Epilogue
ISLA
Paris, France
“Remind me why I agreed to this whole spectacle again?” Isla asked, eyeing herself in the full-length mirror. “I feel ridiculous.”
Mum came up beside her and made a small adjustment to the birdcage veil pinned into Isla’s hair. “To make me happy,” she said with a wide smile. “Estás bella. No te preocupes.” You’re beautiful. Don’t worry.
“Actually, it was because millions of viewers demanded it,” Callum said dryly from his perch by the balcony. “And because getting out of that Travelog contract was a nightmare.”
At his side, Liddy rolled her eyes, poking him in the ribs. “You’re so romantic.”
“I’m honest ,” Callum said with the hint of a grin, then kissed his wife on the cheek. “Which is something to be said among this group.”
From the other side of the room, Elle dropped her mouth open in mock offense as she fixed the white headband that Tara had pulled off her head again. “I resent that,” Elle said. “Tara did nothing to be lumped in with the rest of us.”
Megan came into the room then with a bottle of champagne in her hand and Davy at her heels. “Can I get one of the guys to open this for me? I’m always afraid I’m going to break something when the cork pops out.” She looked hopefully at Callum and Kyle.
“Megan’s not a liar either,” Isla pointed out as Callum took the bottle.
Megan laughed. “What’s that?”
Callum sighed. “Apparently, Megan, it turns out that you and I are the only ones in this wedding who don’t struggle with the truth.”
A loud pop sounded as the cork flew across the room, landing harmlessly on the floor. Kyle snapped it up. “In my defense, I was barely involved. No one bothered to ask me anything, so I didn’t really lie. ”
Davy cringed. “Do we really have to have this conversation now?”
Isla left her mother’s side and went over, holding a hand out for Davy.
The first time they’d talked in Paris—a month ago—had been tough. But things felt almost back to normal now.
Isla knew how much she needed her friendship. And despite not being completely honest, Davy had fought with Antony and Boyd about the final cut of the show—resulting in the romantic version that had enraptured viewers so much that a larger network was now streaming their little travel show.
Davy had been promoted—which she’d only accepted under the condition that she be moved to executive producer for future episodes of the series—and Tomas and Kyle had been offered a contract for more cities and spinoffs.
Isla had turned the offer down.
Acting would always be there if she wanted it, but the truth was that she had moved on. Maybe an occasional job would be fun to keep her creatively energized, but she didn’t want to pursue it full-time anymore.
As Davy slipped her hand into Isla’s and squeezed it, they shared a smile. “You look beautiful. The perfect bride.”
Isla glanced back at her reflection. Rather than a traditional wedding gown, she’d chosen a tea-length white dress with a soft, floaty skirt and off-the-shoulder ruched sleeves.
Delicate pink silk flowers trailed the hem like something from a dream.
She felt—finally—Parisian. And just a little chic.
A tap sounded on the suite door, and Elle hiked Tara onto her hip, then went over to it and opened it. “Can I come in?” Aiden asked.
“No!” the women in the room—except Isla—all called collectively.
“Oh, it’s fine,” Isla said, rolling her eyes at them.
“It’s bad luck,” Mum said with a warning look. “Wait until after the wedding.”
“Is it any worse luck than not actually even remembering the wedding?” Isla asked with a laugh, then crossed the room despite their protests. She nudged Elle to the side and opened the door fully.
Aiden stood there, her dad and Quinn with him. “We’ve come to collect the women,” Quinn said flatly. “Everyone is ready and waiting.”
Isla’s eyes collided with Aiden’s, and her heart skipped a beat. God, he’s so sexy.
And he was hers. Her husband.
The love of her life.
Aiden ignored everyone else as he stepped into the room, slipping his arms around Isla. “My God, you look beautiful,” he whispered as though she was the only one there.
The group gathered their things, filing out past them. Isla glanced over Aiden’s shoulder and caught her father’s eyes. “Be right there, Dad. I just want to talk to Aiden for a few minutes before the wedding.”
“As long as I get to walk you down, I’ll wait,” he said with a wink, then closed the door behind him, leaving them alone.
Isla bit her lower lip as her arms tightened around Aiden’s neck. “You like the dress?”
“Once again, you make the dress. And much as it’s lovely, right now all I can think about is taking you out of it,” he whispered huskily, grazing a kiss along her jaw.
“We cannot have sex minutes before the wedding.” Her body betrayed her words, though, her mouth tilting back to meet his as he consumed her with a kiss.
“Wouldn’t take long,” he said between kisses, edging her back toward a wall. He pressed himself against her eagerly. “I could be quick.”
“Don’t tempt me.” She kissed him back hungrily, then pushed him back.
“Dammit, now I have to fix my lipstick.” She wiped the remnants of it from his mouth with a grin.
“I promise, there will be plenty of time for sex after the ceremony. And, um, for the rest of our lives.” She gave him a mischievous grin. “ Husbee.”
“That’s ghastly, you know. Wife.”
Isla shivered with delight, loving the way it sounded in his voice, even if he was pretending to cringe. “That’s not fair.”
Aiden gave her a roguish smile. “What can I say? If I’m going to say wedding vows in front of a camera, beside the Eiffel Tower, with a hard-on, I may as well make sure you’re completely wet, too.”
Isla groaned, then headed toward a small table for her lipstick. She went to the mirror to fix it. Through the reflection, she watched as Aiden adjusted himself, then stepped out onto the open balcony, and she grinned.
I love him so much.
She reapplied her lipstick, then joined him on the balcony. They’d gotten a hotel that could not only accommodate everyone they’d flown over here for this last-minute wedding ceremony but one that also had a spectacular view of the Eiffel Tower.
Below them, the streets of Paris bustled with life—tourists and Parisians in cafés, delighting in coffees and chocolate, vendors making crepes, couples laughing and smoking.
Cyclists everywhere, racing through the streets somewhat recklessly.
And a street violinist, too, playing “La Vie en Rose , ” on a spectacular, cloudless, warm day.
Even from here, Isa caught sight of the production—the chairs they’d set up on the grass—the small group of her family and friends walking toward them.
“We should go,” she said, slipping her fingers through Aiden’s. “Wouldn’t want to be late to our second wedding.”
He chuckled, then turned and pulled her into his arms. “I don’t know. I sort of miss all the neon and flashing lights from the background of our first wedding.” Regret hinted at his voice. “I wish I could remember it, though.”
“I know. Me too. Though, if we remembered it, we might not have gone through with it. I do have a faint memory of you kissing me that night, though. We were by the Eiffel Tower there, I think.”
“Really?” He set his head on top of hers. “How’s that for irony? All roads lead to Paris, apparently.”
“Maybe not irony. Maybe destiny.” Isla stepped back, still holding his hands. “You know what? I have something for you. I was going to give it to you later tonight, but this seems a better time.”
He gave her a curious look as she left him and hurried over toward her suitcase. Digging into it, she pulled out a rectangular package wrapped in brown paper and brought it to him. “For you.”
“Did you frame our marriage license?” He smirked.
“No. Something better.” She watched eagerly as he peeled the paper back to reveal a framed crayon drawing.
His gaze flicked over it, surprise lighting his expression, then he looked up at her, eyes widening slightly. “Is this . . .”
“You and me. I drew it when we were kids, apparently. My father gave it to me.” Tears pricked her throat, and she smiled. “So you see, it was always you, Aiden. And whatever winding path we took to get here, I’m just glad it led me to you. I love you.”
“I will cherish this for life. I love you, too, Miss Skye.” He furrowed his brow playfully. “Or should I say, Mrs. Skye?”
He set the picture down and leaned to kiss her, then paused. “Dammit, I don’t want to ruin your makeup again.”
Isla wrapped her arms around his neck and shrugged. “You’ve never ruined anything for me, Aiden. You make everything better. You’re my home. Where I belong.”
He smiled, then his mouth dropped to hers, and he kissed her thoroughly.
Every road, every obstacle had brought them here—to each other. To love. To Paris, once again. And this time, surrounded by their family and closest friends—and a film crew—they’d remember and cherish every moment.