A/N: Without further ado, the last and FINAL chapter of 30 Shades of Red.

This had all of the makings of a Ghirardelli chocolate commercial. Sleek black ride, soft classical music twilling through hidden speakers, smooth fabric draped on skin. The stage was set, the moon was full, the night was young and just beginning.

My thighs quivered, leg jerked, and teeth wouldn't stop sawing into my bottom lip effectively ruining my lipstick. There was no rational explanation to explain how nervous I was, so nervous I could barely swallow. A warm and possessive hand landed on my knee, gripped it in a comforting squeeze. My pea green irises inched their way to the manly specimen seated beside me, his shoulder touching mine almost pinning me against the black leather seat of the town car.

"Relax," the command had been spoken softly but firmly. "The impenetrable Bonnie Bennett afraid? I almost feel scandalized."

I felt my mood darkening though it should have been headed to the opposite end of the spectrum. "I don't want to have to act up at this event. Don't make fun of me."

The hand on my thigh began to rub back and forth, purposely, like he was trying to transfuse his endorphins to me by way of osmosis. His gaze was centered on the scenery passing by although the windows were so heavily tinted I could barely see out of them, but that wasn't an issue for Damon.

I inhaled his scent. Something expensive and manufactured overseas meant to make panties wet or cocks stiff if the one catching a hint of it batted for the home team. Heat segued in the juncture of my thighs just at the thought alone, as a vivid fantasy began to take over. Now was not the time for it, but I fell back on coping methods that got me through some very dicey times.

Clearing my throat, I attempted to angle away from Damon, but his hold on my knee kept me right where he wanted me.

"Stop thinking," he said as if he got a sneak peek of into my licentious daydream.

"How much longer until we get there?" I asked.

He checked the time on his watch. "We should be there in another fifteen minutes."

My leg got to bouncing. I felt rather than saw Damon appraising me.

"Nervous?"

"A little."

"I don't have a valium for you to pop, but I can give you something else," Damon implied and shifted in the seat until he sat on his haunches in front of me.

"Damon…" I threw a furtive look at the driver through the raised partition. I wasn't totally convinced he couldn't see us.

His large hands roamed up my hairless legs pushing up the hem of my cocktail dress in the process. He smiled before bending forward and kissed my left knee before planting another kiss to my right never once looking away.

I wanted to tell him to stop, that he was close to taking things too far. We weren't alone, which was my primary concern. However, good intentions sometimes died a premature death especially when someone of Damon's cunnilingus caliber was giving you head.

I stifled a hiss when his artful fingers brushed the seam of my lacy panties. Before I knew it, my left leg was tossed on his shoulder, the right made its way there eventually. The inside of my thigh became ground zero for wandering kisses. Butterfly soft kisses I hardly felt, but it was enough of a tease that had me arching my spine.

My legs widened, granting Damon better access. Blood rushed to my ears muffling sound. The bustling noise of interstate traffic became a non-factor as I devoted my full attention to the sensations pinging through me.

"Mm-hmm," Damon hummed, the vibration aimed for my crotch.

His nose brushed my slit.

I hissed, thighs involuntarily closed on Damon's head while my eyes rolled, but I snapped out of our lusty haze when the car made an abrupt turn.

I pushed Damon's head away only a second before his tongue snaked out to taste me. "We're here."

"Oh, shit," Damon said on a chuckle as he scrambled into the seat, smoothing his tie and adjusting himself in his pants.

We were jostled as the car came to a stop. Damon and I traded knowing smirks. Close call. He opened the door and helped me out. The both of us avoided making eye contact with our driver. The chauffeur, a true professional, said nothing as he popped the trunk and removed a large, gift wrapped box and a gift bag that contained a bottle of vintage chardonnary. Damon relieved the box from the driver whereas I intercepted the gift bag.

We hustled by the armada of cars parked along the street and driveway and up the steps to a single family home—Voss' parents' house to be more accurate, for a family get together to welcome the latest addition to the family. The house itself was a two story gray brick Georgian with white columns, neatly trimmed shrubbery and a manicured lawn situated in a quiet neighborhood of cookie cutter suburban uniformity. I rang the doorbell and about thirty seconds later one of Voss' family members opened it, smiling hugely. He had Theo Huxtable written all over him.

"Hi, come on in."

Damon and I swept into the foyer.

"I'm Devon, Voss' cousin," he introduced himself, hand extended.

"Bonnie Bennett and this Damon Salvatore."

Devon shook my hand then fumbled with trying to shake Damon's since his were full at the moment. "Kin to Lucy, I should have known. Nice to meet you. I'll show you where everyone is," not that we needed help because we could hear people talking and laughing providing verbal breadcrumbs.

"Actually," Damon said. "I could use a bathroom."

"Oh, it's right behind you. I can take this off your hands," Devon reached for the box that Damon willingly handed over. He grunted at its weight. "Damn, what's in here?" he laughed uneasily.

"It's a robotic polar bear," I replied. "It talks, sings, teaches quick lessons, and social skills. Hopefully it won't scare the baby when she's old enough to use it."

"Hopefully," Devon grumbled. "Well, come on. The fun's this way."

Damon darted into the aforementioned lavatory and I followed behind Devon.

The hallway branched into the living room that was teeming with people. There was no occupancy to be found on the cream couch or love seat. Folding chairs had been set up and those too were occupied. Additional guests wandered from the kitchen separated by an L-shaped breakfast bar eating from Styrofoam plates. Pale pink and lavender balloons were grouped in clusters in the four corners of the living space. The TV was on showing a movie no one was paying attention to. Gift bags were stashed on a table pushed along the east wall and across from it was the refreshments table. A herd of screaming children dashed between adults as they ran from the back of the house and up the staircase.

"Stop running!" someone yelled half-heartedly.

Eyes landed on me once Devon shuffled out of the way, dropping the gift off on the designated table. I offered my most pleasant smile and finally located my cousin sitting in the chair of honor, a handcrafted rocking chair. Voss, who reminded me of the actor Eliot Knight, stood dutifully by her side. It was the bundle wrapped in a soft blanket that caught and held my interest.

Lucy looked up from the infant in her arms and at me. Her pregnancy glow had morphed into the luminescence of motherhood. She seemed to have a deep sense of peace about her, and the love for her child pumped so strongly through her that it made me stutter.

"H-Hey, we made it."

"You did," Lucy deadpanned but smiled nonetheless. "You hear that, Z? Your tardy godparents are here."

Either it was a twisted sense of humor or a lapse in good in judgement, Lucy thought Damon and I would make excellent godparents. I knew Voss wasn't completely sold on the idea (couldn't blame him). If he had reservations, Lucy overrode them. We were chosen and the magnitude of that scared and humbled me.

An older and distinguished version of Voss approached with a broad shouldered woman with auburn hair tailing behind. They were Voss' parents, Carter and Sylvia whom the former shook my hand, and the latter pulled me in for a hug that squeezed the life out of me.

I presented them the gift bag with the wine as I was taught never to show up at someone's house empty handed. Plus, I had been told Carter was an avid wine collector. He examined the bottle, lips pulled down at the corner as he read the label and then a moment later nodded his head, pleased with the selection. The whole while Sylvia took me around introducing me to her family. Everyone was nice even if I drew a few indifferent and suspicious looks. Looks that doubled once Damon came into the room and everyone wondered if he were lost.

"Stop gaping like you've never seen a white man before," Lucy barked. "That's Damon, Bonnie's boo thang."

Her loud voice made the baby whimper whom she rocked to settle down. My boo thang waved at the audience and proceeded to charm the pants off Sylvia and her suddenly reticent sisters and nieces.

I crossed over to the new parents. Voss kissed my cheek as I hugged him, and he welcomed Damon with a one-armed, manly embrace.

I shifted until I stood next to my cousin, bent to kiss her cheek with my own, and then I was looking into the face of an absolute angel. Long lashes shaded cheeks that were just begging to be pinched and nibbled. Her tiny nose, rosebud mouth, dimpled chin, and sprigs of black hair, Zephaniah made my heart clench and melt.

Lucy, with Voss' help stood up, "Meet your goddaughter. Sanitize those hands first."

Voss whipped out an economy size bottle of gel sanitizer. Once my hands were clean to Lucy's specifications, with careful movements my cousin placed her firstborn into the cradle of my arms.

Zephaniah wriggled and voiced her discontent with a small cry. Her lids threatened to flutter open but stayed shut. I froze until she quieted, breathing evenly through her small nostrils. She was perfect. With the back of my knuckle I gently traced the slope of her fat cheek marveling at the butter softness of her delicate skin. She smelled how babies smelled, like soap and cotton candy. Innocence.

Even in slumber her little hand extended and I lent her my finger to grip, which she did. Her nails were so tiny.

"Luce, you and Voss made a beautiful little girl," Damon complimented as he stood behind me, hand on my shoulder.

"Thanks, blo—er, Damon," Lucy nearly outed him. "She needs to be changed into her pajamas. Why don't you two do it?"

"Are you sure?" I said wanting more than anything to spend some time with my godchild from prying eyes.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Voss, can you take them up to the nursery?"

The theme of the nursery was Black Alice in Wonderland. Zephaniah's grandparents went all out. Her bassinet and changing table were dark mahogany. Voss showed Damon and I where the diapers, wipes, and her clothes were located and left us to ready his daughter for bed.

I didn't put Zephaniah on the changing table right away. I wanted to hold her a little while longer. Her warmth mingled with mine, her heavy weight tested the durability of my muscles. Did I forget to mention she came in weighing nine pounds and five ounces? Lucy delivered her vaginally with minimal drugs because Little Z said eff your schedule and came a week early, and with a determination to have the fastest delivery known to man. It had only taken three hours for my cousin to give birth.

Seeing her, holding her made the yearning for my own so potent that I turned toward Damon, "Here it's your turn to hold her."

Damon was startled for a moment, his experience with babies even less than mine. I used to babysit—a gig that was thankfully short, but the youngest child I ever watched had been eighteen months old.

There was some fumbling as the exchange happened, and a tiny sock covered foot shot out of the blanket and kicked Damon in his peck. He laughed, "Watch it, chick. At least get to know me before deciding to get violent."

I watched him as he studied the baby with a furrowed brow.

"Her eyes…" he said a moment or so later, "they're green like yours."

"What?" I positioned myself for a better view. Little Z's eyes were wide open and Damon was right. They were like mine but brighter, nearly sea green.

She stared up at her godfather almost inquisitively before those curious orbs trailed to me.

Zephaniah blinked owlishly.

"Hi, sweetheart," I cupped the back of her head, she wriggled again, "we're your godparents and I don't know if that's a good or bad thing, but the one thing you can be sure of, we'll never let anything bad happen to you."

Zephaniah smiled because of my vow or because she had gas, but her lids drooped, opened, drooped again, and she was back in la la land.

Damon shifted the baby to one arm as he wrapped the other around my waist, hand on my hip. "We'll do right by her, Bonnie. We will."

We'd have to give it our best shot, because once Zephaniah was school age we'd have her for an entire month during the summer. The prospect of parenting was intimidating, but after facing and surviving near fatal ordeals one after another, there was little I couldn't face especially with Damon as my co-pilot. Together we could land any plane. Clichéd but no less real. It was how partnerships worked. And we worked.

February—Seattle Lake

The tip of the fountain pen hovered as I nibbled on my thumbnail. Beads of sweat weren't threatening to form and roll off the slope of my forehead, but I did feel superheated under my pits, the center of my back, and the creases between my thighs.

"I don't hear the telltale scratch of a John Hancock being scribbled, witchy. What's the hold up?!"

"Don't yell at me."

"I have to yell so you can hear me over the tower of boxes piled up in this condo. Pack rat, much?"

"Shut up!"

"Testy."

Damon and I were moving cross country back to Mystic Falls. Well, he was pretty much moved. The things he didn't need had either been sold or placed into storage while I fretted like a hoarder on what I was positive I could not live without, and what I could let go to charity or to the Dumpster. Damon was better equipped in slashing out what wasn't necessary; so he made quite a few executive decisions on what would make it in the Nationwide moving truck and what wouldn't.

Packing up and moving was not a hard decision to make. Those lovely perks and offers should Damon be named praetor were immediately withdrawn from the table. Unsurprisingly. Marie Leveau had held her own against Dianatha and was crowned victor. The only one disappointed by the turn of events was Dianatha who slithered into the shadows to lick her literal and figurative wounds. At the end, we severed all ties irrevocably with The Guild, and what a relief it was when no one put up a fuss or fight about it. I didn't possess the Hermetic Grimoire, and even if I did, they would certainly be the last to know.

Time moved forward, the novelty of being the 'It People' wore off until Damon's cover of La Tuerie Magazine debuted, which saw a record number of sales. He was thrust into the limelight once more. Parties and more interviews culminated to a collaborative book deal with the magazine's publishing house, the paperwork of which I was vacillating over. A fictionalized version of our love story would be making its way into the literary world of New Adult Supernatural fiction as soon as I signed the legalities of my privacy away for public consumption.

Our names would be changed as well as descriptions, names of places we frequented so no one from the human world would be able to put two and two together. Regardless of the subterfuge, the idea was unsettling for me. Situations would be altered to fit the "plot", but there'd be little camouflaging the fact my life would be exposed.

As for our friends, Stefan and Caroline were in full wedding planning mode with their nuptials two months away. We saw them in Aspen for Christmas and New Year's. Thanksgiving had been spent with my dad. Rebekah, my ride or die would be staying in Seattle Lake as her relationship with Vincent Keller heated up and flirted with matrimony. I fully anticipate her to call and say she's engaged by June.

"Would the decision be easier if you had an incentive you weren't making a colossal mistake in signing the contract?"

Damon stood behind me. Guess I had been deeply engulfed in my musings not to sense his approach, but again he was stealthy, able to sneak up on anyone even if you were being hypervigilant.

I deliberated his proposal. "What kind of incentive are we talking?"

"Well," tepid hands scooped me out of the swivel chair and I was implanted on his lap. Damon reached for his MacBook, and quickly pulled up his manuscript. "A ghostwriter might be working on our story, which I'm sure he or she will get wrong every step of the way. But I'm working on my own. I'll let you read what I have so far and you can make any changes you want. I think it's only fair since you did kind of live through it with me."

I chortled. Understatement. "All right."

"Just bear in mind some parts of this fiction and some parts are fact," Damon explained.

I turned just enough to glimpse his profile. "You don't say."

He motioned with his head to the monitor. "Read to see what I mean," Damon lifted me and plopped my booty in the chair as he went to finish packing.

I started reading.

She knew precisely what she was doing. The trap she wanted to set. The prey she wanted to capture and devour one greedy drop at a time. She sat close but far enough as not to be conspicuous; trailed her fingers over the delicate line of her pale neck wantonly drawing attention to her blue veins.

Around me men laughed, ice cubes hit the sides of crystal tumblers the sound almost took my mind off…things.

The palms of my hands burned in anticipation because she was beautiful, she was lovely, and ripe and ready to be picked, eaten. However, once I unglued my eyes from her voluptuous tits, took in her riot of blonde curls, brown eyes, obscenely red lips, the fantasy for me vanished like a puff of smoke from a Cuban cigar.

She didn't fit the profile of what I had come to want.

She continued to eye me, even knowing the interest that flared within me moments ago wasn't as potent as when she first sat down.

Signaling for the waiter, I asked him to refill her drink. She beamed, nodded her thanks, and tried to engage me in conversation.

I tried to listen to what she was saying. Telling me she was a promoter or something…did a lot of business at a top secret club…or something…asked me if I was in town for business or pleasure.

The word pleasure rolled off her tongue with ease, like she was used to saying it, used to giving and definitely receiving it. She smiled softly, waited for me to respond. Instead, I lifted my drink and finished what was left.

She huffed but still wasn't ready to throw in the towel. She knew and understood my type. Workaholic, Type A personality, probably fucked up in ways that would give her nightmares, but willing to try her hand because of my face, the body underneath tailored threads—she wanted to see how cut it was, how muscled, the size of my cock and if it would surpass her expectations or fall hilariously below them. Knew I was unobtainable in every way that would matter to a woman.

"I'm here for business," I decided to throw her bone.

She perched her elbow on the bar top, rested her chin in the palm of her hand. "What kind of business are you in? No let me guess. Finance?"

"Far from it. You could say I'm a little into everything."

"Most people who frequent this city are. You look familiar," and she took my measure again, searching through her mental files for where she may have seen me.

If you were a card carrying member of the undead society then I was fairly recognizable.

Regardless if she came up with the right answer or not, she wouldn't know me. Couldn't know me. I was off limits to a lot of things and a lot of people.

The bartender sat her refreshed drink in front of her. I held up my credit card to close my tab. It was time to go. In the past, with a few more questions, a few more drinks, she would be headed back with me to the nearest hotel.

Not anymore. Once your tongue tasted magic and fire not much else could compare to it.

She started pouting once I was handed the receipt. "Leaving so soon?"

"I have an errand to run," I shrugged apologetically. "Enjoy your drink."

"Wait!" she reached inside her purse and extracted a business card, handed it over to me. "If you need a companion for dinner, I'm available."

She didn't bat her eyelashes. I studied the card, her name, the name of her company, telephone and fax number and email emblazoned in gold lettering. I almost asked her what her rates were but didn't want to be an asshole.

Not tonight.

"Thanks," I muttered dryly and left the bar.

The stale air of Vancouver filled my dead lungs but I hardly noticed. My hand rifled in my pocket and I pulled it out. The ring. Rose gold. Three karats surrounded by twenty-nine smaller diamonds. Thirty in total. The clarity and cut of the diamonds were perfect. I smirked a little. She said yes. It was our secret and out of the many we kept from one another, from others, it wouldn't remain one forever, but she and I…that was forever.

Or until she died. I am immortal after all.

Classic Damon to end with a sarcastic joke at my expense. This was perfect the way it was and I saw no reason in changing a single word. Even if reality, in this case, was not as neatly wrapped with a bow.

Stretching my arms, I wiggled my fingers feeling the weight of a ring…on my index finger. I wasn't gifted with a stunning rock like my literary doppelganger, but I did get something different.

Damon had gotten an apadravya piercing with a tiny B&D engraved on it to commemorate the evolution of our relationship. That was a fun afternoon. The memories of feeling that for the first time in my twat was…an indescribable high that could not be replicated by a toy or finger. Trust me, I tried.

But we had been through the gamut. Enemies, frenenmies, short-lived unrequited crush, boyfriend and girlfriend, lovers, engaged, married, divorced, reconciled, godparents…who knew what would come next.

One night, over cooling plates of curry chicken, he finally translated what he said to me at the summit. He asked me to marry him.

"So?" he prompted at my prolonged silence.

"I want to remarry you, Damon just…can we wait?"

I knew my answer wasn't what he had been anticipating, and if he felt a shred of disappointment I wasn't squealing all over the place, Damon kept a tight lid on it. Then again, he wasn't the type of cat who accepted no as the final answer.

No lie, but I heard his back molars grinding on top of each other as he said, "We can have a long engagement, Bonnie. It doesn't matter either way to me. So long as you know I'm serious about us."

"I do know you are. There's no way you can conceal that and I love that you don't."

"But?" he jiggled the ice cubes in his glass.

"I like being your girlfriend. I'm not sure I was that great of a wife."

"You were. Sure, it may seem like the problems we had before we got married became worse, but I wouldn't trade those years for the world. Bonnie, you can be my wife, girlfriend, mistress all rolled into one, don't get hung up on a title. A title doesn't change who you are as a person or at least it shouldn't," Damon took a breath. "You're not anti-marriage all of a sudden, are you?"

"I'm not. Like I said, I want to get remarried just not right this second."

"Fine."

And his petulant tone let me know it was not fine.

That conversation took place months ago.

They say you know when you know. The question for me had never been about Damon and I being right or wrong for each other. If a self-absorbed doppelganger couldn't end us, if constant run-ins with hunters and underground organizations failed to break us, not much would.

"Verdict?"

I swiveled the chair. Damon came to stand between my legs. "You're a fairly decent writer. I was almost certain Stefan wrote it but since there were no references to a painstaking hair regime…"

"Ha, seriously, witchy. What's your opinion?" Damon folded his beefy arms.

Slouching, my left foot began easing along Damon's leg. "If it's the beginning of a love story it'll be interesting to see how the main characters got to that point. If it's the end…it's a nice cliffhanger, makes the future seem promising while offering a bit of closure without the usual bells and whistles that are notorious with happily ever after's. Now…should I be jealous you were looking at a strange woman's tits in a bar?"

He leered, "You should be jealous if I actually touched them."

I was proud I didn't kick him. "Was that part fact?"

"Yep."

"The part with the ring in your pocket?"

Damon braced his palms on the arms of the chair, the tip of his nose inches from mine. "If I ever get a definitive answer to my question, you could find out if that's fact or fiction."

"Fair enough. Subject change,"—that earned a growl—"what do you hope your character's name will be?"

"I've narrowed it down to two. Syn spelled S-Y-N or Giovanni."

"I'm sure the editor will go with something straitlaced like Tom."

Damon pulled a face, "You're probably right."

The grandfather clock chimed the hour. Midnight. February 4th had segued into February 5th which meant it was my birthday. Another year lived, a new start to the future. Getting older used to be fun but now it was just getting older. And taking into account I was biologically older than my closest friends and even Damon, didn't put me in a sunshine state of mind. Thirty was a pinnacle year. My twenties were finished and I was a cougar.

Damon stared at me. I stared at him wondering which of us would acknowledge the significance of the day.

"Stay right where you are," Damon flashed away.

Within minutes he was coming at me with a cupcake. Cute. A candle in the shape of the numbers 3 and 0 was cushioned within buttercream frosting if I were scenting things properly. He didn't sing or make any musical noises with his mouth, merely presented my baked confection on a saucer.

"Happy Birthday, baby. Make a wish. Blow out the flame."

I stood, closed the distance separating us. "I don't need to wish for anything, Damon. I have everything I want."

"Oh, yeah, like what?"

I pretended to think. "Well, let me see…I have divine health. Money. Good friends, a nice, uncomplicated father, a gorgeous goddaughter. Some pretty awesome powers. And…a boyfriend..."

"Fiancé."

"A boyfriend who could one day, very soon, be a future husband that I love to distraction."

"You get on my nerves," Damon groused.

"You love me anyways."

"Yeah, I do," he moved the cupcake out of the way so there'd be no impediment barring us from kissing. He nibbled a path from chin to the corner of my jaw. "I'm going to wear you down one of these days."

Blowing out the candle, I cupped him, seeking out that piercing. "You know I'm as obstinate as the roots of a palm tree."

"Unfortunately," he grumbled, wound his arms around me. "At least sign the contract so we can show the world how you fell in love with me."

"I'm sure falling in love was mutual between the pair of us."

"If I recall," he started swaying us from side to side, "you caught a boner for me long before I even peeped you on my radar."

Dick, but one who told the truth. "Yeah, but it didn't take you long to start yearning for my kitty."

"Hmm, I do love your kitty. On a serious note…thank you for sharing your life with me."

My nails tickled his scalp as my insides congealed into swoon-filled goo. "Thank you for making me happy."

"Always, and my pleasure," Damon tipped his head. "Happy thirtieth Birthday, Bonnie," that particular glint came into his eye and I felt him rising to the occasion. "I want to see if I can make you blush thirty shades of red."

I was positive I was already ten by this point, and turned another hue when Damon ground his pelvis into mine, nicked my spot with his teeth and whispered Italian in my ear.

"La ragazza disubbidiente."

I knew what that meant. I was naughty. So naughty in fact I secretly giggled at the engagement ring I had hidden under his pillow. Shouldn't I be the one to propose to him this time around? I wouldn't be the only one blushing tonight. Wait and see.

-Fini-

A/N: Almost three years later and it finally comes to end. Thank you, thank you, thank you for riding this crazy wave with me. For the support, love, for those who encouraged me when I was feeling down as a writer. Thank you!

Okay, some key things you should google. Eliot Knight, if you've never seen him to give you an idea of whom I channeled for Lucy's baby daddy. If you're interested. And Damon's apadravya piercing (which I hope you're of age to look at).