EPILOGUE #3
Bryce is stuck near the bookshelf, giving polite “uh-huhs” while next-door-neighbor Steve deep-dives into crypto again (it’s all the dude ever talks about) .
His body is there, but his soul? Long since tapped out. Literally. Tap-tap-tap. His index finger raps a rhythm against his thigh—the Bryce Sterling equivalent of an SOS.
Time to mess with him.
I pull out my phone, fingers dancing across the screen.
Me: I want to recreate the first night I wore this red dress. I’m getting wet just thinking about how you tied me up.
He checks his phone, perks right up, then searches the room. When his eyes find mine, the corner of his mouth twitches.
Moneybags: You’re evil. I’m trapped discussing Bitcoin while imagining the taste of you on my tongue.
My thighs read the text first and clench.
Me: Poor little billionaire, pretending to care about digital wallets. Bet you wish you could excuse yourself and fuck me senseless.
Me: Also, I’m not wearing panties… thought you should know.
His jaw ticks—another tell. Dave keeps rambling, unaware that his audience is mentally undressing his wife.
Moneybags: Keep texting me filth and I’ll throw you over my shoulder caveman-style in front of everyone.
Me: You wouldn’t dare. You’re too polite to cause a scene at my graduation party .
Moneybags: Try me, Pip.
The challenge in those three words makes my pulse spike. This is dangerous territory—the space where polite Bryce is replaced by the man who ruins my body on a regular basis. The man I fell in love with.
Me: Ruby’s nursery. You have sixty seconds or I’m starting without you.
I don’t wait for his response. I navigate through clusters of well-wishers, slipping down our hallway toward the back of the house.
The nursery is a dream of soft whites and pale yellows. I picked this room because our bedroom has been hijacked by guests and their handbags. I’m fussing with the curtains when the door creaks open.
Bryce steps inside, already working his tie loose. “Sixty seconds? I made it in forty-three.”
“Show-off.”
I gasp-laugh as he presses me into the wall, lips dragging down my neck. His hands are already exploring, roaming over satin.
“This dress,” he murmurs, “has been driving me insane all evening.”
“That was the point.” I thread my fingers through his flawless hair, messing it up on purpose. “We’ve got fifteen minutes tops before someone sends a search party,” I whisper.
“Then don’t waste a second.”
He kisses me—hot, deep, addictive. It’s the kind of kiss that tells you even after rings and diapers and middle-of-the-night feedings, this man wants me bad .
His hands slide to my thighs, hitching the dress just enough to feel skin. I’m ready to move this to the floor when—
Footsteps. Heavy ones. Moving toward us.
“Shit,” I say, glancing down at the door handle. “B, where the hell is the lock?”
“Safety hazard,” he whispers back, still pressed against me. “What if Ruby gets locked in and we can’t reach her?”
“She’s three months old! She can’t even roll over!”
“PETRA! brYCE!” Gavin’s voice booms down the hallway, getting closer.
Dammit.
I yank open the nursery closet and shove Bryce inside among the designer onesies and receiving blankets.
“We gotta make this fast,” I whisper, crowding into the small space. “Are you up for the challenge?”
His hands immediately find my waist, pulling me flush against him. “Pip, please. You know I am.”
The closet is narrow enough that every inch of our bodies is pressed together, and I can feel exactly how ready he is through his dress pants.
“Vell, vell,” I purr in my deliberately awful Russian accent. “Is wery good zing you are rich boy. Zey alvays have quick trigger, dah? Pop off faster than champagne cork.”
“Keep challenging me and I’ll stay in here until I break my record. What number are we up to now? Seven climaxes in one night?” The possessive edge in his voice makes my vagina growl. “I’ll take my time licking that sweet little pussy until you sing for me.”
I crash my mouth against his, moaning into the kiss. “God, B, are you trying to make me so wet I have to change my dress? ”
I’m frantically undoing his belt when…
The closet door swings open.
Gavin’s standing there with Ruby in one arm, eyes going wide.
He whirls her around so fast it’s a miracle she doesn’t go flying.
“Oh, for the love of—” he groans, fake-gagging. “Don’t look, sweetie. Uncle Gavin needs to have a deeply uncomfortable chat with your parents about appropriate party behavior.”
Bryce clears his throat. “We’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Ten,” I say, wiping lipstick off my chin.
Gavin sighs. “Once again, you’re violating the Overshare Treaty we established. Happy for you. Deeply disturbed. Never want to talk about this again.”
Bryce moves to close the closet door, but Gavin stops him and points. “Not so fast, Sterling. I’m here because the princess puked on her dress. That’s above my pay grade.”
“Oh, baby girl,” I coo, taking her from him and holding her at eye level. “Daddy’s about to have the worst case of blue balls in Beverly Hills, and it’s all your fault.”
Ruby responds with a perfectly timed burp.
Gavin claps Bryce on the back. “You’ve got two women in your life now pulling the strings. God help you.”
The bitter edge in his voice hits me hard.
It’s been a year since Fiona was dragged away in handcuffs during what was supposed to be their “I do” moment.
Now Gavin treats love like it’s a pyramid scheme designed to separate fools from their dignity.
He’s thrown himself into Heartvest with the intensity of a man trying to escape his every thought, working eighteen-hour days and treating every business deal like personal vindication .
The worst part? He’s convinced himself he’s better off alone.
Claims romantic relationships are just elaborate cons waiting to happen.
I want to shake him until he snaps out of it, tell him that not every woman is a sociopathic, money-laundering con artist. But when Gavin’s in full defensive mode like this, it’s like hugging a porcupine—painful for everyone.
I hope he’ll find his way back to love. Because giving my heart to Bryce? Having Ruby? It rewired my soul, and I want that for my brother.
Hours later…
Party stragglers have claimed our driveway, setting up camp in a semicircle of mismatched chairs, surrounded by half-eaten food. As the sun dips below the horizon, the streetlights flicker on, their light slowly replacing the natural glow of dusk.
I’m curled up in Bryce’s lap, his arms around me like a security blanket. Across from us, Hana cradles a zonked-out Ruby in one arm while gesturing wildly with the other mid-story—she’s sharing an animated tale of her solo travel adventures.
“Last month, I spent two weeks in Bali,” she continues. “I stayed at this incredible resort where they bring you breakfast on a silver tray every morning, and the infinity pool overlooked the most gorgeous rice terraces…”
I bite back a smile. Hana’s version of “adventure” involves room service and spa treatments, which is way different than my college days of hostels and questionable street food.
But I’m not bursting her bubble. She’s happy, she’s free, and she’s figuring out who she is.
That’s worth celebrating, even if it comes with a five-star price tag.
“Gavin, you simply must try solo travel,” she gushes. “It’s life-changing. ”
“Not a chance. The last thing I need is to end up alone in some foreign country with a beautiful stranger who sees me as a walking ATM. Been there, done that. I don’t repeat my mistakes.”
His response only fuels Hana’s determination, and I lean back, happily settling in for the show. Their verbal sparring is like watching a black hole try to devour the sun.
I glance around at the aftermath—tipsy balloons, murdered cake, and the smell of celebration still clinging to the air. My heart is obnoxiously full. Like stupid-happy, can’t-believe-this-is-my-life full.
“Thank you for my do-over graduation party,” I say, gently kissing Bryce’s lips.
His arms tighten around me, pulling me closer. “Love you, Pip.”
“Hey, Wildcat?” Gavin’s voice cuts through my post-kiss haze.
“Yeah, bro?”
“Your car’s being towed.”
WHAM.
I shoot up so fast, I headbutt Bryce under the chin.
“OW, Pip!” he groans, hand flying to his jaw.
“Sorry, Moneybags.”
I whip around—and yep. There she is. My busted beauty. Dangling mid-air like she just lost a bar fight.
“Hana, watch Ruby,” I announce, scrambling to my feet. “Her virgin ears cannot be exposed to the profanity parade I’m about to unleash.”
I storm down the sidewalk, my red dress billowing like the cape of a very pissed-off superhero.
“HANDS OFF MY RIDE, JACKASS!”
And there he is. The gnome from my nightmares. Officer. Freaking. Cockburn—radiating the energy of a man whose wife left him for someone with a bigger… badge.
“Overnight parking is prohibited seven p.m. to five a.m. in residential zones.” He points at the street sign. “It’s seven-oh-two, sweetheart. You can read, can’t you?”
“Are you shitting me, Cockburn? You’re committing grand theft auto over TWO MINUTES?” I plant my hands on my hips. “This is harassment disguised as enforcement, and you know it.”
“You can slap on heels and marry into money, but I see you. Still the same spoiled brat who thinks the rules don’t apply. I know your type well—hell, I married it. She smiled like that too. Right up until she took the house, the car, and my hairline. ”
Bryce materializes at my elbow, slightly winded. “Need reinforcements?”
“From you? Always and forever. For this glorified traffic goblin? I eat dickweasels like him for breakfast.”
Cockburn turns to Bryce like he’s handing down divine wisdom.
“Pro tip—women like this will steamroll your existence if you don’t establish dominance early.
Otherwise, you think you’ve set the rules, until suddenly you’re sleeping in your truck.
Meanwhile, your ex is remodeling your kitchen and renaming your dog. ”
Bryce’s face goes stone-cold serious. “Oof. You just said that. Out loud. To my wife.” He shakes his head. “Yeah, man… You’re about to lose your ego and your pension. Buckle up.”
I step into Cockburn’s personal space, channeling every law textbook I’ve ever cracked.
“Selective enforcement is discrimination. You’ve targeted this address before, and I’ve got the citations to prove it. Two-minute grace periods are standard, and you’re about to become my first official law school project.”
I rip the citation from his stubby fingers with dramatic flourish. “See you in court, Officer Fuckface.”
Spinning on my heel, I stride back toward our house, riding high.
Bryce jogs to catch up, grinning. “So… no gap year?”
“Hell no. I’ve got a war to wage and a list of assholes to annihilate.”
Without warning, Bryce sweeps me off my feet, breaking into a full sprint toward our front door. “GAVIN! HANA!” he shouts. “Childcare emergency! My wife just verbally destroyed a man, and I need to show her how hot that was!”
“Boundaries! Seriously!” Gavin shouts back.
“True love is so beautiful!” Hana sighs dreamily.
I crash my lips against Bryce’s as he bulldozes through our front door, tasting promises and the kind of forever I never felt I deserved.
I was the girl everyone wrote off—the family screw-up, the troublemaker, the one who’d never amount to anything. I thought I had to change everything about myself to be worthy of love, success, or belonging.
Turns out, I had it backwards.
This is what happily ever after actually looks like—not changing who you are, but embracing your most unapologetic self with a partner who welcomes your chaos as something beautiful. Wealth didn’t polish my rough edges. Marriage didn’t make me behave. Motherhood didn’t quiet my rebellion.
I’m still the girl who spray-painted a dick on her car trunk, calls out bullshit when I see it, and fights for the underdog with everything I’ve got .
Turns out the girl who never belonged anywhere was exactly who she was supposed to be the whole time.
And that’s more fucking beautiful than anything money could buy.
***
Want more hilarious enemies to lovers romance? Read the vacation love stories of Petra’s best friends (Katie and Cam) in the HOT MESS SUMMER SERIES .
Don’t stop now! Petra & Bryce’s getaway back to Casa Cashmere goes hilariously wrong in this flirty, fun, and FREE BONUS EPILOGUE .