Page 33 of Chasing My Bliss (Behind The Lens #6)

Epilogue

Felicity

One year later

T oday I officially get to turn the page on the Behind the Lens calendar to my month. To see the picture that Chad and Lorna selected. To sit back and anxiously await the response from the viewers for mine and Roxy’s video. Not only that, but I have more news to share.

One year. I still can’t believe it. It hasn’t been perfect. But I wouldn’t have changed a thing.

That’s how long it’s been since my life turned inside out—since the night I realized the man I’d fallen for had stalked me, kidnapped me, and held my heart hostage before I even knew I’d handed it over.

And if that wasn’t enough, my new stepsister-slash-girlfriend turned out to be just as obsessive, just without the chloroform and restraints.

Roxy preferred seduction and well-timed chaos to get what she wanted. And with a body like hers, it worked.

Somehow, despite all that, they became friends.

Best friends. Or, more accurately, partners in crime, and depending on the day, mortal enemies.

When they’re pissed at each other, it’s like watching two apex predators going into battle.

The winner gets to claim the prey. Only I’m the prey.

And God help me, I’m into it. Just thinking about it has me wet.

But they’re mine. Every twisted, possessive part of them. And I love them.

The last year has been a tug-of-war of houses, sex schedules, and emotional landmines. One night at Ezra’s, the next at Roxy’s. Then rinse, repeat, and dodge a few arguments about who got more of me and who had to "share like adults."

The bed situation? Let’s just say ménage isn’t as sexy when someone has a meltdown because the other got morning cuddles and they didn’t.

Or that one person touched them and now the other is pissed.

Because while they both want me, they want absolutely nothing to do sexually with each other.

I’ve tried to get it to happen, even bribed them with any sexual act of their hearts desire. They both declined. Adamantly.

We need space. Real space. Not just physical square footage, but something that feels like ours, not borrowed from old lives.

And finally—we found it. A six-bedroom Victorian with creaky floors, an overgrown backyard, and a kitchen big enough for Roxy’s cooking disasters and Ezra’s obsessive cleaning habits to coexist without bloodshed.

One bedroom for me and Roxy’s live streams—our naughty little side hustle that we don’t have plans to stop. Not yet anyway. A room each for Ezra and Roxy that I can slip in and share with them. One room for me when I just need space or I want them both to join me. And two more... for kids. Someday.

Except “someday” just became a reality .

This morning, as I sat on the edge of the ceramic tub in my bathroom, holding the test in my shaking hands as it slowly gave me the results.

Positive. Bright pink lines glared back at me like My period has never been late.

I’d known something was off a few days ago.

My boobs hurt. I cried at a dog food commercial.

And I couldn’t stop craving pickles dipped in frosting.

Any other time that combination would be disgusting, but lately it was a delicacy.

I’m pregnant. While I know it’s Ezra and mine biologically, Roxy will still be a parent in our eyes.

We’ve discussed it before, how we’d handle it when I did become pregnant.

Would Roxy want to carry a child? If she did, what sperm would we use?

We made plans. Discussed the situation in great detail.

While Roxy was unsure if she wanted to be pregnant herself, she did want to be a part of our child's life. So she’ll be Mom, while I’ll be Mama.

And if she does decide to carry a child, she’ll be inseminated by Ezra’s sperm.

All I know is I’m stupidly, wildly happy.

The plan was for it to happen later, after I’ve graduated.

I was going to walk across the stage, smile for the cameras, wear the cap that Roxy bedazzled in rhinestones.

And well, I guess that’s what I did. I graduated a month ago and just got hired to become a counselor at the local children's center. Tonight we’re going out to celebrate the closing of our new house, my new job and they don’t know it yet, but we’ll be celebrating something else too.

I already know how they’ll respond. Roxy will scream in excitement, and rush to me, wrapping me in her arms before dropping to the floor and kissing my belly.

Ezra will be quiet at first, taking his time to process the information.

Then the tears will prick at the corners of his eyes, as he takes me into his arms, whispering into my ear how much he loves me.

How he can’t wait to see my belly grow with his baby inside of me.

This life we’ve built—it’s unorthodox, tangled, and sometimes terrifying. But it’s ours . Born of obsession, secrets, and stolen moments. Forged in trauma, but shaped by love.

I place the test inside the box and slide it into my purse. Tonight, I’ll toast with sparkling cider instead of champagne. I’ll wait until dinner, maybe when the dessert comes, and I’ll tell them in the softest voice I can muster:

“I’m pregnant.”

Never in my life would I have imagined two stalkery, possessive people would lead me to have the most orgasmic relationships ever and feel such utter bliss. It’s something I don't have to chase anymore. I embody bliss now with Roxy and Ezra.

May you have your own amazing National Orgasm Day!