Epilogue
SIERRA
ONE MONTH LATER
The wind catches my veil, and I let it.
I’m standing on a cliff in California, overlooking a stretch of rocky beach where the waves crash against stone and send up white spray that catches the afternoon light. The air tastes like salt and something sweeter. Freedom, maybe. Or just the flowers tucked into my hair.
My new dress hugs my curves, lace-trimmed and simple. Nothing like the elaborate gown I wore the first time.
That one was destroyed. Even if it hadn’t been soaked in Harper’s blood, I never could have worn it again. Some things can’t be cleaned, no matter how hard you scrub.
This dress is different. It belongs to this moment, this man, this life I’m choosing with clear eyes and a full heart.
Matteo stands across from me, and God, he looks devastating in a tuxedo. Broad shoulders, sharp jaw, those ice-blue eyes that have thawed so much since the night we met. He’s actually smiling, and the warmth that floods through me has nothing to do with the California sun.
This man. This grumpy, protective, secretly soft man who taught me to shoot and ride a motorcycle and trust again.
We’re the only ones here. Just us and a minister in flowing robes, her voice gentle as the breeze when she speaks the words that will bind us together.
My family wasn’t thrilled about missing another wedding. Ma was disappointed too. But they understood when I explained that I needed this to be simple. Intimate. Just the two of us after everything that happened.
What matters is that this time, there’s no audience. No performance. No ulterior motive lurking beneath the vows.
Just love.
Matteo takes my hands, and his thumbs trace slow circles across my knuckles. The rough calluses against my skin make me shiver.
“I, Matteo, take you, Sierra...”
His voice is low. Steady. The same voice that’s growled orders and whispered filthy things against my neck and told me I was safe when I needed to hear it most.
When it’s my turn, my throat goes tight. These are traditional vows, the same words spoken at a million weddings before ours. But they mean something different when you’ve already lived them.
In sickness and health. We’ve done that.
Good times and bad. Done that too.
For as long as we both shall live.
I believe it. For the first time in my life, I believe in forever.
“You may kiss the bride.”
Matteo cups my face in his hands, tilting my chin up. The kiss is soft at first, tender in a way that always surprises me from a man with so much violence in his life. Then it deepens, just for a moment, just enough to remind me what’s waiting for us tonight.
The wind picks up, scattering loose petals from my bouquet across the cliff. I chose every bloom myself. Peonies for romance, lavender for devotion, baby’s breath tucked in because I couldn’t resist the name.
Afterward, we walk along the beach. I kick off my shoes and let the cool sand squish between my toes, my dress gathered in one hand while the other stays locked with Matteo’s.
I don’t feel the need to fill the silence with chatter. That’s new for me.
Julian would tease me about it. My brother’s always said I could talk the ears off a statue. He’s not here to give me a hard time, though.
I wish he was. But after everything, keeping this small felt like the kindest choice.
He’s doing better, at least. His traumatic brain injury has mostly healed, though the insomnia still lingers. His leg’s in a cast for another few weeks, but the doctors expect a full recovery.
His marriage is another story.
There’s still a pang when I think about Harper. There probably always will be.
But I’ve made peace with it. She was desperate, terrified, trying to protect the man she loved. I understand that impulse now in a way I didn’t before. If someone threatened Matteo, I don’t know what lines I’d cross.
Julian and Harper are in marriage counseling now. He’s having a hard time moving past what she did, and I can’t blame him. Finding out your wife handed over your sister to a human trafficker isn’t exactly something you work through in a weekend.
But I think they’ll make it. They love each other, and love is stubborn.
Matteo has made it clear that Harper is lucky to be alive. Betrayal in his world usually ends with a body in the desert. The only reason Lorenzo let her walk away is because she technically betrayed me, not the Andrettis, and because she was under duress.
Also, I suspect, because Matteo asked.
He hasn’t admitted it. But I know him. He protects what’s his, and that includes my dysfunctional extended family.
The rest of my family is just happy everyone survived. My parents stopped giving me a hard time about keeping Viktor’s harassment secret, though I catch Dad watching me sometimes with that worried crease between his eyebrows.
They’ll probably always worry about me. That’s okay.
It’s how I know I’m loved.
We reach the wooden stairs leading up to our beach house, and I pause, turning to face Matteo. The sun is starting to set behind him, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink.
“Are you happy, Sunshine?”
“I am.” I lean into him, pressing my cheek against his chest. I feel him breathe, slow and even. “Are you?”
He lifts our joined hands and presses his lips to my knuckles. The gesture is so gentle that it makes my eyes sting.
“I didn’t know I could feel like this,” he says. “And that’s because of you.”
I squeeze his hand, my heart too full for words. So much is falling into place.
The flower shop, for one. The lease is signed. The renovations start next month. All the money I’ve been saving for years is finally going toward my dream, and Matteo has made it clear he’ll support me however I need.
I think he’s also relieved I won’t be bartending anymore, surrounded by men who check me out and try to flirt.
His possessive streak still makes me warm in all the right places.
I look up at him, this man who’s given me so much without even realizing it. There’s one more thing I want to give him.
“I have something to tell you,” I say.
He goes still. I can feel the tension gathering in his shoulders, the way he braces himself for bad news. It breaks my heart a little, that his first instinct is still to prepare for the worst.
I take his hand and press it flat against my stomach.
Still flat. Nothing to see yet.
But there will be.
His eyes drop to where our hands rest against me, then rise to meet mine. The confusion clears slowly, replaced by something raw and wondering.
“Sierra...”
“You’re going to be a father.” My voice cracks on the last word. “I found out last week, and I wanted to wait until today to tell you, because I wanted you to know that this is what I want. You. Our life together. And now, this.”
For a long moment, he doesn’t speak. His throat moves as he swallows hard.
Then his forehead drops to mine, and I feel the shudder that runs through his whole body.
“I didn’t think I could be happier than I was five minutes ago,” he admits roughly. “I was wrong.”
He pulls me into his arms and lifts me right off my feet, and I laugh as the wind catches my veil again and sends it streaming behind me like a banner.
When he sets me down, he kisses me. Deep and thorough and full of promise.
“I love you,” he says against my mouth. “Both of you.”
I grab the lapels of his tuxedo and pull him closer.
“Take me inside,” I whisper. “I want to start our honeymoon now.”
His laugh is quiet and warm, the sound still rare enough to feel like a gift.
Then my husband scoops me up and carries me over the threshold, and everything is exactly as it should be.
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