Epilogue
Roxy
“Okay, everyone knows what to do. Two days, and we bring it home.” I stand up, the lace of my dress train almost catching under the chair.
My team files out of the boardroom, and I make a few notes in my notes app. For the first time, Merged is acquiring a company for us, not for a client.
It’s a completely new venture, an expansion that I’m spearheading. That I proposed and got the rest of the partners on board for.
The baby kicks, and I rub my belly, arching to stretch my back. This acquisition needs to be completed before the little one comes in three months. I don’t want my attention divided.
But I know that at home, I can rely on Liam. He’s been busy between his garage and avoiding my father while managing Lock’s financial company. But he had already planned four months’ paternity leave when the baby comes.
Victor lost his temper when he heard. For once, it didn’t matter. He can rage from the sidelines while I build something of my own.
I’m building a legacy on my terms. With a man I love and trust. A man who sees me—not as leverage, not as currency, not as rebellion—but as a partner.
After years of surviving, I’m finally learning how to live.
“A bit too dressed up for a weekend day at the office,” Cal says, leaning against the door frame in a tux.
I chuckle. “I can see that’s the standard around here.”
“Who are you wearing?” He scans my gown.
I’m wearing an A-shaped sleeveless top embroidered with gemstones that comes to my mid-thighs only, but covers my swollen belly.
A wedding train, tied under my waist, flows from under the top, shimmering around my legs, and sweeping behind me like I’m leaving stardust in my wake.
It’s dramatic. Excessive. Completely impractical.
Which is exactly why I love it.
For the first time in my life, I’m not dressing to rebel against my father. Or to shock a boardroom into paying attention. Or to armor myself with color and chaos because I’m terrified someone will see the truth underneath.
These days, most mornings I reach for simplicity. Confidence that doesn’t need an audience.
But tonight isn’t most days.
Tonight we’re attending a charity gala organized by a couple of philanthropists, London Lowe and her husband, Dominic.
Tonight, I’m dressed up for the stage. A battlefield disguised as champagne and chandeliers. All Merged partners networking.
“I’m wearing Roxy Moretti.” I pick up my files and tablet and walk out.
“More importantly, what are you doing here on Saturday?” Cal follows me.
“You’re here as well.” I scoff.
His wife, Celeste, comes out of the bathroom, her cheeks flushed. “Oh, Roxy, you’re here.”
“She co-owns the company.” Cal smirks.
Celeste straightens her gown unnecessarily. “Of course.” She gives Cal a stare that can only be interpreted as shut up right now.
“Do I want to know what the two of you have been up to?” I continue toward my office.
“You most definitely don’t,” Cal says, and Celeste groans.
“TMI, van den Linden, TMI.” I roll my eyes.
“I said nothing.” He laughs. “See you later, Ro.”
“Unfortunately.”
The banter with the partners has a new quality as well. It’s not them razzing, and me trying to rebut to keep up.
It’s just us. Brutal rhetoric, but deep respect.
I drop my things at my desk and answer a few emails before I leave.
When I get out of the elevator, I realize I’m running late, so I step out of my heels and rush through the foyer.
“This feels like déjà vu, Foxy.” A velvety voice stops me in my tracks. I turn, and my heart stutters.
Liam leans against the front desk counter, a tailored tux hugging his torso. His collar is open. No bow tie.
I swallow. I forget to speak. My legs, however, move.
He pushes off the counter and meets me halfway. Reliance. Trust. Us.
“What are you wearing?” He growls.
I frown. “Don’t you love it?”
“I hate it.”
I blink and look down at myself. “What are you talking about?”
“I can see too much of you… and I’m not in the mood to share,” he snaps.
“The naked legs are the point of the creation.” I take his hand, turning to leave.
“To give me a heart attack?” he grumbles.
“To distract people from my belly.”
“Why? You’re pregnant, and it suits you.”
I stop and smile at him. His frown persists. “They can look all they want. I’m yours.”
“Roxy, I love you, but let’s get you a skirt,” he demands.
I laugh. “I adore the caveman routine, but I’m wearing this dress. And you get to take it off at the end of the night.” I plant a kiss on his lips. “Come on, handsome.”
We get into our waiting car, and he raises the partition before I greet the driver.
“What are you doing, Liam?”
“Take off your underwear, Thunder.”
Jesus. I may command boardrooms, win negotiations, and lead teams of people to do my bidding.
But when he gets like this, I’m just a girl who needs to be led. To be praised. To be worshiped.
To be manhandled.
“I’m not going to repeat myself.” His voice carries a delicious promise.
Liam
I’m listening to Finn van den Linden talking about… well, something. The hotelier is not the most boring person, but my attention is on the shimmering vision who’s been working this room like she owns it.
My wife. My beautiful, pregnant wife.
I’m bursting with pride, and if it weren’t for that stupid dress, this would be a perfect evening.
Minus the number of people. I wish I could wash the socializing down with a gin and tonic, but I gave up alcohol. We’re pregnant, after all.
“I’m sorry, Finn, I need to take care of something.”
I rush through the ballroom, hoping to catch Roxy as she wraps up her current conversation and before she dives into the next one.
Beaming, she turns away from the mayor and his group, and her gaze lands on me.
The chatter falls away, and the crowd seems to part for her as she starts toward me. Fuck, she is breathtaking.
“I need to take off these shoes for a moment.” She leans into me.
“I need to take off that dress of yours.” I kiss her temple.
She rolls her eyes. “I will have you know that everyone has been complimenting it.”
I groan. “Because they want to lift that excuse of a skirt.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She squeezes my hand. “That’s only your vice.”
“And thank God for that.”
“Okay, I promise next time I’ll consult you.” She plants her hand on my chest, and my heartbeat slows down.
How her touch can regulate my nervous system, I will never know.
“You will?” I raise my eyebrow.
“Of course.” She beams.
“And if I don’t like the dress, you will actually change it?”
She laughs. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
I snort and lean in, my lips brushing her ear. “You will be punished for this, Mrs. Stone.”
Her shiver is satisfying. “I can’t wait,” she whispers.
“Do you still have work, or can we go home?”
“I don’t have work, but we can’t dash. You’re my plus one at the Merged table.” She takes my hand. “Oh shit.” She freezes, and I follow her line of sight.
“Lottie,” I sigh. With Nico fucking Lock.
Roxy’s hand tightens around mine before I can react. “Keep walking,”she mutters, steering me away.
“This evening is going from bad to worse,” I grumble.
“I promise to make it up to you.” She brushes her thumb over my knuckles.
“You better.” I pull her closer.
“Let’s find our table.”
“Not yet.” I take her hand and lead us out of the ballroom.
“Where are we going?” Roxy tries to pull away from my hold.
I try a few doors, and finally, one opens. It’s a much smaller ballroom set up for the next day, with round tables and balloons.
“Sit.” I move a chair for Roxy to sit down.
She narrows her eyes, ready to argue. But she doesn’t. Always ready to assert her independence, these days she picks her battles. And she picks them well.
“Good girl,” I say in a low voice when she obeys, and her cheeks heat up.
I pull a chair for myself and bend down to lift her ankles.
“What are you doing, Liam?”
Laying her feet in my lap, I drop her shoes to the floor. “You said you needed to take these off for a moment.”
Pressing my fingers against her soles, I massage her swollen feet.
She moans. “You’re perfect.”
“I know.”
She giggles, but it turns into another moan when I press a sensitive spot. “This is good.”
“I… have a name,” I say.
Choosing a name for our daughter has been a point of tension, to say the least.
Roxy sighs. “We are not calling our daughter Gullwing or Bentley.”
I lift her foot higher and kiss her toe. “What about Ro?”
Her breath hitches, she swallows, and she blinks a few times. Then she swings her feet away and launches at me. Hugging me, she settles in my lap. “That is a perfect name.”
“For a perfect little girl with the most wonderful mother.” I kiss her.
“And with the best father ever. Thank you. I love it.”
She takes my hand and puts it on her belly, covering it with her palm. “We love you, Ro.”
And Ro responds with a little kick under my palm.
Roxy laughs into my neck.
I close my eyes.
Life has never felt this right.
One year later
A woman in her twenties smiles, and then frowns when I don’t step aside to let her enter.
The babysitter.
I’ve already reviewed her references twice. I still don’t want her to come in.
“Adele.” Roxy appears beside me. “Come on in.” She glares at me.
The babysitter—Adele—enters after Roxy pushes me to the side.
“Don’t mind him.” Roxy juts her hip, nudging me out of the way. “Follow me.”
My wife moves through the apartment, fastening her earrings while giving Adele instructions. I trail behind them, cataloging every instruction, ensuring nothing is omitted.
Of course, she mentions even minor details I would have forgotten. That’s beside the point. We’re leaving our baby with a stranger.
Yes, Adele came for a playdate. Three times at my insistence.
Still…
“She needs a change of diapers, but I already fed her. Hopefully she will go down without a fight.” Roxy smiles when they enter our daughter’s room.
Ro is babbling in her crib, happily attempting to eat her foot.
“Excuse us for a moment.” Despite my better judgment, I pull Roxy out of the room, leaving our baby with the stranger.
We move down the hallway hastily. Before I even get a chance to raise my objections, Roxy puts her hand on my chest.
This infuriating woman knows how to calm me. It’s not working tonight.
“She has certifications,” Roxy says.
“Certifications don’t guarantee judgment.” I grind my teeth.
“She raised three siblings.” She sighs.
“That suggests stamina. Not necessarily competence.”
She gives me a look, groaning. “You vetted her.”
“I verified the documentation. That’s different.”
“She is twenty-two, Liam. Not an infiltrator.”
“She could still—”
“She could still what? Replace Ro with a lookalike?”
I don’t answer.
Ro coughs once in her crib, and I’m already halfway down the hall before I consciously decide to move.
It turns out she’s giggling while Adele blows a raspberry into her belly as she changes her diaper. Perhaps she is competent.
By the time I return, Roxy is standing by the door, coat on, amused.
“You can’t hover over her forever,” she says.
“That seems like a perfectly reasonable long-term strategy.”
She laughs softly and steps toward me, fingers straightening my collar. “She needs room to grow.”
“She is only one.”
“And already braver than you,” she teases.
I narrow my eyes. “Unlikely.”
Roxy laughs. “Let’s go.”
“Let me check if she saved our numbers.” I turn, but Roxy grips my arm.
“We’re leaving, now!” She pulls me outside.
As soon as we enter the car, I check the monitor on my cell phone. Ro is in her crib, her chest rising and falling. Little traitor—she never falls asleep this quickly.
Roxy watches me. “You know she’ll be asleep for at least two hours.”
“I am aware of the statistics.”
“And?”
“And I prefer real-time confirmation.”
She slides closer on the seat. “You’ve survived worse odds.”
“That’s precisely why I don’t gamble unnecessarily.”
When the car slows, recognition settles in. “What are we doing here?”
“I thought we could revisit our beginning.” She opens the door and steps out into the night, in front of the club where we first met.
I follow her. “You’re certain?”
“I am.” She beams.
Inside the club, nothing has changed—and yet everything has.
She walks ahead of me this time. No hesitation. No armor.
At the bar, she turns to face me, steady and deliberate. “Last time I was here, I didn’t know who you were.”
“We were wearing masks.” I lean in, brushing my mouth over hers.
“We don’t wear them anymore.” She licks her lips.
“Do you want to wear a mask?”
She parts her lips, her breath hitching. “Here. For one night, it might be fun.”
She steps closer. “In real life, I don’t want Romeo,” she says quietly. “I want the man who panics over baby monitors. The one who argues about background checks. The one who chose us.”
My hand finds her waist. “You have him.”
She studies me as if confirming it. “Good,” she murmurs. “Because I’m choosing you. But let’s revisit the memory. For old time’s sake.”
The first time we were here, desire was leverage.
Tonight, it’s a certainty.
And when we leave hours later, I only check the monitor once.
Life still feels this right.