disowned by her family.

She had her husband, and he loved her dearly.  She had her children, the greatest gifts of all. They lived in a spacious new house, and she worked at an expanding clinic as a physician assistant, while Sam still worked as a mechanical engineer. After her decision to marry the biker, her life had taken a dramatic turn for the better. She had finally taken charge of her future. She hadn’t turned her back on her values, and Taraneh and Arayan were being raised to have the best of both worlds, both cultures.

“Grab that for me, honey,” Sam directed her to the book he’d dropped. “My hands are full.”

“Mine, too,” Afia replied with a grin.

They collected all the toys, and Afia stood back to examine her marginally cleaner living room. “How do two little kids make such a big mess?” Sam muttered, juggling an armful of toys. Having kids was a handful.

“I have no idea, but this’ll have to do,” Afia judged. “Bionca’s their godmother. She knows how they are. She’ll totally understand if everything isn’t in tip top shape when she gets here.” Sam followed Afia up the stairs to the kids’ room, and they both quietly deposited their bundles of toys into the toy box.  Afia tiptoed to the bookshelf and tucked away the books. When she exited the room where the toddlers were sleeping, she turned to her husband in the hallway with an anticipatory gleam in her eyes.  “Tell me we’re taking the motorcycle tonight.”

“We’re taking it.” She squealed in excitement. Sam chuckled and pulled her into his arms for a more intimate kiss. Afia squirmed against him, as hungry for his touch as she had been ever since the day they first made love. Sam nipped at her lips.  “So, put on your leather pants and say goodbye to the mom jeans tonight. I plan on making you forget you’re a married woman.”

She giggled and slipped out of his embrace. “Promises, promises.”

Afia strolled into their bedroom. She had an outfit laid out on the bed and her bags packed for the night away from the house.  They would only stay away the one night because Sam’s mother was coming in town to spend a few days with the family while they were both off work. His mother had accepted her lovingly and unconditionally, and every time Charlotte came around it made Afia think of Fatima. Her own Maman had turned Sam away without a second thought, not even giving him the chance to show that he was a worthy husband for her daughter.

Afia sighed regretfully, listening to Sam draw a bath for them in the master bathroom as she peeled out of her clothes and prepared to take a soothing bath with her husband before her best friend arrived. She lived for these moments when the bustle and hurry of things slowed down for a fraction of a second, and she could just appreciate time alone with him, old troubles be damned. Stepping into the steamy bathroom, Afia smiled at him. He stared back solemnly. Of all the people in the world, her husband knew her best, knew her well enough to almost seem to read her mind.

He confirmed that when he asked, “How do think Fatima and Rashad have been doing?”

Afia looked down. Sam beckoned to her from the tub. She climb in and placed her back to his chest as his arms encircled her, and he rested his chin on the crown of her head. “I always wonder that,” she murmured. “I don’t know how they’re doing. I have no way of finding out. They never answer my calls. In fact, I think they changed their number entirely.” She had no idea how her parents were doing. She didn’t even know where they were.

After Rayan’s death, her parents had moved out of the home where Afia and Rayan had grown up. She could only imagine how many memories had replayed like phantoms through the haunted rooms before Fatima, probably, had convinced Rashad the two of them would be better off packing up and starting over. The fact that Afia had chosen to be with Sam had resulted in them leaving no new address to her.

Sam kissed her shoulder and reached for the towel to slowly start bathing her. His warm touch was a balm. His love was salvation and strength, patient and kind. Afia turned around in his arms and kissed his lips tenderly.  His wet fingers trailed down her back as she settled astride his lap in the wide, deep basined whirlpool tub. She felt his erection nudge against her budding lower flower, and desire flared like a spark ready to ignite.

But, the ringing phone arrested their love making. “It’s probably Bionca,” Sam murmured, smiling. He pulled Afia back for another kiss as the phone chimed again.

“I better answer,” she giggled.

She climbed out of the tub and hurried across the master bedroom, dripping water as she went. “Hello?” There was silence…then a sniff. “Who is this?” Afia asked, her heart pounding for reasons she didn’t want to examine. Something in her knew who was on the phone even before the surprise sound of her mother’s voice spilled over the line.

“Afia Amini, please,” said Fatima.

“Maman,” Afia choked on a sob. “Maman, is that you?”

Fatima replied stiffly, “This is Fatima Amini. I was calling to…because I…Well, how are you?”

Afia sat heavily down on the side of her bed, not knowing what to say, where to start. From the bathroom, she heard water slosh as Sam climbed from the tub, and she looked up at him with tear soaked eyes when he came into the room. He had heard her say, “Maman.”  Sam stared at Afia, amazed at whatever miraculous work had coerced Fatima to reach out after all these years, especially just as they were talking about her.

“I’m well, Maman,” Afia said, laughing through her tears. “You won’t believe me, but just moments ago I was wondering aloud about you and Baba. You…you stopped taking my calls. I worried. All these years, I worried about you.”

She heard her mother suck in a shaky breath. “We’ve been much the same, Afia. It’s lonely without you and Rayan.”

Afia’s voice hitched as she murmured, “Oh, Maman, but I’m here. I’ve been here all along. I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

“I thought you hated me,” Afia whispered.

“How can a mother hate that which comes of her very own loins?”

“Yes…I have two now. Children. Twins.” There was silence again. “They’re beautiful children, Maman.  I named them Arayan and Taraneh. They’re three years old.” She heard Fatima crying on the other end, and it made Afia cry harder—though the tears were joy. Sam rushed to Afia and sat next to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder as she leaned against his chest. She bravely pressed on, “I’d very much like for you to meet them.”

“I want to,” Fatima said in a small voice. “Afia…just know that I love you and I’ve always loved you. I’ll never stop.”

“I know that now, Maman. I love you, too,” Afia sobbed. Sam wiped her tears and kissed her cheek, whispering soothingly at her side. “I know how hard it must have been for you to call. I thank you so much for reaching out to me.”

“I saved the number you called from those many years ago. I saved it all this time. It should not have taken me so long. I’m just…I’m an old woman set in her ways. I hope you can forgive me for that, my child.”

“It’s forgiven and forgotten.” Afia smiled, and Sam nodded encouragingly. He was overjoyed that her family was trying to reconnect. He was so proud of Afia for being big enough to bury the hatchet, too.

Fatima Amini replied, “Now, about these grandchildren of mine. I think perhaps little feet pitter pattering around the house is just what Rashad and I need. We would like for you to come for a visit…you and your husband.”

They were the words Afia had been waiting to hear for nearly half a decade. She covered her mouth to muffle her cries of happiness. Through the tears, she found the words to say, “Thank you, Maman. We’ll come.” And, when she hung up the phone, Afia realized she had truly found paradise. It was the place where love outlasted traditions. It was the place where cultures clashed and merged to create a beautiful amalgam. It was right next to her husband, with her children, and her parents finally pushing past their bigotry to try to develop acceptance. Created from one soul, Sam and Afia’s life together was in harmony at long last, as it would remain for the rest of their days.

THE END

I created you from one soul, and from the soul I created its mate so that you may live in harmony and love.

–The Quran

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