Page 25 of Forever, Never, Always (Forever #2)

Sofia

“Why are you following me?” I whisper, giggling like a schoolgirl as Ric wrestles me into the bedroom and kicks the door closed.

He peppers kisses along my neck, nuzzling against my skin and pressing his erection against my stomach.

“Ric,” I pant, pathetic and weak, as his hands roam under my top to cup my breasts. “We can’t.”

“Five minutes. Ten max.” His mouth finds mine in a bruising kiss. We can’t get enough of each other. “I hate sharing you,” he whispers, tugging the button on my jeans.

“This is dangerous,” I say, shoving my jeans down my legs.

“Wreckless,” he agrees, lifting my top and dropping it on the floor.

“We were almost late to our own party.” Harry took a nap, and we got carried away. Luckily, it was Meg who turned up first and shouted up the stairs and not Zoe. Zoe . Shit. Seeing her today brought the guilt back. Guilt we’ve been able to avoid because she’s been so busy.

“No one will notice we’re gone.” He kicks his shorts off, pulling his shirt dramatically so the buttons fly off in every direction. I laugh at his desperation.

“Zoe—”

“No,” says Ric, clamping a hand over my mouth and spinning me away from him so my back is pressed to his front. I giggle against his hand. “Don’t ruin this moment. Please.” He bends me over the bed. “Let’s just stay in our happy little bubble and pretend Zoe doesn’t exist.” And he eases into me.

I groan, gripping the sheets in my fists. I’ll never tire of this.

Ric sticks to his word. Ten minutes later, we’re both lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling while we catch our breath. “Three positions in ten minutes. Record,” I say, smirking.

He slaps a hand against my thigh then pulls it over him and lays me against his chest. He draws circles on my back, and I close my eyes. “I’m going to tell Zoe,” I announce. His fingers stop, and I hate that I’m ruining the moment, but there never seems to be a good time these days.

“Okay,” he says slowly, drawing it out.

“It’s time. We can’t keep lying to her.”

“I know.”

“But?” I lift my head to look at him.

“But I don’t want her to ruin it, and I think she will.”

“She deserves to know the truth. We can’t sneak around forever.”

He groans. “These last few weeks have been so nice. Exactly how I imagined it would be. And drama free.”

There’s a knock on the door, and I dive up to grab the sheet. “Yeah?” I call, praying it isn’t Zoe.

“It’s just me,” says Meg softly. “When you two have finished, there’s a party going on downstairs.”

I smirk, and Ric laughs. “We’re coming,” he tells her.

Meg tops up my mug. I gave in to the idea of wine once one of the little girls pulled the tablecloth and sent the birthday cake to the floor. I laughed. What else was I meant to do, scream and tell her that it had cost me fifty pounds for a cake that looked nothing like a truck?

“Why do we bother with these parties?” I ask. “I mean, it’s not like Harry has a clue what’s going on.” I check my watch. “He went to bed an hour ago, so he’s not even here. Can I kick the guests out?”

Meg lets out a laugh, swirling the last of her drink. “Well, at least the kids are gone and you’re left with your most loyal friends.” She raises her glass in a mock toast. “Present company included. Minus Zoe, obviously . What time did she bail, anyway? She ghosted without even a goodbye.”

I shrug. “Didn’t really see her.”

Meg arches a brow. “Probably because you were too busy shagging her ex.” She gasps and slaps a hand over her mouth, snorting. “Too soon?”

I crack a smile. “A little.”

“Well, it’s not not true.”

“I made the decision to tell her,” I say quietly. “I told Ric.”

She leans in, interest piqued. “And?”

“He wasn’t exactly thrilled. He thinks if Zoe finds out, she’ll blow everything up.”

Meg scoffs. “Only if you let her. She doesn’t get to light the match and hold it to your happiness. I think you’ll find it freeing. She’ll be upset, it’s expected, but I think she’ll forgive you. In time.”

I nod, stealing a quick glance at Ric manning the grill like he’s hosting Masterchef: Backyard Edition. “Maybe. Either way, it’s got to come out because every time I see her, I’m rattled with guilt.”

Jimmy cracks open another beer and flops into a deckchair next to Meg with a satisfied groan. “I vote we make this a weekly thing. Family BBQs, questionable burgers, and watching Ric be all lovey-dovey.”

“And hiding it when Zoe is around,” adds Seb, laughing. “Things were so tense.”

Ric shoots him a warning look. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, little brother.”

“Not jealous,” says Seb, placing his arm around Katie protectively. “Just emotionally allergic to awkward situations.”

Meg leans in with a fake whisper. “Did Hugo tell you about the time Ric wrote poetry?” Ric groans dramatically, flipping a burger. “One time, he left a haiku on the fridge.”

“It was about coffee,” mutters Ric.

“It was a declaration of undying love,” Hugo shoots back, “to coffee. ”

Everyone laughs, and Hugo snorts into his drink, causing another round of laughter. The air is easy. There’s no tension, no tiptoeing—just us, being natural, being happy.

Seb tosses a few marshmallows on the grill with reckless abandon, earning a huff from Ric. “Anyone remember that camping trip Dad took us on when we were kids?”

Ric groans. “Where it rained for three days straight, and we ended up sleeping in the car?”

“Where you had to sleep in the car,” Hugo corrects, “because you dropped your tent poles in the river.”

“It was a fast-flowing river,” Ric defends. “Everyone said so. Besides, it wasn’t my fault—Jimmy dared me.”

I giggle, imagining the chaos these four boys must have caused as kids. “Please tell me there are photos.”

“Oh, there’s a video,” says Hugo darkly.

“Do not show her the video.”

“When you come to Mum’s for dinner tomorrow, I’ll get her to dig it out,” Hugo promises.

“Christ, don’t do that. It’ll drop us all in the shit because she’ll be showing everyone’s most embarrassing moments,” says Seb.

“Aww, baby, I think you were cute naked in just wellies,” teases Katie.

“I was three years old,” he cries.

I sidle up beside Ric, resting my head on his shoulder. “I’m invited to your mum’s?”

He places a kiss on my head. “Of course, babe. Family. Every Sunday.”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

He turns me to face him, kissing me on the lips. “You’re my family, Sofia. You and Harry. So, every family event requires your attendance. Sunday dinner. Saturday games night at least twice a year. Pub quizzes. Everything.”

My heart swells. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“Giving me the family I’ve always dreamed of.”

Eric

Sunday dinner at my parents’ house has always been a kind of controlled chaos—kids screaming, chairs scraping, someone always forgetting the gravy.

It’s messy and loud and full of love. And for the first time, Sofia’s in the middle of it.

Not as a guest. Not as someone I need to explain. She’s just here , like she belongs.

Mum is stirring gravy while rocking Harry on her hip. She occasionally kisses his cheek as she tells him a story about the three little pigs.

“He’s a happy kid,” Dad says thoughtfully.

Sofia scoffs. “You should see him when he’s in a mood. He screams the entire street down.” Then she gives me a side glance. “But he’s been a lot happier recently.” I smile, lacing my fingers through hers and kissing the back of her hand.

She hovers just behind me nervously, like she’s expecting judgement from my parents. It’ll never happen—they’re not the sort of people to judge.

Mum rolls her eyes and moves past me, wrapping Sofia in a tight hug. “Come on, love. Don’t look so terrified. It’s not like you haven’t been here before. We don’t bite.”

“Sorry,” says Sofia, with a small laugh. “I’m not used to this.”

“To what?” she asks, releasing her.

Sofia looks around. “A big family. The chaos. The warmth.”

Mum gives her a gentle look. “Well, you better get used to it.”

Dinner is predictably loud. Jimmy’s telling a story about his latest work disaster, Hugo’s trying to get Izzy to eat her peas, and Seb’s stealing roasties off everyone’s plates when he thinks no one’s watching.

But Sofia’s not just watching anymore. She’s laughing.

Adding in her own quips. Cutting Harry’s food without missing a beat.

She looks like she’s always been here. At one point, I glance down the table and find Dad watching her.

Watching us. He gives me a small nod. Approval.

I never realised how much I wanted it until I had it.

Later, after the kids have been bribed into the living room with ice cream and Disney+, I find Mum clearing the dishes.

“She’s lovely,” she says, not even looking up.

“She is.”

“And Harry,” she grins, “that boy’s a heartbreaker. Don’t mess this up.”

I laugh. “I’m trying not to.”

“Well, if you do,” she warns, narrowing her eyes in mock seriousness, “we’ll be keeping them both anyway.”

And those words warm my heart.

We get back to Sofia’s, where it’s quiet and less intense. I put the kettle on, and when I go into the living room, Sofia’s on the couch with Harry curled into her side, milk-drunk and half-asleep from too much dessert and attention.

She gives a sleepy smile and toes off her shoes.

“Big day,” I murmur, taking Harry’s coat off the back of the couch and hanging it.

“We loved it,” she replies softly. “I think Harry would’ve eaten your mother’s entire trifle if he could.”

“She hasn’t stopped making it since the nineties, so I’m glad someone appreciates it.”

Sofia chuckles, brushing a hand through Harry’s curls. “Your family is . . . something else.”

“You mean loud?”

“I mean wonderful.” She looks at me, her eyes glassy. “It felt like . . .” She hesitates.

“Like home?” I offer.

She nods. “Yeah, like home.”

I scoop Harry up and hold my hand out for her to take, pulling her to stand. “Let’s get this one to bed.”