Epilogue
Six Months later
Scott
The ballroom smells of gardenias and candlelight.
I pull Lyla close to me, her hand folding in mine and head tucked just below my jaw as we sway to the rhythm of the slow music. I take in her scent of vanilla and something definitely her.
“Scott, I’m working.”
“Humor me for just this song.” I nuzzle her neck. Around us, two hundred guests exist in their own orbits.
Six months ago, I stood in our house and watched her come through the door. A sight I only dreamed of seeing.
Three months ago, we watched the fiasco that was The One That Got Away in our small living room. We were ecstatic to find out Emily and Zayne not only started a relationship together shortly after we left despite the coupling ceremony, but they also had won the one hundred thousand dollars.
Four weeks ago, she stood in a white dress next to me in a Dallas courthouse as we made our promises of forever and said I do like it was the simplest decision we’ve ever made. And ever since, I couldn’t be happier.
Lyla’s fingers lace through mine.
I would have married her anywhere. Hell, I would have married her in the parking lot if she’d asked.
“You okay?” Her voice is warm and low against my neck.
“Fantastic.”
She tilts her head back just far enough to look at me. The purple silk of her dress catches the string lights overhead, and the gold band on her ring finger catches everything else. Her eyes stare softly into mine. Unguarded. Certain.
“Still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” I whisper to her.
She blushes. One of my favorite reactions from her—a close second to her moans.
“How on earth did we get here?”
The corner of my mouth curves. “Should I tell the scenic version?”
She laughs as I pull her a half-step closer.
The string quartet somewhere behind us shifts into something slower.
The gardenias mingle with faint champagne and the warm Texas night, drifting through the open floor-to-ceiling windows.
Somewhere down the corridor, muffled by two sets of closed doors, a processional is just getting underway.
The venue is running two events tonight, another couple in the east wing still at the altar.
Around us, dinner conversation, glasses clinking, the low hum of a reception functioning exactly the way it should.
I don’t hear any of it. Only Lyla’s even breathing, slowing to match mine.
I have her completely relaxed in my arms.
Beyond Lyla and the dance floor, I notice Damon.
A few weeks ago, he popped in for a visit and has been spending time here ever since. He’s actually become a good friend.
“Do you think Damon will continue to stay in town?”
Lyla turns her head in Damon’s direction. “Hope so. I think Dallas is growing on him.”
Damon stands near one of the large windows, slightly apart from the nearest cluster of guests. He wears a meticulous charcoal suit, not a thread out of place. A glass of scotch sits on the high-top beside him. Untouched.
As if he senses eyes on him, his gaze cuts across the room and finds Lyla and me.
He nods once with a small smile.
I give him the same.
Then he walks toward us, tapping Lyla on the shoulder. “I’m going to head out. Thanks for letting me watch you work. It was a lot of fun.”
She beams. “Happy for you to join us. Let’s get together next week.”
“You bet. And my treat this time, Bennett.” he says as he moves toward the valet doors, waving with one hand and burying the other in his pants pocket.
“He’s leaving early,” Lyla murmurs against my shoulder, eyes tracking the movement.
“You know how he is. This isn’t exactly his scene. And…let’s be honest, he’s a bit of a workaholic.”
She nods in agreement. “Very true. You think he’ll find someone worth staying permanently for?”
“Don’t know. Guess time will tell.” I press my lips to her hair as we keep dancing. “But he might have a point about leaving. How soon can I get you back into our bed, wife?”
She giggles. “Soon, husband. Soon.”
The string quartet fades under a wave of laughter and clinking glasses from the far end of the room. Outside, through the open windows, I catch the low purr of a black SUV engine idling at the valet line. Damon climbs behind the wheel and closes the driver’s door behind him.
All of a sudden, gasps erupt to my left. And just as I turn my head, I see a flash of white silk bursting through the side doors at the far end of the entrance.
Lyla turns around to my line of sight, then goes still in my arms. “Oh, my god. Is she…”
“We got a runner!” someone yells, chasing the bride. Not far behind, a burly man runs like his life depends on it.
“Isabelle, wait.”
But Isabelle doesn’t seem to listen as she hikes her gown without breaking stride, moving fast across the hallway like a woman who has already made up her mind.
The bride makes quick work as she escapes the building through the valet—and toward Damon’s car.
Why is she getting in his car? Does she know him? Is something going on?
Questions swirl, not just in my mind but no doubt in this entire room as we watch her climb into his SUV, closing the door behind her.
The car sits idle at the valet line. Through the windshield, I watch the moment Damon sees her—the exact second headlights from an arriving car catch her face and she catches his.
Neither of them move. A moment seems to pass between them. Then two.
She says something to him with an urgent look on her face.
Damon doesn’t seem to flinch because then he shifts into gear and the SUV pulls away, tires biting gravel with a sharp crunch that carries above the noise of the reception.
“Isabelle, no. Come back, you stupid girl.” The burly man’s voice explodes in the middle of the road where the car was moments before. He leans over in exhaustion, hands on his knees. I make the safe assumption that’s the father of the bride, given his age and attire.
Lyla’s hand tightens in mine behind her back before pulling back just enough to look up at me. Half stunned, half like she might laugh in disbelief.
“Did that just—”
“Yep,” I reply.
“Should we—”
“Let him figure things out on his own.” I pull her back into my arms, filing the intense moment away.
She nods, melting into me with ease. “You’re right.”
“Dance with me, Mrs. Bennett.”
“With pleasure, Mr. Bennett.”
So we do.
The ballroom hums with easy conversation and music again moments later.
Only two things are on my mind now: Lyla and the long life ahead of us.
I ran away from my wedding…and straight into the arms of my enemy.