Epilogue
Learning to love again.
Crisis
The tall licks of the lapping fire before us fill the silence between chattering laughter with crackles and warmth.
Seated in Viktor’s lap, I eat a cookie I grabbed from one of the buffet tables hosting all sorts of treats and text Crimson about the truly whirlwind day I’ve been having. We rarely text—unless it’s a special occasion. Normally, we call because we can’t live without the sound of one another’s voice…and she’s usually too busy to text.
Which is, perhaps, her only flaw.
Hilarious that it’s not even a relatable one.
Love of My Life: I do be begging your pardon, dearness. A *what* almost fell on you?
Crisis: A tree.
Love of My Life: Can I put you in a padded room, for a handful of reasons, but - primarily - your protection?
Crisis: No.
Hehe, I love her.
And…speaking of love … I blink, pulling my focus off my phone to find—essentially—my fiancé. “Viktor?”
Muffled, Viktor murmurs something akin to a response into my skin while his arms around me squeeze .
I know I’ve already asked this a dozen times, but: “Are you okay?”
“Five more minutes.” He nuzzles. “I’m still recovering.”
Guilt pricks. “Viktor, are you su—”
“Yes,” he grumbles. “I’m very sure. So sure. Never surer.” Softly, he says, “You’re worth everything. Always. Forever. And, of that, I am completely sure.”
Okay. Can’t relate, of course, but…okay. I rest my head against his shoulder and kiss the stubble lining his jaw as some kind of penance for existing. “My retribution this time has to be a doozy, huh?”
He grunts.
I return my phone to my pocket, where it thankfully was before the tree destroyed his car. “Have you thought about it?”
His head lifts, and firelight gleams in his eyes. His amber irises crackle. “Yes. I would like you…to love yourself.”
My flesh goes cold at the mere notion.
“I want to perceive insufferable hubris that assumes it’s natural for me to weather the storms with you, because obviously you are worth more than any trouble you could possibly cause. I expect mornings filled with positive affirmations. I will be monitoring them. Closely.”
I shake my head, violently against everything he just said. “I don’t like that idea.”
“Then, love me, and let me love you so much in return it fills you to bursting, so you’ll have no place to cram all the mean words you tell yourself.”
Blushing, I bite an M&M out of my cookie, murmuring around it, “Don’t you have anything that feels a bit more…punishing?”
“I think, for you, this is very punishing . ”
Got me there. Ha ha.
Like a wave, gasps rise from the guests seated on other logs around the fire, so I move my attention off Viktor to find Kyran striding across the moonlit, star-filled, firescaped night. His long, flared coat flutters in a breeze, and he yawns, squinting at us with one ice blue eye that matches the iconic shade of his dress shirt.
“Ohmyword,” a voice on my left whispers. “Is that Frost ?”
And, indeed, it is.
Dropping his hand back into the pocket of his coat, Kyran—better known on the internet as FrostPlays —stops in front of us, taking in my position on his older brother’s lap. “Hey,” he says, yawns again. “I guess things worked out? Zakery said you were planning to kill me.” He cuts his fingers through his ink-dark black hair, which falls in straight strands just past his shoulders. “Is that still a thing, or am I forgiven since I’m picking you and Crisis up from camp?”
Viktor, still holding me, rises, glaring the few short inches down at his youngest brother. “We can talk about that on the way back home.”
“Wait,” I say. “What are we talking about? Are you guys fighting over something?” It’s mega weird for the Bachelors to fight . Tree-on-car levels of mega weird, even. Please don’t tell me I’ve spurred another disaster and will be the downfall of this family before I can actually join it.
Kyran’s brows crinkle. “When do we ever fight?”
“I…don’t know?” Since I started seriously contemplating becoming your sister, probably.
Unconcerned, Kyran rubs an eye. “We don’t fight. Viktor simply wants to have a loving, brotherly discussion about how I put you two in the same bedroom.”
Oh, okay. Wait. “Why would you have booked our tickets? Viktor might be closer to seven hundred than he is to twenty, but he still knows how to use a computer for some things, right?”
Kyran stares at me. Looks at his brother. Blinks, languidly. “You didn’t tell her? Still? ”
“I planned the retreat,” Viktor mutters. “ Or , rather, I asked Kyran and Zakery to help me plan a retreat, so I could have some time with you in less of a business setting where I could figure out why you hated me and if I could fix it.”
“Let the records show, my vote was that he just talk to you about his feelings.” Kyran sighs, glancing sidelong at the snack table. “He’s lucky I love building websites, organizing events, and running ads… So many numbers. So much data. Big fun.”
Baffled, I face Viktor, who does not seem ready to put me down in this decade.
He huffs. “Crisis, how well would a conversation have gone if I’d declared love for you out of nowhere?”
“I’d have bailed. Pronto. Anything less than the shock of kissing me out of nowhere, and I wouldn’t have come back.”
Viktor smirks, pinning it on Kyran. “Ha.”
“Oh wow. You know your personal assistant, whom you’re in love with, better than I know her? Shocking.” Kyran’s eyes roll. “Real mature, you two. For the sake of my sanity, I hope you both learn how to have a conversation.” Dropping the subject, he points at the buffet. “Can I get a cookie before you lecture me all the way home about boundaries and broken trust?”
“Do you deserve a cookie?”
Kyran swings toward the cookies. “I deserve five cookies.”
Reluctantly, Viktor lowers my feet to the ground, immediately clasping my free hand once I’ve felt every ab on my way down. “Before he puts himself in a sugar coma, we should get our things to the car.”
The car being the ice blue sports coupe shining in the lot. There is definitely something to be said about Kyran’s dedication to his FrostPlays branding.
Leading, Viktor guides me toward the barn where we’ve already packed up our things in our only one room . Behind him, tripping to keep up with his step as I finish my cookie, I say, “So you planned this entire thing as a tactic to woo me?”
“Yup.”
“But Kyran was the one who forced the only-one-bed, last-room-at-the-inn tropes on us?”
Lower, he grumbles, “Yup.”
That absolves me fully of bearing guilt over what befell his back when I convinced him to sleep on the floor that first night. Love that for me.
I smile. “Do you want to help me teach Ender to leave dead mice on his pillow?”
Chuckling Viktor casts a look back at me. “Maybe. Imagine the betrayal of us turning his own cat against him.”
“I have imagined it. At length. With pictures. In a Canva Whiteboard.”
When Viktor smiles, peace overwhelms me at the idea that someone so wonderful could love me enough to join me in my stupidest schemes. It still feels too good to be true. I’m still waiting for the moment to crack and the punchline to find me.
“Viktor?” I say.
He stops with his hand on the door knob to our room, then he faces me and releases the metal in favor of pushing my hair over my ear. “Yes, sweet pea?”
“Are my choices for redemption really only love you or love myself?”
Solemn, he nods. “I’m afraid so.”
My nose scrunches.
“You can take your time deciding.”
Dropping my gaze, I mumble, “You’ll con me into both if I hesitate.”
“I’m already planning to fill my free time with Canva Whiteboard tutorials. One way or another, I’ll get through to you.”
Unwelcome heat scorches my cheeks. “You leave Canva Whiteboard out of this.”
“Can’t.” He hums. “I’ve already come to terms with the inevitable love triangle.”
“Love square. Don’t forget about my other husband. Crimson and I are soulmates first.”
Expression cool, Viktor lifts his eyes toward the barn ceiling. “How could I forget? I’ll be taking notes from her. In detail. And presenting them.”
“Don’t say it—”
“Via Canva Whiteboard.”
He’s got me down pat. I huff, squeezing his hand. “I need a publishing Canva Whiteboard plan.”
“After our wedding board or before?”
“During.”
“Crisis. Should your Canva Whiteboard reverse harem concern me?”
If that’s the only thing that concerns him, fabulous.
The distant fire crackles and laughter worm their way into my chest as I continue staring at Viktor’s strong hand. Around mine. Tightly woven. I say, “Are you sure you want me to love you? I’m kind of…intense.”
“Crisis,” he murmurs, dragging my attention up to his warm amber eyes. His free hand connects with my cheek, fingertips teasing the strands of my dark hair. “That’s my favorite part. You’re my favorite part. Everything you are. Everything you’ve been. Everything you will become. I love you.” His thumb swipes. “And, another thing.”
“There’s more?” I whisper.
“Always,” he says, kissing me gently. “You…are not hard to love.”
“Liar.”
His lips smile against mine. “Are you sure?”
My eyes close. I let everything he’s done for me, everything he’s excused, everything he’s forgiven, everything he’s promised…everything he’s threatened …swallow me whole. “No, I’m not.”
“Good girl.” The smile in his voice resonates pure bliss. “Now. What are you choosing?”
Love, or be loved. Both options seem increasingly daunting, so—flushed—I say, “Indie. I’m tired of seeking external validation. I…can do it on my own. I can be enough for me.”
He kisses my nose. “Excellent diversion, but you’re still not fooling me. If you don’t reply, I will assume your answer is why choose .”
“You’re committing to the reverse harem joke, aren’t you?”
“Yup. I’m trying to be half as committed as you, sweet pea.”
Great. We’ll have our honeymoon in an asylum.
Planting myself securely in his safe arms, I say, “Next spring. We’ll get married next spring. I’ll work on my redemption arc in the meantime.”
“Your why choose redemption arc?”
I sigh and mumble, “Yes.”
He smiles so much brighter than a sane man should, and though his joy was never the plan, I find myself loving it…in spite of the chaos .
Because living in spite is totally normal.
Definitely.
**
This concludes Crisis and Viktor’s story! Thank you for reading through the chaos. The Bachelor Brothers’ tales continue with Zakery’s story in Partnering with the Artist .
What do you do when an adorable goddess in a furry costume tumbles into your lap at a comic convention while fleeing her insane ex? Simple. You offer her the illustrious job of becoming your muse.
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