Epilogue - Camille
Fifteen Months Later
Pink and gold decorations transform our living room into a fairy tale wonderland for Ivy's first birthday party.
My baby girl is one year old today, and I still can't quite believe how fast the time has flown by. Down the hall, I can hear her delighted squeals followed by Julian's exaggerated groans as he squeezes in a workout with her watching from her bouncy seat.
I can't help but smile as I listen to them.
Julian has a special workout routine just for when Ivy's with him—complete with silly faces and over-the-top sound effects that make her laugh uncontrollably.
Her favorite is when he pretends each rep is unbearably difficult, letting out theatrical groans that send her into fits of giggles.
"Twenty more!" I hear him announce dramatically, followed by Ivy's excited babbling. I shake my head, unable to contain my smile. She may not understand the words, but she certainly understands the game.
I adjust a few streamers and step into the kitchen to check on the finger foods I've prepared.
Everything is coming together perfectly.
I've been planning this celebration for weeks—nothing extravagant, just some friends and family gathering to celebrate the little girl who has completely transformed our lives.
My mind drifts back to the day she was born—I was remarkably calm despite all my fears about childbirth.
Alex held my hand the entire time, his usual commanding presence softened to something tender and vulnerable.
Tristan kept track of everything the doctors and nurses did with characteristic attention to detail, while Julian paced the delivery room, alternating between making me laugh and nearly fainting when Ivy’s head started to crown.
When they finally placed Ivy in my arms, all four of us cried.
I remember looking down at her tiny face—a perfect miniature blend of Alexander's features and mine—and feeling an explosion of love so powerful it nearly knocked the breath from my lungs. The guys crowded around us, each falling instantly and irrevocably in love.
We named her Ivy Alexandra Montclair-Kingsley, though to all of us, she's simply our little Ivy. Alexander may be her biological father, but all three men have embraced fatherhood with a devotion that sometimes makes my heart ache with its intensity.
The past year has been the best of my life.
Exhausting, overwhelming at times, but so full of joy I sometimes worry my heart might burst from containing it all.
Our sweet family works in ways I never could have predicted.
Each man brings something different to Ivy's life—Alex's protective steadiness, Tristan's thoughtful patience, Julian's playful energy.
I took six months off after Ivy was born, focusing exclusively on her and on healing.
Now that I'm back at work part-time, we have a rotation system that keeps Ivy surrounded by love and attention.
Julian takes morning shifts because he's naturally an early riser.
Tristan handles afternoons, working from home three days a week.
Alex takes evenings, religiously leaving his office by five regardless of what business crisis might be unfolding.
We're all together on weekends, creating a rhythm that feels surprisingly natural.
The media circus that once surrounded us has entirely died down. It's funny how something that felt so all-consuming now seems like a distant memory. Occasionally someone will recognize us when we're out together, but mostly people just see a family—different than most, but a family nonetheless.
As for Fiona, the last I heard she'd relocated to Florida after her career in New York imploded spectacularly.
She's working at some furniture chain store as an in-house designer—apparently the only place willing to hire her after everything came out about her.
I should probably feel bad about that, but whenever I remember the things she said, the lies she spread, any sympathy evaporates. She made her choices.
Julian's playlist filters through the penthouse—he's created a special mix for today's celebration, songs that have been Ivy's favorites throughout her first year.
I smile when I hear the opening notes of "Sweet Baby James," the song Tristan discovered would instantly soothe her during those early colicky weeks.
I arrange a stack of tiny plates beside the appetizers and adjust the centerpiece on the dining table.
Tristan delivered it this morning before heading out to pick up the cake—an elaborate arrangement of wildflowers that somehow manages to be both sophisticated and whimsical.
Not to be outdone, Julian filled an entire closet with toys he swears are "developmentally appropriate" but are definitely just things he thought looked fun.
Their competitive spirit hasn't disappeared, but it's evolved into something gentler, channeled into making Ivy's life magical rather than trying to outdo each other for my attention.
I watch them sometimes, these three powerful men brought to their knees by a tiny little girl with Alex's green eyes and my smile, and I think about how close we came to losing all of this.
"Mama! Mama!" Ivy's voice, followed by the sound of Julian's bare feet padding down the hallway, pulls me from my thoughts.
"Someone's asking for you," Julian calls. "And by asking, I mean demanding at top volume."
Ivy's excited babbling gets louder as they approach. My heart swells in my chest, this automatic, involuntary response I have every time I hear her voice.
I check the time—just over an hour until guests start arriving. Alex texted earlier that he's on his way back with the balloons, and Tristan should be returning with the cake soon. Everything is falling into place.
A year ago, I couldn't have imagined this life.
I couldn't have predicted how we'd settle into this rhythm, how natural it would feel, how the love between us would only grow stronger with Ivy at its center.
Our daughter has three fathers who adore her, a mother who would move mountains for her, and a future filled with more love than most people experience in a lifetime.
I hear Julian's exaggerated stomping coming down the hall—what Ivy calls his "monster walk"—and her delighted shrieks in response. I smile and take a deep breath, savoring this moment before our home fills with guests.
Julian appears in the doorway with Ivy perched on his hip, her chubby hand tangled in his damp hair. She's wearing the "Birthday Girl" onesie I laid out this morning, though somehow she's already managed to get something that looks suspiciously like protein shake on one sleeve.
"This little monkey was trying to steal my dumbbells again," he says, prying her fingers gently from his hair. "She's getting stronger by the day—might give me competition soon."
I take her from him, breathing in her baby smell. "Did you have fun watching Daddy Julian work out?" I ask her. She responds by patting my face enthusiastically, her eyes bright with excitement.
"I need to shower before everyone arrives," Julian says, dropping a kiss on Ivy's head and then a quicker one on my lips.
He disappears down the hall toward the master bathroom while I bounce Ivy on my hip, showing her the decorations. "Look at all the pretty colors, baby girl. All for your birthday."
I take Ivy back to her sweet lilac-walled bedroom and change her into the cutest pink dress that I’ve ever seen. She grabs her favorite stuffed animal, the elephant Tristan bought for me what seems like so long ago.
Just as I’m finishing up getting her ready, the doorbell rings. I head to the door and open it to find Izzy, her arms wrapped around an enormous plush pink rocking horse.
"Happy birthday to my favorite little girl in the whole wide world!" she sings out, maneuvering the oversized toy through the doorway. "Hope you don’t mind that I’m early–I couldn’t wait any longer."
Ivy immediately starts bouncing in my arms, reaching for Izzy with grabby hands. Those two have been thick as thieves since day one—something about Izzy's vibrant energy seems to captivate Ivy completely.
Izzy drops the rocking horse in the entryway and sweeps Ivy from my arms. "Look how big you've gotten! Are you even the same baby? There’s no way!"
Ivy giggles, patting Izzy's cheeks and trying to grab her dangling earrings.
"The place looks amazing, Cami," Izzy says, spinning in a slow circle with Ivy. "Very princess-meets-Coachella, very you."
"Thanks, girl," I say, retrieving the rocking horse and finding a place for it near the gift table. "And for the gift. She’s gonna love it."
"Only the best for my girl," Izzy replies with a wink. "Where are your three knights in shining armor?"
"Julian's in the shower, Alex is on his way with balloons, and Tristan's picking up the cake."
"So domestic," Izzy teases. "I’m surprised they didn’t just pay someone an obscene amount of money to put the whole thing together."
"They wanted it to be more personal," I reply proudly. I love how involved my men have been in—it’s honestly every woman’s dream.
The doorbell chimes again. This time when I open it, my parents stand on the threshold, my father clutching a gift bag, my mother holding a bouquet of pink roses.
"Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad," I say, stepping aside to let them in. "Thanks for coming."
My mother's smile is tight but genuine. "We wouldn't miss our granddaughter's birthday."
They step inside, my father's eyes immediately scanning the room as if taking inventory. His gaze pauses briefly on the large framed photo on the wall—a professional shot of all five of us taken when Ivy was three months old. All three men surrounding me as I hold Ivy.
"Lacy, Edward, so glad you could make it," Izzy says brightly, bouncing Ivy on her hip. "Look who's here, Ivy! It's Grandma and Grandpa!"