Epilogue Sebastian
The backyard hums with the low murmur of people we love, the rustle of leaves overhead, and the faint clink of glasses from the table Elizabeth insisted on decorating. String lights glow between the trees like they’ve always belonged there.
I stand beneath the arch, hands clasped in front of me, breathing in slow counts of four.
Drew stands beside me, best man by default and by blood. He leans in just enough to murmur, “If you pass out, I’m not catching you. Just want that on record.”
“I’m not passing out,” I say.
He hums. “You look like you might.”
Elizabeth is across the yard, calm and radiant in a way that makes it impossible to believe she was once the center of Ivy’s dad’s worst decisions. Now she’s Ivy’s maid of honor, smiling like she knows exactly how this ends—and has known since the day she met us.
At my feet, Mr. Pickles sits in a tiny, deeply offensive tuxedo harness, a satin ribbon looped around his neck with the rings tied securely in place. He looks like he hates everyone equally.
The officiant clears his throat, and the music starts.
“Here Comes the Bride” drifts across the yard, soft and familiar.
I straighten, my eyes on the patio doors.
Ivy’s dad steps out first.
Alone.
My heart stutters.
For half a second, every worst-case scenario I’ve ever rehearsed flashes through me.
No. Impossible.
He takes a few steps forward, descending the patio stairs. He stops on the sidewalk, his eyes meeting mine.
Fear rises, choking me.
Laughter bubbles up from the patio as Ivy appears with a huge smile on her face.
I watch in complete astonishment as she vaults over the railing in her wedding dress.
She holds her dress up just enough to clear the edge, white glittery sneakers flashing beneath layers of soft fabric. She lands lightly, like she’s done this a thousand times before.
The yard erupts in cheers and laughter.
Drew bends forward, laughing so hard he has to brace his hands on his knees. I feel it hit me all at once—relief, disbelief, and joy—until I’m laughing too.
Ivy grins like she’s pulled off a successful heist.
She slips her arm through her father’s, and together they walk toward me.
When she reaches me, she leans in just enough that only I can hear her. “I had to,” she whispers. “For old time’s sake.”
I lower my voice, a wide smile on my face. “You’re not climbing the bedroom balcony tonight.”
Her eyes sparkle. “We’ll see.”
Mr. Pickles chooses that moment to yowl loudly and bat at my shoe, as if reminding us this ceremony cannot proceed without his approval.
The officiant pauses.
Drew wipes his eyes. “That tracks.”
Ivy takes her place in front of me, radiant and real and exactly who she’s always been. I take her hands, grounding myself in the warmth of her fingers, the steady truth of her.
And on a sunny early June afternoon, we pledge our hearts and lives to one another.
Later—after the vows, the kiss, and Mr. Pickles’s attempt to steal a canapé and being escorted away with his dignity barely intact—I pull Ivy close under the string lights, her head tucked beneath my chin.
“Still glad I stalked you?” she murmurs.
I kiss her hair. “Always.”
She smiles up at me. “Have I told you how much I love you?”
I pull her closer, a smile on my face. “Every day. Even when you climbed my deck and balcony railing.”
She giggles, her eyes shining. “Still have the mask?”
I wiggle my brows before whispering, “It’s in my pocket.”
She sighs and melts against me.
I glance at the sky. For a moment, I swear I hear my dad’s voice, whispering that he’s proud of me for marrying Ivy. I know he would’ve liked her. He’d understand why she broke every rule I ever built.
I meet Drew’s eyes. He’s dancing with the new bartender from the bar where I first saw and saved Ivy. They look pretty cozy. Hopefully, something good comes from it.
Ivy’s dad spins Elizabeth in a circle. She giggles and then kisses him. I suspect they’ll be next to get married. Elizabeth caught Ivy’s bouquet, so it tracks.
Mr. Pickles is in the window, staring out at us. Our eyes meet, and I swear, the damn cat smiles his approval.
Ivy lifts her head, her eyes shining.
I lower my forehead to hers. “My stalker. My wife. My everything.”
She laughs and says, “My stalker. My husband. My life.”
I kiss her before she can say another word.
And just like the first time my lips touched hers, the world narrows until it’s only us.
I used to think love was something that broke men open.
Turns out, it rebuilt me.
And I’ve never been more grateful that Ivy invaded my life and refused to leave.