Epilogue
Mike
Six months later…
I've been planning this for weeks.
Which, for someone whose brain operates like a pinball machine on espresso, is saying something.
I've kept secrets from investors, navigated hostile board meetings, and once talked my way out of a speeding ticket in Tokyo using nothing but enthusiastic hand gestures and a pocket translator. But keeping a secret from Evelyn?
That's been the hardest thing I've ever done.
She notices everything. It's the kindergarten teacher in her—years of scanning a room for the kid about to eat glue or the one plotting to flush someone's shoe down the toilet. Nothing gets past her.
And yet.
Here we are. Six months and one day since we accidentally got married in Vegas. Six months and one day since the best day of my entire life.
The prenup expired yesterday. Not that either of us mentioned it. We'd stopped counting months ago, right around the time she rearranged my kitchen cabinets "for efficiency,” and I realized I wanted her to rearrange everything in my life. Permanently.
I check my watch. She should be walking through the door any minute.
The condo is ready. Well, as ready as it can be when you've enlisted your brother and a princess to help with logistics, your assistant to coordinate flights, and Finley to keep Evelyn distracted with a fake "urgent brunch" this morning.
There are orchids everywhere. Of course there are.
But mixed among them—tucked into the arrangements on the coffee table, the kitchen counter, the entryway—are crayons.
Hundreds of them. Every color Crayola has ever made, arranged in little bouquets with ribbon and baby's breath like the world's most colorful, most ridiculous flowers.
The first time I sent a crayon bouquet to her classroom, she called me crying.
"You sent me crayons," she'd sobbed into the phone.
"You said you'd prefer them to flowers," I reminded her.
"I was joking."
"Were you, though?"
She'd laughed then, that watery, wonderful laugh that still makes my chest ache. "No. I wasn't. They're perfect. The kids think I have a secret admirer."
"You do. He's just not very secret."
After that, the crayon bouquets became a thing. One for Valentine's Day. One for her birthday. On the last day of school, when she cried over her students leaving, and I held her on the couch while she told me about each of them by name.
But this—this is the biggest one yet.
And it's just the beginning.
The door opens.
"Mike?" Evelyn's voice carries through the entryway. "Why did Finley keep asking if I'd packed a bag? I told her I wasn't—"
She stops.
I'm standing in the middle of the living room, surrounded by flowers and crayons, wearing a suit that costs more than some cars. There's a suitcase by my feet. Two of them, actually. Hers and mine.
"Hi," I say.
She stares. "What is this?"
"This is me, being romantic.”
Her lips twitch. "I can see that. Is that... are those crayons?"
"Six hundred and forty-two of them. The complete Crayola collection, plus some specialty packs." I shrug. "I may have gone overboard."
Her brows raise. “You think?"
I step toward her, taking her hands in mine. "But I figured if I was going to do this, I should do it right."
Her eyes narrow. "Do what, exactly?"
"Do you know what yesterday was?"
She tilts her head. "Thursday?"
"It was also the day our prenup expired."
Something flickers across her face—surprise, maybe. We really had stopped counting. "Oh. I didn't realize—"
"I know. Neither of us mentioned it." I squeeze her hands. "But I've been thinking about it. About what it means that we don't have to be married anymore. That there's no legal requirement keeping you here."
She frowns. "Mike—"
"Let me finish." I take a breath. "Six months ago, I asked you to give me a chance. A real chance. No deadline, no countdown. Just us, figuring it out together."
"I remember."
"And you did. You gave me that chance. You let me prove it." I smile. "You also reorganized my entire closet by color and tried to convince me that there's not a wrong way to load a dishwasher."
“Dirty dishes in, clean dishes out.”
“Yeah, I’m still not buying it, but that’s not important right now.
” I lift her hands to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.
"The point is—the prenup is over. We're not legally obligated to be together anymore.
And I want you to know that I'm choosing to stay.
Not because of paperwork. Not because of optics or arrangements or accidents. Because I love you."
Her eyes are bright now. Suspiciously bright.
"I love you," I repeat, because I can. Because I'll never get tired of saying it. "And I want to spend the rest of my life proving it. Starting with something we never actually got to do."
"What's that?"
I gesture to the suitcases. "We never had a honeymoon."
She blinks. "A honeymoon?"
"Two weeks. Starting tonight." I pull an envelope from my jacket pocket and hand it to her. "I had Mitchell help with the logistics. And Finley already packed your bag. I'm sorry for the conspiracy, but I wanted it to be a surprise."
She opens the envelope slowly. Inside are two first-class tickets to Santorini, along with a printed itinerary that includes a private villa, sunset sailing, and approximately twelve different restaurants I researched for hours to make sure they didn't serve mushrooms.
"Mike," she breathes. "This is—"
"Too much?"
"Perfect." She looks up at me, tears spilling over now. "It's perfect."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." She laughs, wiping at her cheeks. "Although I need you to know that Finley packed my bag, which means there's a ninety percent chance she included something inappropriate."
"I'm counting on it."
She swats my arm, but she's grinning. That full, real grin that crinkles her eyes and lights up her whole face. The one I fell in love with in a Vegas chapel when she joked about Elvis impersonators.
"I can't believe you did all this," she says, looking around at the crayons and orchids. "It must have taken forever."
"It took exactly as long as you deserve." I pull her into my arms. "Which is to say, I'd do it again. Every day. For the rest of our lives."
She melts into me, her head against my chest, her arms around my waist.
"I love you," she murmurs. "Have I mentioned that?"
"Once or twice. Feel free to keep saying it."
"I love you." She tilts her head up to look at me. "I love you. I love you. I love—"
I kiss her, swallowing the words, tasting the truth of them on her lips.
When I pull back, she's smiling.
"So," she says. "When's our flight?"
"Four hours. Just enough time to thoroughly appreciate the crayon arrangements and maybe celebrate in the bedroom."
"Celebrate?"
"I did say I wanted to do this right."
She laughs, bright and warm, and takes my hand.
"Take me to the bedroom, husband."
Later—much later—we're in the back of a town car heading to the airport. Evelyn is tucked against my side, scrolling through pictures of the villa on her phone and making little sounds of excitement that make me want to cancel the trip entirely and just take her home again.
"This view," she says, showing me a photo of the infinity pool overlooking the caldera. "Mike, this is unreal."
"Wait until you see it in person."
"I can't believe you planned all this." She shakes her head. "Behind my back. For weeks."
"Told you. I'm not just a nosy motherfucker. Turns out I'm also a sneaky one."
She laughs, leaning her head on my shoulder.
We're quiet for a moment, watching the city slide past the windows. Then she speaks again, softer.
"You know what I keep thinking about?"
"Tell me."
"That day in Vegas. When everything went sideways." She traces idle patterns on my hand. "I was so convinced it was a game. That you were a character, and the wedding was fake, and none of it was real."
"And now?"
"Now I think maybe it was real all along." She looks up at me. "Like the universe knew something we didn't. Put us in the same place, gave us the same name to find, and just... waited for us to figure it out."
"Two Evelyns," I murmur. "Two brothers. Same chapel. Same day."
"Exactly." She smiles. "It's completely insane. Too insane not to be fate. We belong together.”
“Yeah, princess, we absolutely do.”
“Hey, did your brother happen to mention anything to you today? About them?”
“That Evie is pregnant?” I ask.
“Yes! That’s so amazing. I’m so happy for them, but I’m even happier for us. For being brave together.”
"Evelyn Sinclaire," I say quietly.
"Hmm?"
"Nothing. I just like saying it."
She laughs, soft and happy, and settles closer against me.
The car carries us toward the airport, toward Santorini, toward the honeymoon we should have had six months ago.
But I don't mind the delay.
Every wrong turn, every accident, every ridiculous coincidence—it all led here. To her. To us.
And I wouldn't change a single thing.
***
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