Epilogue
I adjust the off-shoulder neckline of my dress for the thousandth time, staring at the mirror in disbelief. The woman looking back at me can't possibly be me.
The dress is everything I never knew I wanted—ivory silk that drapes like water, delicate beadwork that catches the light when I move, and just enough of a train to feel dramatic without being cumbersome.
My hair is swept up in an elegant twist with a few tendrils framing my face, and my makeup is flawless—enough to enhance but not mask.
One year. It's been exactly one year since Bash and I stood in the snow and finally stopped pretending.
"Stop fidgeting," Emily says, swatting at my hands. "You'll wrinkle the silk."
"I'm nervous," I admit, smoothing my hands down the front of the dress instead.
"The great Charlotte Whitaker, nervous?" Lily approaches with a glass of champagne, her blonde bob gleaming in the light streaming through the window of our cabin's bridal suite. "Here. Liquid courage."
"Should the bride be drinking before the ceremony?" my mom asks, fussing with a bouquet of winter flowers—white roses, pinecones, sprigs of evergreen, and tiny crystal snowflakes.
"One glass won't hurt," Emily argues. "Besides, it's tradition."
"Like the note exchange?" Addie pipes up from the corner, where she's been meticulously documenting everything with her camera. Now seventeen, she's grown even more into her role as family photographer, and Bash insisted she be the one to capture our wedding.
"Exactly like the note exchange," I say, smiling at her.
My wedding coordinator, Meredith, glances at her phone and breaks into a smile.
"He's on the move. Bash is heading to the gazebo now.
" She looks up, all business efficiency in her tailored pantsuit.
"The privacy screen is set up in the gazebo on the frozen pond.
He'll be standing behind it, so he won't see you coming. "
My heart flutters beneath my ribs. This moment—the note exchange—was Bash's idea. A private, intimate moment before the ceremony where we'll exchange handwritten letters expressing our feelings, standing on opposite sides of a screen so he doesn't see me in my dress.
"Bad luck and all that," he'd said with a wink when he suggested it.
"Are you ready?" Emily asks, helping me into my fur-trimmed coat. The ivory wool is soft against my skin, a necessity for a December wedding in Colorado.
"As I'll ever be," I whisper, tucking the folded note into my clutch. I spent three days writing and rewriting it, trying to capture exactly how I feel about the man who started as a one-night stand, became my fake boyfriend, and somehow turned into the love of my life.
Addie bounces on her toes, camera in hand. "I'm going to get such amazing shots. The lighting is perfect—golden hour on snow with the mountains behind you."
"Just don't slip on the ice," Sarah cautions her daughter as she helps me with my boots—practical footwear for the walk to the gazebo that I'll swap for heels before the ceremony.
Outside, the world is transformed. The afternoon sun casts long blue shadows across pristine snow.
String lights twinkle in every tree, and the path to the frozen pond has been lined with hurricane lanterns, their flames dancing in the winter air.
In the distance, I can see the gazebo—draped in greenery and white flowers, bisected by a white screen that hides Bash from view.
"Remember, you have twenty minutes," Meredith says, checking her watch. "Then we need you back here for final touches before the ceremony."
I take a deep breath, feeling surprisingly calm. A year ago, I was panicking at the idea of even admitting I had feelings for Bash. Now I'm walking toward him in a wedding dress, ready to promise him forever.
"Wait," I say suddenly, stopping in my tracks. "Should I—should I bring the thing from the blue box?"
Emily rolls her eyes. "Of course you should. That's the whole point, Charlie."
I reach into my clutch and pull out a small velvet pouch. Inside is the charm from the blue box—a silver snowboard engraved with today's date. It's meant to join the lift ticket charm he gave me last Christmas on the bracelet I haven't taken off since.
The snow crunches beneath my boots as I walk, heart pounding harder with each step. Addie slips ahead, positioning herself at an angle where she can capture both sides of the screen.
As I approach, I hear him shifting his weight, clearing his throat. There's something so achingly familiar about knowing he's nervous too.
"Shortcake?" His voice is soft, tentative. "That you?"
I press my gloved hand to the screen, right where his heart would be. "I'm here," I whisper, and I can almost feel his smile through the barrier between us.
"Always," he answers, and I know it's a promise.
I hand my note to Meredith so she can hand it to Bash.
She disappears behind the screen for a split second and then reappears holding his note for me and I eagerly take it.
"On three?" he suggests.
"On three." I say.
"One." I start.
"Two," he continues.
"Three," we say together.
I slide my finger under the seal, careful not to tear the creamy paper.
His handwriting greets me, neat and strong with those little hooks on the capital letters I've come to recognize instantly on his notes left on the bathroom mirror, tucked into my suitcase when I travel for work, or slipped into my jacket pocket when I need encouragement.
My Dearest Shortcake,
It's 2 a.m., and I'm sitting in our cabin while you sleep, trying to find words worthy of what you mean to me.
Tyler says I should keep it simple, but when has anything about us ever been simple?
One year ago, you asked me to pretend to be in love with you.
The irony is, I never had to pretend at all.
I fell for you that first night at the bar, when you wore that green dress and looked at me like I was trouble (you were right).
I fell harder when you stormed out of your office to show me mine after you first learned we were colleagues, and you tried so hard to hate me.
I fell completely when you asked me to fake being your boyfriend and I realized I'd been given a second chance I didn't deserve.
But it wasn't until Aspen until I saw you face your past with grace, laugh with my sister, build a lopsided snowman, and shred powder down a mountainside that I understood what it means to truly love someone.
To see them clearly and want them anyway.
To want them because of who they are, not despite it.
You're brave when it counts. Stubborn when you're right.
Passionate about your work. Fiercely loyal to those you love.
And occasionally a terrible liar, like when you pretended not to enjoy my pancakes that morning after our fight in the woods.
I knew I was going to marry you the day you had that allergic reaction.
Not because I had to rush through the snow to get your EpiPen (though I'd do it again in a heartbeat), but because in that moment, I couldn't imagine a world without you in it.
I couldn't imagine not hearing you laugh, or watching you roll your eyes at my bad jokes, or feeling you curl against me in your sleep.
Today, I'm promising you forever, but the truth is, forever wouldn't be enough.
I want lifetimes with you, Charlie. I want decades of adventures and quiet moments.
I want to build a home and a family and a life where you never doubt for a second how deeply you are loved.
So yes, I'll stand up there and say the traditional vows.
But know that I'm also silently promising a few other things: I promise to make you coffee exactly the way you like it, even when you claim you're "cutting back.
" I promise to let you steal the covers, but I reserve the right to warm my cold feet on your legs in retaliation.
I promise to kiss you at least once a day in a way that makes you forget your own name.
I promise to never miss an opportunity to remind you how beautiful you are.
Whether you're dressed like today, or in one of my old t-shirts, or in nothing at all (especially then).
I promise to be your biggest fan, your safe harbor, your adventure companion, and occasionally, your reality check.
And I promise to never stop trying to win you over, every single day, just like I did on this mountain a year ago.
I love you, Charlotte Whitaker. Soon-to-be Charlotte Montgomery (I'm getting hard just thinking about your name).
Thank you for letting me into your heart, even when I didn't deserve it.
Thank you for fighting for us when I got scared.
Thank you for believing that what we have is real. Because it is. It always was.
All my love,
Your Bash
P.S. – I hope you don't mind, but I packed something special for tonight. Let's just say it involves that green dress from the night we met and absolutely nothing else. Just for old times' sake.
I press the letter to my chest, tears flowing freely now. Through the screen, I hear a suspiciously thick chuckle from him.
"You're crying too, aren't you?" I call out.
"Absolutely not," he lies, his voice cracking slightly. "Pro snowboarders don't cry."
"Liar." I laugh through my tears.
"Maybe a little," he admits. "Your words, Charlie... they got me."
Meredith hands me a tissue, careful not to let my mascara run.
"Charlie?" Bash calls through the screen. "Did you mean what you wrote? About that night in the snow?"
My mind goes back to what I'd written. How I knew I loved him when he found me in the woods after our fight. How terrified I'd been of trusting him but even more terrified of losing him. How I'd almost let my fears ruin the best thing that ever happened to me.
"Every word," I promise.
"Good." His voice is closer now. "Because I've never been more sure of anything in my life than marrying you today."
I reach around the screen, hand outstretched. My fingers tremble slightly, whether from cold or emotion, I can't tell anymore.
"Bash?" My voice comes out as barely more than a whisper.
His warm hand finds mine instantly, strong fingers intertwining with my own. The touch grounds me, makes everything real in a way that even the dress and the decorations haven't managed to do.
"I love you," I say, squeezing his hand.
"I love you too, Shortcake." His voice is rough with emotion, and I can picture exactly how he looks right now—that soft vulnerability in his eyes that he shows only to me, the slight crinkle at the corners, the way his mouth curves into that smile that's somehow both cocky and tender. "Always will."
I hear the rapid click of Addie's camera shutter, capturing our hands joined around the barrier—the last moment we'll share before I walk down the aisle to him.
"Got it," she says triumphantly. "This is going to be the best shot of the album."
I laugh, but don't let go of his hand. "Better than the actual wedding photos?"
"Different," Addie decides. "This one tells the whole story."
She's right. Our entwined hands around a barrier that keeps us physically separate yet connected—it's the perfect metaphor for our journey. Always finding each other despite the obstacles.
"Hey lovebirds," Tyler's voice breaks in. "As the best man, it's my duty to inform you that we need the groom at the altar like, five minutes ago."
"He's right," Meredith confirms, checking her watch. "The musicians are in position, and the horse-drawn carriage is ready with your parents, Charlotte."
I feel Bash's grip tighten slightly, reluctant to let go. "See you at the altar?" he asks, and even though we've been planning this for months, there's still a hint of a question in his voice.
"I'll be the one in white," I promise.
His laugh is warm. "And I'll be the one trying not to pass out when I see you."
"Don't you dare," I warn. "I've spent way too much on this dress for you to miss seeing it because you're unconscious."
"I make no promises. You tend to have that effect on me."
I finally slip my hand from his, already missing his touch. "Go," I say softly. "I'll be right behind you."
"Not too far behind," he counters, and I hear his footsteps crunching in the snow as he walks away with Tyler.
I stand there for a moment, staring at the space where his hand had been, my heart so full I can barely breathe.
Meredith appears at my side. "Ready to get married?"
"More than ready," I say, and I mean it with every fiber of my being.
We hurry back to the cabin where my dad waits, looking handsome and slightly emotional in his tuxedo. My mother is already seated in the carriage, dabbing at her eyes.
"You look beautiful, Charlie," my dad says, his voice thick. "Bash is a lucky man."
"I'm the lucky one," I reply, but I accept his compliment with a kiss on his cheek.
Meredith helps me change into my heels and makes a few final adjustments to my dress and veil. The carriage awaits, a fairy-tale vision with its white horses and evergreen garlands. Snow begins to fall in gentle, flakes that catch in my eyelashes.
"Perfect timing," Emily says, looking skyward. "As if the weather got your memo."
We climb into the carriage, my dress carefully arranged around me. My mother takes my hand, her eyes shining.
"Are you nervous?" she asks.
I think about it honestly for a moment. "No," I say, surprising myself with how true it is. "Not even a little bit."
The carriage begins to move, bells jingling softly on the horses' harnesses. Through the trees, I can see the ceremony site—hundreds of twinkling lights, rows of guests bundled in formal winter attire, the floral arch where Bash waits.
As we round the final bend in the path, the string quartet begins to play. Everyone rises, turning to watch our approach. But I only have eyes for one person.
Bash stands tall under the arch, snowflakes catching in his hair. When he sees me, his face transforms with such naked adoration that tears spring to my eyes again. Tyler stands beside him, grinning broadly, and gives him a supportive clap on the shoulder.
Emily and Lily are standing on the opposite side already. Both gorgeous in their steel blue dresses and cream-colored coats, holding their bouquets.
The carriage stops. My father helps me down, careful of my dress in the snow.
"Last chance to run," he jokes quietly.
I smile, eyes locked with Bash's across the distance between us.
"The only place I'm running is toward him."