Epilogue
. . .
Jess - Six Months Later
Honey Pine Farms
Grant and Sophia’s Wedding
The sky over Honey Pine Farms is dusted in gold, the sun just starting to dip behind the mountains, as the ceremony shifts into the reception.
Rows of white chairs are still scattered across the hillside, and guests mingle with champagne flutes and camera-ready smiles while fairy lights blink awake above the dance floor like they’ve been waiting for this exact moment.
I slip my hand into Lucas’s as we wander toward the main lodge and the soft murmur of conversation rises around us.
His fingers squeeze mine, a quiet pulse of affection.
He looks effortlessly polished, as always, in a crisp black tux, with his tie slightly loosened now that the vows have been said, and his eyes are warm when they land on mine.
“You doing ok?” he asks, dipping his head slightly to catch my eye.
I nod. “I’m good. Just a little in awe.”
He smiles, slow and knowing. “You mean from Grant actually pulling off an emotionally intelligent ceremony without needing to quote The Breakfast Club?”
I nudge him with my shoulder. “I meant Sophia’s vows, smartass.”
“To be fair, they were excellent,” he concedes. “And Hazel stole the whole show.”
“She always does.”
We fall into step again, quiet for a beat as guests trail past us. Blair and Wyatt are among them, strolling with their hands linked, Blair glowing and very, very pregnant.
“She’s practically floating,” I say. “They both are.”
Lucas glances over and grins. “Wyatt’s about one false labor call away from wrapping her in bubble wrap.”
“Classic first-time dad energy.”
Brandon and Stella pass next, deep in conversation. Or rather, Stella’s talking, animated and dramatic as always, while Brandon looks hypnotized by her story.
“I’m just saying,” she says, tugging at Brandon’s sleeve, “that you’re a dating ninja. The least you could do is teach me how to flirt like a normal human.”
“I’m not a ninja,” Brandon replies, looking both smug and unbothered.
“You got that girl from 4B to ask you out by recommending a podcast,” she huffs. “I recommended banana bread to my crush, and he asked if I was ok.”
Lucas chuckles beside me. “What do we think? Two weeks before she ropes him into giving her dating lessons?”
“Two weeks if he resists. Forty-eight hours if she bribes him with croissants.”
Across the lawn, Jake is nursing a whiskey, watching the reception unfold with the tired eyes of a man still trying to figure out what happens after marriage falls apart.
Lucas catches him looking toward the catering tent, where Natalie, Stella’s yoga friend with the dimples and killer arms, is arranging a tray of lemon bars.
“Should we be concerned?” Lucas asks, nodding in Jake’s direction.
“It feels like a stretch,” I reply, “but this is LA. Anything could happen, I suppose.”
Because, yeah, some things have happened in the last six months.
After I received my inheritance, I accepted the Reynolds board seat. Not because I wanted the prestige, but because I wanted the voice. I wanted the seat at the table. And with it came a chance to shape something, so I did.
My first order of business? A thought piece on workplace harassment in the entertainment industry.
Turns out, Marcus Delgado’s unwanted advances weren’t limited to me.
When several other women came forward with similar stories, Wonderland Studios couldn’t ignore the pattern.
Last month, they quietly showed him the door, though the press release called it “pursuing other opportunities.” Lucas helped craft that statement, which makes me laugh every time I think about it.
“I felt like I should thank Marcus,” he told me afterward. “If he hadn’t been so creepy in Vegas, we might never have fake-married our way into real love.”
I pointed out that thanking Marcus felt wrong on every level, but the irony isn’t lost on me. Sometimes, the worst people accidentally set the best things in motion.
I donated a portion of my inheritance to Katherine’s foundation, and now I volunteer there, too. We’re building something better. Smarter. Safer. Jess Lexington-Carmichael, once a rebel with a mic, is now also a rebel with a budget and an agenda.
And Mickey ears, when the occasion calls for them.
Lucas is still at Wonderland and still working with Grant. I expect it’ll stay that way as long as they can make it so. He’s thriving and bold, still sharp-edged and ruthlessly composed for the press.
Oh, you want to know about the documentary? The buzz got so big the first two episodes premiered in theaters before the entire series went live on Wonderland’s streaming platform. It was weird watching us on screen, but Dylan did a wonderful job telling our story. Lucas even cried a bit.
As for the marriage, we didn’t renew our vows. We didn’t throw a second wedding or plan some splashy PR reversal. That was never the point. What we have now doesn’t need an audience—or an ending.
We just kept going.
“Come dance with me,” he says now, tugging me gently toward the clearing where strings of warm bulbs crisscross above the wooden dance floor. The music is easy, classic, something old and smooth that makes you sway without thinking.
I follow him out, slipping into the rhythm easily, my body falling into his like we’ve been dancing this same step for years.
Around us, couples twirl: Sophia and Grant near the center, Hazel cutting in every so often, claiming her turn with both of them like the star of the show she is.
After a moment, he pulls me a little closer, and his hand settles at the small of my back, steady and warm.
“Can I tell you something?” he asks, more serious now.
“Always.”
“I used to think we were strongest when we pushed each other, like rivals who never let the other get too comfortable.”
“And now?”
He looks at me, and his eyes are steady and clear. “Now I think we’re strongest because we see each other. Because we never had to pretend. Even when we hated each other, we knew exactly who we were dealing with.”
I smile. “Guess the line between love and hate really is thin.”
“Paper thin,” he murmurs. “And wildly combustible.”
We stop moving, letting the music swirl around us, and he gently presses his forehead to mine.
“I love you,” he says.
“I love you, too,” I whisper.
We kiss while the mountains stretch around us, the stars blink overhead, and the people we love dance beside us.
This time, it’s not for the story. It is the story. Our story.