Epilogue
Matt
T he villa overlooked the Amalfi Coast, all crumbling cliffs and soft sunlight, the sea stretching out so far it blurred into the sky.
The ceremony was private—lavish, but intimate—mostly the way Sienna had insisted when she’d caught me attempting to book a cathedral that could accommodate four hundred guests.
“We’re not throwing the fucking Met Gala, Matt,” she’d said.
I’d let her win that one.
It didn’t matter where it was. Didn’t matter who was there, outside of us, Zach, Bea, and Bella. What mattered was her becoming mine, really and truly mine .
We’d planned it fast. It had barely been more than six months after the twins were born that she’d looked at me and said, “Amalfi Coast?” as if we’d been spit balling ideas for it — we hadn’t.
It took me zero convincing, and within a week, we’d had almost everything booked, and within a month, we’d flown across the Atlantic.
Sex on the plane had been much easier this time with Margot minding the kids and a private room on my— our —jet.
I’d invited Ryan. Purely out of spite. I’d imagined him standing somewhere near the back, Lauren on his arm, face tight with fake support while I married the woman he’d broken and tried to scare away from me.
But he didn’t show. I wasn’t surprised — just a little disappointed I couldn’t gloat in person.
Anyone who mattered was there.
Jules looked like she’d stepped out of a Vogue editorial on my dime in her pale, light green dress, smug as hell because apparently she’d known we’d end up here before we had.
Margot wore more of a deep, muted green, a two-piece set of flowing pants and a dress shirt, ever prepared in case one of the kids needed wrangling.
And when the ceremony music started and Zach walked out in his little suit, six and taller and proud as he pushed the twins' stroller down the aisle like it was a royal parade, I didn’t stand a chance against the burning behind my eyes.
My chest cracked open watching them.
My boy. My girls. All of them, a part of this.
But then the music shifted, swelling, and nothing in the goddamn world could’ve prepared me for her.
She didn’t wear white. That was the first thing I noticed. Instead, she’d gone with the one color she knew would get a fucking rise out of me — soft fucking yellow.
It was delicate, sweet, off the shoulders on her arms, but clinging all the way down to her thighs.
It was barely a wedding dress, but it didn’t matter.
It undid me all the same. It fit her like a glove, hugging every inch of her that made me weep , and her hair was twisted back and out of her face with gold pins, brunette waves cascading down her back with ease.
But it was the look in her eyes, steady and sharp and locked on mine, that hit harder than anything I’d felt in my life.
The way she’d looked in Tulum was nothing compared to this.
This was psychological warfare. This was against the Geneva Convention.
She smirked when she saw my face, like she knew , and of course she did. She knew exactly what she was doing when she picked that.
The ceremony wasn’t long. We kept the formalities brief, just enough to satisfy the officiant, just enough to keep the illusion of tradition. But then it was our turn to speak.
She went first.
“Matt,” she said, holding both of my hands in hers, her eyes locked on mine. “When I met you, I thought you were an emotionally stunted, rich asshole who couldn’t commit to dinner plans, let alone a relationship. And I was right.”
I snorted.
“But,” she carried on, “you learned to show up. You made space. You let me eat all of the pickles out of your fridge without complaining. You built a life with me, one layer at a time.”
Her throat worked, her eyes starting to go glassy.
“Even when you were scared,” she added, her voice cracking.
“You—You’ve given me the world and then had the nerve to act like I was the one doing you a favor.
” She squeezed my hands. “So, this is me saying yes to every part of it, not just marrying you. Yes to you. Yes to Zach. Yes to Bea and Bella. Yes to the long nights and the hard days and all the weird shit we’ll probably fight about later.
I’m in, all the way, for as long as you’ll have me. ”
My throat ached as it tightened. I lifted a hand to her cheek, swiping at the tears that had slipped free, and started mine.
“Sienna,” I said, trying not to sound like I was choking.
“I used to think that love had to be complicated. I used to think it was dangerous, something you ran from or outgrew. And then you showed up and tore every goddamn rule apart. You ruined my peace?—”
She laughed, wet and loud.
“—hijacked my house , insulted my charcuterie orders, teased me mercilessly, and made me fall so stupidly in love with you I forgot how to be afraid.”
I rolled my lips between my teeth, letting myself breathe for just a second as I dropped my forehead to hers.
“So, I promise,” I went on, a little quieter, mostly just for her, “to never run. To never disappear. To let the kids tell everyone that their mom is cooler than me, even when they’re wrong .
I promise to fight for you, to show up for you, to let you insult me for as long as you want to, to let you threaten me with stupid Post-It notes and never tell the police. ”
“Big of you,” she murmured.
I grinned. “I love you,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “And I’m never letting you go.”
The officiant hadn’t even finished the sentence before she grabbed me by the lapels and had her mouth on mine — like she’d been waiting the whole damn day to do it.
It wasn’t formal. It wasn’t traditional. But it was ours, and it was perfect.
————
The sea stretched out in every direction, quiet and infinite under the stars, the shoreline just a warm glow in the distance. The yacht cut through the water in silence, sleek and decadent — it was over the top, absurd, and exactly what she’d accused me of owning over a year ago.
She’d disappeared into the closest bathroom the second she’d stepped on board, rifled through my bag, and come out dressless and barefoot in one of my white button-downs, murmuring something about her dress being uncomfortable and her breasts being sore.
Now, Sienna leaned against the railing, her hair flowing in the breeze, relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen since before the twins, before the bedrest — probably not since she’d fallen asleep on me on the way back from Massachusetts.
The rings on her fingers caught the moonlight, yellow, gold, and perfect, and God , I’d won.
“Can’t believe I was right about your stupid yacht,” she said, her gaze locked on the water reflecting the low-hanging moon. “So, gaudy.”
I grinned, crossing the deck toward her, my undone bow tie hanging loose around my neck. “You wanted to see it,” I reminded her.
“It’s disgusting.”
“True.”
“So,” she said, glancing back at me. “How many girls have you seduced on this floating palace?”
“Honestly?” I smirked, coming up behind her and wrapping my arms around her waist, letting my lips fall just beside her ear. “None. I bought it to use whenever I wanted to take Zach around Europe. But you’re welcome to be the first.”
She snorted, pushing back against me just enough to make my blood start to pool between my hip bones. “That sounds like a lie.”
“It’s not. Swear on the girls’ lives.”
She gasped exaggeratedly. “ Matt ,” she laughed. “You can’t just swear on their lives when you’re so obviously lying. This is supposed to be the part of our wedding night where you ravish me, not where you risk the safety of our children with whatever tricksy, God is out there listening.”
I smirked, trailing my lips down her neck, breathing in the perfume that smelled so intensely familiar.
“Not a lie, sweetheart,” I murmured. “And besides, this is the part where I’m supposed to tell you what to do and you’re supposed to follow orders without complaint, since you’re my wife and I believe, technically, that means I own your soul. ”
She cackled. “You wish. ”
“It’s a legally binding contract, Sienna.”
“You’re insane.”
“It’s my right,” I teased, dragging my nose against that spot beneath her ear that made her breath catch every time. “You should probably start addressing me as ‘sir’ now?—”
“Matt.”
My hand went flat against her stomach, pulling her entirely flush against my body. I popped open a button. “Yes, Mrs. Strathmore ?”
“You— ahh ,” she paused as my fingers drifted across bare skin beneath the shirt, “—you realize I’m never going to do what I’m told, right?”
I hummed a chuckle against her skin, nipping at her earlobe. “Not even a little bit?”
Her hand lifted, slid into my hair, and pulled . “Not even if you beg.”
I groaned, half laughing, half aching for her. “You should respect your elders,” I teased. “What kind of example does that set for our kids, hmm? I’m a very fragile man of nearly fifty.”
She burst out laughing. “You’re forty-eight, you psycho. I’ve seen your workout routine,” she grinned, turning her head just enough to look at me. “You’ve got more core strength than the average twenty-year-old.”
“I could still throw out my back,” I countered.
“You are the most dramatic man I have ever ? — ”
I twisted her slightly in my arms as I pressed my lips to hers, not quite sweet, not quite loving , but heated in every way she was igniting in me.
I turned her more, twisting her body to mine, pinning her against the railing as I deepened it, my fingers sliding into her hair and sending little pins skittering onto the deck beneath us or into the water below.
I kissed her like I wanted to ruin her, my teeth catching her lower lip just to hear that sharp little gasp she’d make. Her body arched into mine, her fingers twisting in my hair like she still thought she was in charge.
She wasn’t.
But if she wanted to fight me for it, I’d let her.