Epilogue
LO
Four months later
Okay. Deep breath. Don’t puke on the dress.
The dress.
God, the dress. It’s hanging on me like some kind of ivory miracle, which is insane because two hours ago I was sweating through my bra thinking I’d look like a sad, sweaty meringue.
But no. Here I am. Hair pinned, face painted, wearing actual silk, like I didn’t spend most of my twenties in ripped jeans and a healthy dose of denial.
Tansy steps back and does this slow, dramatic gasp.
“Holy shit, Lo,” she says. “You look…” Her voice goes all wobbly. “You look like a freaking goddess.”
I snort, because what else do you do when your best friend looks like she might cry on your $1,200 rental gown? “Please. I look like me, but slightly less insane.”
“Less insane, more… moonlit fantasy Omega bride,” she says, fanning her own eyes.
“Do not start crying, Tansy,” I warn, stabbing a finger at her. “Because if you cry, I cry, and then my mascara runs, and then Ford loses his shit, and then Beck threatens to burn Sephora to the ground while Hayes draws up the plans on how to cover the arson.”
“Worth it,” she says with a sniffle.
But she’s grinning, and so am I, because this, this right here, is the first moment today that feels mine.
I turn toward the mirror and… wow.
Okay, yeah. I get why she’s freaking out. The dress fits like it was made for me. The neckline dips just enough to scandalize the old church ladies, and the silk skims over the tiny swell of my stomach. Which, yeah, not much of a secret anymore, but still. It feels… holy.
I’m walking out there carrying more than just myself.
And suddenly, my chest gets tight. Because this is real. The music floating up through the open window? Real. The laughter outside? Real. The three men probably pacing holes into the dirt under that big oak tree?
Real as hell.
Beck, probably glaring at Hayes for breathing too loud. Hayes, pretending he’s calm but vibrating under the surface. And Ford… God help whoever tries to talk to Ford right now. They’re waiting for me. For us.
For this.
Tansy notices me spiraling because, of course, she does. She crouches down, fusses with the hem. “Hey. Breathe. You’re fine. You’re safe. In, like, twenty minutes, you’re gonna walk out there and every single one of those people is going to choke on how perfect you look.”
I laugh, shaky. “I’m more nervous about the baby thing than the vows.”
She smirks. “Lo, your men have been growling at people for weeks. The whole damn town knows you’re pregnant. Pretty sure Ford has threatened to bubble wrap you at least twice.”
“True.” I grin because, yeah, that’s accurate.
Still, saying it out loud, in front of everyone, in the middle of the most perfect day of my life? That’s big. That’s… terrifying.
Outside, the wind kicks up, and I catch a whiff of wildflowers and pine. It smells like home. Everything I thought I’d lost and somehow got back. Plus, three ridiculously overprotective men who turned my world upside down and made it better.
Tansy stands, grabs my hands, her eyes shining. “You ready, Lo?”
My throat tightens. I take one last look in the mirror, at this version of me I barely recognize. Soft but steel-spined, a little broken, and a lot whole.
“Yeah,” I say, and I mean it. I’ve been doing more of that lately, saying the words that come along with my truth. “Let’s do this.”
She grins wildly. “Hell yeah.”
And then we’re out the door, down the stairs, toward the sound of a whole town waiting under an ancient oak tree… and three men who already own every piece of my heart.
The sun is showing off. Full Instagram filter mode.
Everything is glowing in that soft, romantic, “Hallmark movie” kind of way.
Main Street just got a fresh coat of blooming spring.
Flower boxes spill petals everywhere, bunting strung between porches, the whole deal.
Even the magnolia trees are doing their best impression of a Pinterest board.
And me? I’m sweating through silk.
Tansy is fussing with my veil for the seventeenth time because apparently, this stupid scrap of tulle holds the entire weight of my dignity. She keeps clicking her heels on the pavement like some kind of anxiety metronome while I try not to hurl into a planter full of begonias.
“Lo,” she hisses, yanking me back into line when I start drifting toward the bakery smell. “Do not even think about cupcakes right now.”
People are everywhere. Leaning on porch rails, peeking out of shop doors, pretending they just happened to be here for a casual Friday stroll in their nicest outfits. The town feels alive. And nosy.
Mostly nosy.
Every smile is a little too bright. They’re trying to decide if this is a redemption arc or a train wreck they don’t want to miss.
Then the pavement ends, and we hit the dirt trail.
The one that winds through the grove like a secret.
My stomach decides this is a great time to start doing Olympic-level gymnastics. Because at the end of this trail?
The Old Oak Tree.
And holy shit. It’s even more dramatic than I remember.
Massive, ancient branches. Arms outstretched in a big leafy hug.
Or maybe it’s about to swallow me whole.
Hard to tell. Lanterns hang from the lower branches, glowing bright as bottled starlight, and sunlight slices through the leaves in those perfect little golden beams you only see in movies where someone dies or gets married.
Lucky me, I’m option B.
“This is disgustingly romantic,” Tansy mutters, fluffing my skirt. “If this doesn’t make me believe in love, nothing will.”
I try to laugh, but it comes out strangled, like a dying bird.
The clearing opens up, and boom. There they all are. Ezra, smiling happily. Cassie, holding Rosie on her hip. Rosie tilts her head and whispers, “You look like a princess.”
And then I see them.
Beck looks like someone dared him to wear a suit, and he’s still mad about it. The tie’s crooked, his jaw’s set, and he’s already glaring at me as if I’m late. Which I’m not, thank you very much.
Hayes… God, Hayes looks like he stepped out of a damn catalog, which is rude. I’m supposed to be the good-looking one today. He’s smiling that quiet, steady smile that somehow makes me know I won a prize.
And Ford… oh, Ford. He’s already red-eyed, and I’m still twenty feet away.
Great. Fantastic.
Someone get that man tissues before he floods the grove.
The whole town is here. Whispering. Staring. Pretending they’re not waiting for me to combust. But the second I lock onto the three of them under that big oak tree? Everyone else blurs out. It’s just them.
Always has been.
I don’t even remember walking. One second, Tansy’s fluffing my veil, the next, my hand is in Beck’s because apparently, I do black out under pressure. He squeezes hard. He knows I’m five seconds from panicking.
“You’re here,” Hayes murmurs, low enough that only I hear.
“Barely,” I mutter, because my legs are shaking and silk is a scam.
Ford sniffles loud enough to make a couple of church ladies in the front row jump. Then he grins through the tears. “You’re perfect.”
And just like that, I come undone.
The officiant clears his throat. “We are gathered here today under The Old Oak Tree, as has been Honeysuckle Grove tradition for generations, to witness the binding of bonds. Not just vows but promises sealed in scent and soul. What is spoken here today will not just tie together lives. It will ripple through pack and community for years to come.”
My brain, meanwhile: Don’t trip. Don’t puke. Don’t ugly cry.
“Louisa Marsh,” the officiant says, “do you come here freely, ready to bind yourself in bond and vow to those who wait for you?”
I nod, my voice shaking. “Yeah. Definitely. Freely.”
The crowd laughs, but the Alphas growl in warning at the sound, which somehow makes it worse.
The officiant smiles. “Then let us begin. Beck Calloway, you may speak.”
Of course, Beck goes first. He steps forward, looming over me, and I swear the pheromone charge in the air spikes enough that half the unmated Omegas in the audience shift in their seats.
“You are mine,” he says, blunt as ever. “You’re my mate, my Omega, my heart. I’ll kill for you. I’ll kill anyone who looks at you wrong. And if I ever fail you, I’ll end myself before I let you think you were ever unloved. That’s my vow.”
There’s a collective inhale from the crowd, like Beck just threatened everyone at once. Which, yeah, he kinda did. My throat closes, and yep, I’m already crying. Murdery romance? 10/10, no notes.
The officiant wisely doesn’t linger. “Hayes Whitlock, you may speak.”
Hayes clears his throat, straightens his tie, and then smiles that soft, steady smile that makes me want to melt.
“Lo, I don’t have an Alpha’s growl or a dramatic death threat.
What I have is choice. You were my first choice.
The first thing not dictated by the legacy of my last name. Every day, I will choose you.
“When you bulldozed back into my life like a tornado, loud, messy, and impossible, I thought I’d lose my balance.
But instead, I found something I didn’t know I needed: a partner.
A mate. A fulfilled pack. I promise to be your calm when you’re in chaos, your anchor when you’re spinning, your laughter when you’re crying.
And I promise, every morning for the rest of my life, I’ll wake up and choose you again. ”
The crowd melts. Someone sighs audibly. Sylvia Hammond actually clutches her pearls. And me? I want to climb him like a tree in front of everyone. God bless the man.
I’ll kill his parents for not being here if they ever so much as look at him wrong again.
“Ford Maddox, you may speak.”
Ford is already blotchy-faced and teary, clutching the little crumpled scrap of paper he swore he wasn’t going to need.