Epilogue
Tatiana
Six months later
I step out onto the balcony of Dom’s penthouse, our penthouse, and breathe in the crisp evening air. New York City sparkles beneath us, a galaxy of lights rivaling the stars.
Six months ago, I never would have imagined standing here, not as a temporary wife bound by contract, but as a woman who chose this life.
Who chose him .
Look at me, all domestic goddess with my billionaire husband. Pretty sure this wasn’t covered in my Business Administration degree.
“Tatiana?” Dom’s voice carries from inside. “Sabrina just texted. They’re running ten minutes late.”
I turn to find him leaning against the doorframe, still in his work clothes minus the jacket, sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned forearms. Costa Rica’s sun has been good to him. He looks... relaxed. Happy. So different from the guilt-ridden, control-obsessed man I first married in Vegas.
“Good,” I say, walking back inside. “That gives me time to check on dinner.”
He shakes his head and chuckles. “You still have trust issues with professional chefs.”
“Hey, it’s not Antoine I have trust issues with, it’s ovens!” I quip.
Dom catches my hand as I pass, pulling me against his chest. “We just got back from Costa Rica yesterday. We could have eaten out.”
“And miss the chance to show off our fancy dining room? Please.” I press a quick kiss to his lips. “Besides, I wanted to celebrate.”
His smile turns smug. “The resort?”
“That, too.”
His eyes darken with understanding, and his palm slides possessively over my still-flat stomach. “You want to keep it a secret?”
I nod, fighting the ridiculous grin threatening to take over my face. “Just until we’re past the first trimester. Though I’m pretty sure Christopher has figured it out. He keeps sending me these knowing looks whenever I decline coffee.”
Which is basically torture, by the way. Coffee withdrawal while growing a human? Cruel and unusual punishment.
The oven timer beeps, saving me from Dom’s next question. I wriggle free and head to the kitchen, where Antoine has left everything meticulously organized. Notes with precise heating instructions accompany each dish. Precisely the way I like it.
“You know,” Dom says, following me, “we could have had Antoine stay.”
“And have him hovering while Jess inevitably asks inappropriate questions about our sex life? No thanks.” I slide on oven mitts and remove a tray of perfectly browned salmon. “I love your staff, but sometimes a girl just wants dinner with friends without an audience.”
Dom chuckles and reaches past me for wine glasses. “Speaking of friends, Nichols mentioned that Sabrina’s been canceling half your lunch dates last minute lately. Security detail gets all prepped for nothing.”
“That’s because she’s trying to hide something obvious,” I mutter without thinking.
Dom freezes, bottle mid-pour. “What?”
Shit. Way to keep a secret, Tatiana.
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “Just a theory. She’s been claiming it’s ‘the flu’ for months now? And always wearing those massive sweaters even in this heat? Come on.”
Dom’s eyes narrow. “And you think it’s...?”
I shrug, arranging roasted vegetables on a serving platter. “Let’s just say some ‘flus’ last about nine months and result in tiny humans. Trust me, I should know.” She pointedly pats her midsection.
The intercom buzzes before Dom can press further. He sets down the wine bottle and goes to answer, and I hear the distant sounds of our security team clearing our guests for entry.
“Nico arrived at the same time as Sabrina and Jess,” Jake is saying.
“What are you saying, he came with them?” Dom asks.
“No no,” Jake replies. “He arrived in a separate vehicle.”
Five minutes later, our dining room fills with the chaos. Sabrina waddling in despite her best efforts not to, draped in what can only be described as a tent masquerading as a fashionable oversized sweater. Jess chattering excitedly about some new club she wants us all to try. And Nico, looking surprisingly put-together, his scars somehow less angry against his skin than when I first met him.
“The prodigal brother returns,” I tease, accepting Nico’s awkward hug. We’re not exactly besties, given how we met, but we’ve reached a strange, tentative peace in the months since Dom confronted him.
“Still can’t believe you forgave this asshole,” Nico says, jerking his thumb toward Dom.
“She didn’t just forgive me,” Dom replies, coming to stand beside me. “She married me. Twice, if you count Vegas.”
“Which we absolutely do,” I add.
“And I can’t believe she forgave you ,” Dom retorts, punching Nico in the upper arm.
“Hey!” Nico says, rubbing his arm. “That was uncalled for. Don’t make me throw you over your coffee table.”
Sabrina carefully lowers herself into a chair, wincing slightly. “Please tell me there’s food. I’m starving. And water. Just water for me. Still feeling off from that flu.”
I catch her eye and raise an eyebrow. She glares back, silently daring me to say something.
Seven months of “flu.” Must be some kind of record. And that bulky sweater isn’t hiding nearly as much as she thinks it is.
We settle around the dining table, a sprawling mahogany masterpiece that is so typically Dom. He takes his place at the head, with me to his right and Nico to his left. It’s a small gesture, but meaningful. He wants to keep us close, acknowledging both relationships as important.
“So,” Jess says, loading her plate with salmon, “how was Costa Rica? Other than disgustingly romantic, I’m sure.”
“The resort’s coming along beautifully,” I say, slipping easily into consultant mode. “The foundation is complete, and they’re starting on the main buildings next month.”
“Foundations are important,” Dom adds, his hand finding mine under the table. “In resorts and relationships.”
“Oh my God, he’s gone full Hallmark,” Nico groans. “Therapy has ruined you, brother.”
Dom’s laugh is genuine, lacking the edge it once had. “Says the man who actually stayed for a full session last week.”
“Only because you changed the locks on the therapy room door!”
I watch them banter, marveling at the change. They still fight... some wounds run too deep to vanish completely... but there’s an honesty to their relationship now. A willingness to acknowledge the past without letting it poison the present.
“How’s the new company going, Tati?” Sabrina asks, deliberately changing the subject. She shifts uncomfortably in her chair, one hand discreetly supporting her lower back.
“Thriving,” I reply, unable to keep the pride from my voice. “We just landed a contract with another sustainable resort developer in Bali. Turns out being married to one of the industry leaders is excellent networking.”
“Nepotism at its finest,” Dom teases.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Excuse you. I earned that contract fair and square. Your name just got me in the door.”
“I know,” he says softly, his eyes warm. “You’re brilliant, and they’re lucky to have you.”
Still not used to compliments that don’t come with strings attached. Progress, I guess.
“Ugh, you two are nauseating,” Jess declares, reaching for the wine. “And now you’re probably having a baby next,” she jokes, waving her wine glass toward Sabrina. “What is it with everyone these days? Something in the water?”
The table falls silent. Sabrina freezes mid-bite, her expression somewhere between horror and panic.
“Not everyone,” I say smoothly. “But speaking of news...” I place my hand over my still-flat stomach. “Yes, you’re right.”
“What? You’re seriously having a baby?” Jess shrieks, nearly knocking over her wine.
I nod, warmth spreading through my chest at saying it aloud. “Almost ten weeks.”
The table erupts in excited congratulations. Nico looks stunned, then genuinely pleased. Jess is already planning baby showers. Sabrina, meanwhile, merely looks relieved that the attention has shifted away from her.
“Bathroom?” Sabrina mouths to me after a minute, her discomfort evident.
I nod and stand. “We’ll be right back. Girl talk.”
As we leave, I hear Nico ask, “What, they can’t pee alone?”
Dom’s response floats after me: “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”
I follow Sabrina down the hall, watching as she navigates with the awkward caution of someone carrying precious cargo. In the privacy of the massive bathroom, she sinks onto the edge of the tub with a sigh.
“How far along are you really?” I ask, leaning against the counter.
She glares up at me, one hand unconsciously cradling her belly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s just weight gain from stress.”
“Sabrina, come on. I’m pregnant, too, remember? I recognize the signs.” I soften my voice. “I’m not judging. I’m worried about you.”
She deflates slightly, exhaustion evident in the slump of her shoulders. “Seven months,” she finally admits. “But I don’t want to talk about it. Not with anyone. Not yet.”
Holy plot twist, Batman.
“Leo?” I guess quietly. “From Vegas?”
The shock in her eyes confirms it. “How did you—”
“The timing works out. Plus, I remember how you woke up in his room after taking GHB.”
She presses her fingers to her temples. “He doesn’t remember anything. And I... I can’t deal with this yet.”
I sit beside her, careful not to crowd her space. “You know you don’t have to handle it alone, right?”
“I know,” she sighs. “Just... not tonight. Please.”
I help her stand, thinking of the resort in Costa Rica rising from raw earth. Of the baby growing inside me. Of the therapy sessions slowly healing brothers torn apart by trauma. Of the child Sabrina carries, another unexpected Vegas consequence.
“Good foundations,” I murmur, more to myself than to her.
“What?” she asks, confused.
I smile, squeezing her hand. “Nothing. Just thinking that life has a funny way of building exactly what we need, even when we’re not looking for it.”
Hours later, after our friends have left and the dishes are tucked away (thank you, Antoine, for the detailed instructions on leftovers), Dom and I find ourselves on the balcony again.
The city glitters below us. His arm is wrapped around my waist, his palm resting protectively over my stomach.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks, brushing a strand of hair from my face.
“How utterly ridiculous our story is,” I admit. “Vegas wedding. Temporary marriage contract. Billionaire husband with a guilt complex. It’s absurd.”
“Don’t forget the part where I tried to trade you to my brother and you forgave me anyway.” His voice turns serious, his eyes finding mine in the moonlight. “Still not sure how I got that lucky.”
“It wasn’t luck,” I tell him, resting my palm against his cheek. “It was choice. Every day, we choose each other. Through all the chaos and complications, we keep choosing this. Us .”
Dom’s hand covers mine, turning to press a kiss against my palm. “I’ll choose you every day for the rest of my life, Tatiana.”
“Same,” I whisper back. “Though I reserve the right to reconsider when I’m eight months pregnant and can’t see my feet.”
He laughs, the sound vibrating through his chest and into mine. “Fair enough.”
We stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms. Below us, the city continues its relentless pace. But up here, time seems suspended.
“Did you ever think we’d end up here?” I ask. “That night in Vegas, when we woke up married...”
“Never,” he admits. “I was too busy panicking about the resort deal to see what was right in front of me.”
“And I was too busy plotting my escape to notice I was falling for you.”
His lips find mine in a kiss so tender it makes my heart ache. When we part, his forehead rests against mine, our breath mingling in the cool night air.
“Life’s funny that way,” I whisper. “You think you’re building one thing, and it turns out to be something else entirely.”
“Like our foundation in Costa Rica,” Dom murmurs.
“Exactly. You plan for a resort, but what you’re really building is a future. With me. Together.”
He leads me inside, our fingers intertwined. As we move through the penthouse that has somehow become home, I marvel at the journey that brought us here. From a drunken mistake in Vegas to this, a real marriage, with a baby on the way, and a foundation strong enough to weather any storm.
Who knew? Sometimes what happens in Vegas doesn’t stay there at all.
Sometimes it follows you home and changes everything.
Dom pulls me gently into our bedroom, and as the door closes behind us, I realize the most remarkable thing of all: in a world of billion-dollar deals and corporate empires, the most valuable contract I ever signed was the one he tore up.
The annulment.
Some foundations aren’t built on concrete and steel, but on forgiveness and second chances.
And those, I’ve learned, are the foundations that truly last forever.
Thanks for reading!!