Epilogue
Carly
One Year Later
Grayson grunts against my neck, his lips grazing that sensitive spot just behind and below my ear, his gruff pants and my whines the only sound in the massive suite.
“Fuck—yes—”
His grip tightens on the laces crisscrossing the back of my dress, using them like reins to haul my body back to him after every thrust, my dress tightening a little uncomfortably. But I do not care. I could not care less.
My forearms are the only things separating me from utter devastation — the comforter that will, no doubt, fuck up my makeup to high hell if my face touches it. His palm lands against my bare ass once, then twice, and I moan, dropping my forehead to my wrist.
“Oh my god—”
“This fucking dress,” he growls, pushing the loose fabric of my skirt back up toward my waist, but it has a mind of its own. “Too much tulle. How am I meant to—fuck—”
I laugh into my arm, the sound cut short by another moan as he thrusts particularly hard. “You’re not allowed to destroy my wedding dress.”
“I want it off. Want to see you.”
“No—” I gasp, my fingers knotting in the bedding. “No, no, you’ll never get it back on me right.”
“I will figure,” he grunts, slamming harder into me, “it out.”
“You won’t,” I grin, half gasping, knowing damn well that I’d prefer that it was off, too. “You’ll have me looking like I—ah—got dressed in the dark. They’ll know.”
His answering laugh is dark and strained and god, the sound of it only makes me wetter. “They already know. Cole saw me corner you in the elevator before the door shut.”
“No,” I whine, my cheeks heating at the thought of how ridiculously smug Cole will be when we get back downstairs.
But then Gray’s hand slides over my hip beneath the fabric, along the line of my corset, and down, between my legs. I lose every little thought in my head the moment his fingers glide over my clit, my release building fast and hard.
“Gray—Gray—”
“Come for me.” His voice is rough against my ear, his hips pistoning a little faster, his fingers working me with absolutely brutal precision. He knows my body too well now. “Come on my cock, sweetheart. Let me feel it.”
My orgasm crashes through me, my whole body seizing as I clench around him, my ability to keep myself somewhat upright dissolving in the span of a single second. My face hits the sheets, a broken cry tearing from my throat and muffling into the comforter.
He follows right behind me, burying himself deep with a groan that vibrates against my back, his forehead dropping to my shoulder as he releases my laces. Finally, I can breathe properly, but I’m gasping anyway from the head rush.
We stay there in the relative silence for a moment, tangled in layers of tulle and each other, before he laughs and presses a kiss to my bare shoulder, extremely carefully pulling out so he doesn’t make a mess.
“Roll over,” he murmurs, and I shift carefully, gathering my tulle around my waist as I shift onto my back, making sure nothing leaks out of me and onto my dress.
He’s grinning down at me, his eyes half lidded.
He’s still mostly in his tuxedo, his tie undone and hanging limp around his collar, the top buttons of his shirt popped open and his hair wrecked from my fingers. “Your lipstick’s a bit smudged.”
His mouth meets mine, slow and soft and sickeningly sweet, still a hint of heat behind it. Warm fingers drag along the side of my neck, cupping my jaw, and I melt into him far too easily. “This isn’t going to fix it,” I murmur into the kiss.
“Don’t fucking care.”
The gentle movement of his mouth turns deeper, his body starting to lower again, and I know exactly where this is going.
We’ve already done this twice.
I laugh against his mouth and push on his chest, forcing a bit of distance. There’s lipstick all over his mouth and chin when he pulls back. “We can’t,” I huff, flailing one arm out to the nightstand to pluck a tissue out of the dispenser. It manages to wipe off most of it. “You’re insatiable.”
“Because you’re my wife.” His thumb drags under my lower lip, and I have no idea if he’s cleaning me up or fixing the problem.
“Yeah, well, we’re not exactly done with the wedding yet.”
He glances at the alarm clock beside the bed. “There’s still twenty minutes of cocktail hour left,” he says, his eyes going dark again, and I snort. “That’s enough for one more if we’re fast.”
“Gray.”
“Don’t tell me you don’t want to,” he murmurs, his lips meeting my jaw, trailing down until he sucks at the spot that makes my head spin.
“Oh, fuck,” I rasp. My back arches just a bit, and he takes the surrender for what it is.
* * *
The reception is everything I didn’t know I wanted until I had it.
Warm golden light spilling over dark wood and white flowers.
Snow outside the huge windows, turning Colchester into a glittering little snow globe.
Dinner gives way to speeches soon after, and I’m sitting at the center table with Grayson’s arm draped over the back of my chair, his thumb drawing lazy circles at the base of my neck while Cole speaks into the microphone, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
Cole clears his throat, halfway through a speech that has made both of us laugh and Grayson seethe. “What I’m trying to say is,” he continues, “I’ve never seen Gray happier. I’ve never seen him more himself. And I’ve definitely never seen two people worse at keeping their hands off each other.”
A roar of laughter explodes through the hall.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, closing my eyes.
Cole winks at us, and Grayson doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed. He just lifts his glass slightly in Cole’s direction like it’s fair.
I elbow him.
He grunts, grinning at me.
“To Gray and Carly,” Cole says, lifting his glass. “May you keep loving each other loudly, stubbornly, and ideally in places where the rest of us cannot see it.”
The room cheers.
I am going to murder him. Tenderly, because he did give a nice speech before publicly dragging us, but still. Murder is on the cards.
Zoe stands. Immediately, my throat tightens.
She has a champagne flute in one hand and a microphone in the other. She’s already teary. She’s been crying since I put my dress on this morning and has also made no effort to pace herself on drinks.
“I’ve known Carly since we were young and stupid,” Zoe begins, then pauses. “Or maybe just young. We are still occasionally stupid.”
“Speak for yourself,” I say.
“I am speaking mostly for you.”
Everyone laughs again, and despite myself, I do too.
Zoe looks down at the paper sitting on the table in front of her, then back up at me. “Carly is one of those people who acts like she doesn’t need much. She makes herself easy to have around. Easy to help. Easy to overlook sometimes, if you don’t know better.”
My smile falters. Grayson’s thumb stills against my neck.
“But if you do know better,” Zoe continues, “you know she feels everything. She notices everything. She loves people in these quiet little ways that sneak up on you, until suddenly, your entire life is warmer because she’s in it.”
My eyes start burning. Damn her.
“And for a long time, I wanted someone to see that in her. Not just how talented she is, or how pretty she is, or how funny she is. I wanted someone to see her heart and treat it like it mattered. Like it was precious. Like it deserved to be chosen on purpose.”
Grayson’s hand curls around the back of my neck, lingering.
“And then Grayson came along,” Zoe says, looking at him now. “And I’ll be honest, I had concerns.”
Grayson dips his chin, accepting this with the grace of a man who knows he earned it.
“But he got there,” Zoe says. “Eventually. Dramatically. With help.”
The room chuckles.
“I’ve watched him love her in the big ways, sure. The ring, the wedding, all of this.” She gestures around the room. “But I’ve also watched him love her in the small ways — the way he looks for her first in every room, the way he listens to her.”
I wipe under my eye, cursing her silently.
“And I’ve watched Carly let herself be loved after a really, really shitty few months last year,” Zoe says softly.
A tear dodges my hand and slips down my cheek before I can stop it.
“So I’m happy today,” Zoe says, lifting her glass higher. “I’m happy there are no more fake dates, no more sneaking around, no more pretending this isn’t exactly what it is. No more secrets.”
My stomach flips.
Oh. Oh, no.
Zoe smiles, oblivious, and lifts her glass. “To Carly and Grayson!”
Chairs scrape softly against the floor as everyone stands and glasses lift. The whole room rises around us, and Grayson stands with me, one hand moving down my arm to interlock our fingers, his champagne flute in the other.
No more secrets.
I look down at the two glasses in front of me.
Water and champagne.
But I’ve only touched the water. It’s been only water all afternoon.
“Actually,” I say.
I’m not loud, but the microphone in Zoe’s hand picks it up with her standing close to me, and my voice carries through the speakers just enough for the room to quiet.
Grayson whips his head toward me. My face heats, my whole body flushing as every eye in the room finds me. We haven’t been trying, exactly, but we haven’t been avoiding it, either. The conversations happened. I know it definitely isn’t an unwelcome surprise, but it’s a surprise nonetheless.
“I, um…” I lift my water glass slightly, wanting to join the toast. “There is still one secret.”
Grayson’s brows draw together, his eyes flicking between mine. I stare up at him, and for one second, I forget the room.
It’s just him.
“It’s why I haven’t touched my champagne,” I say, my voice trembling now. “I’m, um, I’m pregnant.”
One long, suspended second of silence lingers, and then the room erupts. Applause, gasps, and cheers ring out, someone yelling something I can’t make out, Zoe making a sound that sounds like a sob.
But I only see Grayson.
He’s frozen.
His eyes are wide, locked on mine, his champagne glass still halfway raised in one hand.
“Are you serious?” he asks, his voice so quiet I barely hear it over the noise.
I nod, tears already blurring him. “Yeah.”
He stares at me for another second like the words haven’t quite clicked, but then I see the moment it starts to.
His glass meets the table very carefully, like if he moves too fast, the whole moment might shatter. The green of his eyes twinkles a little too much.
“Oh my god,” he rasps, his voice breaking halfway through. “You’re pregnant?”
I laugh through the tears. “Yes, Gray.”
His arms come around me, careful and fierce at once, pulling me against him like he’s trying to hold me gently but crush me and never let me go.
His fingers press against the bones of the corset, digging them in a little harder, but I don’t care.
His face presses into my hair, and I hear him breathe me in, feel him shudder.
“I love you,” he says, voice cracked and shattered. “I love you so fucking much. Jesus, Carly.”
Then he kisses me.
Not the polished wedding kiss from the ceremony. Not the secret, hungry kind from upstairs. This kiss is messy and smiling and damp with tears, his hands cradling my face like I am something miraculous.
The applause surges again.
A very loud, very dramatic little gasp sounds to my right, and we both pull back, turning to look. Zoe’s crouched next to Penelope, one hand on her shoulder, clearly pulling back from whispering in her ear.
Penelope’s eyes are huge. “I’M A BIG SISTER?”
Laughter filters through the room like a wave, and she launches herself at us in a blur of flower-girl-white. Grayson catches her, laughing as she wraps one arm around his neck and lifts her up onto his hip. She’s grown so much in the last year, but she’s still a Daddy’s girl, through and through.
“What’s it called?” she asks, her feet kicking excitedly against Grayson’s side.
Grayson chokes on a laugh, his eyes still wet. “Don’t know yet, bug.”
“I get to name it,” she insists.
I roll my eyes and press a kiss to her cheek. “Maybe.”
“If it’s a boy, can we name him after Uncle Cole?”
Grayson’s lips go completely flat, annoyance bleeding into the shock and happiness, and Cole barks out a laugh from somewhere to his left. “Absolutely not.”
* * *