Epilogue
The sun rises over the rolling hills of Tío Juan’s ranch in Utah, painting the sky in a breathtaking array of pinks, oranges, and golds. The air is crisp and clear, filled with the earthy scent of wildflowers and the gentle tinkle of the wind chimes swaying in the breeze. The ranch is a picture of serenity, a far cry from the chaos and excitement of Manhattan.
I stand on the porch of the main house, taking in the stunning vista before me. The wooden boards creak beneath me as I take a seat on the steps. Pedro joins me, his arm snaking around my waist as he pulls me close and plants a kiss on my temple.
I open my mouth to tell him how nervous I am when my phone begins buzzing incessantly in my hand, the screen flashing with an incoming call from my assistant director in Toronto. I sigh, knowing I can’t ignore it, even on a day as momentous as this.
“Aria, we need to talk about the changes to scene 42,” he says, his voice tinged with urgency. “The studio insisted on a rewrite last night, and we need your approval before we can film.”
I let out a deep sigh. “Can’t this wait?”
“I'm sorry, but they’re threatening to shut down production if we don’t get the fire escape debacle sorted. The union rep for?—”
“Ugh,” I groan, cutting him off as I turn to Pedro with an apologetic look. He nods in understanding, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“Fine, walk me through it,” I say, rising to my feet and stepping away from Pedro to focus on the call. “But make it quick.”
As I listen to the proposed changes, my frustration mounts. “That scene is crucial to the mounting tension.”
“But, the studio?—”
“Just do whatever you want,” I finish, my patience wearing thin. “I've got a wedding to attend. You’ll have to figure it out without me.”
I end the call and toss my phone onto the nearby table with a sigh before stepping outside again. Pedro looks both amused and concerned as I take a seat next to him on the wooden steps.
“Everything okay?” he asks, his hand finding mine and giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“Just the usual nonsense. I really wish Prism had worked out for the world. It’d make my job a lot easier,” I mutter, leaning my head on his shoulder.
Prism had been promising. Unfortunately, after the big movie studios and media conglomerates started investing and buying up the small startups like Aira Labs, a technology meant to give creative control to everyone became another guarded tool, locked behind paywalls and corporate ownership. What could have been a revolutionary leap for indie creators like me was now just another commodity for the media giants. Pedro hated it, but at least he got out while he still had a soul.
“But enough about that,” I continue, shaking off my frustration and redirecting the conversation away from the sore subject of the exploitation of Pedro’s blood, sweat, and tears. “Did the mariachi band arrive?”
Pedro chuckles, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Oh, they arrived, all right. Let’s just say Tío Juan’s idea of a wedding band involves a lot more leather and feathers than your typical mariachi.”
“What do you mean?”
“Apparently, Tío Juan asked the wedding planner to get a group that specializes in ‘sexy samba’, whatever that means. I'm pretty sure Gretchen is going to combust when she sees their costumes.”
As if summoned by our laughter, Gretchen emerges from the house in her knee-length wedding gown. The fabric shimmers in the morning light, a cascade of ivory silk and lace that hugs her curves like a second skin. She looks radiant, her face aglow with a happiness and peace I've never seen before.
Her smile widens with each careful step she takes toward us in her house slippers. “What are you two laughing about? Pedro’s sense of direction?” she asks as we stand up and she envelops us both in a bone-crushing hug.
Pedro rolls his eyes. “That was one time,” he mutters, his cheeks flushing adorably. “And in my defense, all those country roads look the same.”
Gretchen laughs, a rich, throaty sound that seems to emanate from her bones. “Well, you’re here now, and that’s all that matters,” she says, casting a skeptical look in Pedro’s direction. She takes my hand, her eyes sparkling with the kind of wisdom you only get after surviving seven divorces and a questionable career change.
“About time, too. I thought this day would never come,” I remark, a playful jab despite the fact that it took Gretchen and Tío Juan about one minute to get hitched at City Hall. It took them six years to plan their official Utah wedding ceremony.
“Well, darling, when you've been down the aisle as many times as I have, you learn to take your time,” Gretchen quips, her perfectly manicured eyebrow arching in amusement. “After all, weddings are expensive, but divorces in New York? They'll cost you the GDP of a small island nation.”
Pedro snorts, shaking his head in disbelief. “And here I thought you were just enjoying the world’s longest honeymoon.”
“Oh, I was enjoying it all right,” Gretchen purrs, her eyes drifting to the barn and white silk tents in the distance, where Tío Juan is chatting with the officiant, his silver hair glinting in the sunlight. “But after six years of waking up next to that chiseled jaw and rock-hard ass, I figured it was time to tear up the prenup and make it official. Besides, I needed a good reason to buy a new dress.”
I can’t help but laugh at Gretchen’s brazen honesty, marveling at how far she’s come from the guarded ice queen when I first met all those years ago. “Well, I think it’s romantic,” I say, my voice softening with sincerity. “You two are proof that love can find us at any age.”
“You know, I've been thinking a lot about love lately,” Gretchen says, her expression becoming pensive. “About what it takes to make it last.”
I nod, sensing the importance of her words. “Do tell,” I encourage, my curiosity piqued.
“Well, for starters, you've got to find someone who can keep up with you,” she says, a wicked glint in her eye. “And I don’t just mean in the bedroom, although that certainly doesn’t hurt. But more than that, you need someone who sees you, really sees you, and loves every flawed, disgusting part of you.”
She pauses, her gaze drifting to where Tío Juan is now demonstrating his famous ‘seductive salsa' to a group of delighted guests. “But most importantly,” she continues, her voice softening with a tenderness I've rarely heard from her, “you need someone who makes you laugh, even on your worst days. Because let me tell you, darlings, life is too short and too messy to spend it with someone who doesn’t know how to make you smile.”
Her words strike a chord within me, resonating with the lessons I've learned on my own journey. I think back to my time at Full Circle, to the mistakes I made and the emotional baggage I carried around like a designer handbag full of rocks. But I also think about how far I've come since then, how I've learned to embrace a more authentic life, one filled with laughter, love, and the most amazing husband a girl could ask for.
The ceremony is a blur of laughter, tears, and joy, punctuated by the occasional bleat of a nearby goat. Juan and Gretchen exchange vows beneath an arched canopy of wildflowers, their love for each other palpable in every word and gesture. As they seal their union with a kiss that borders on indecent, the crowd erupts into cheers and applause, the sound echoing across the painted hills.
At the reception, Mallu is already the star of the dance floor. Her infamous dance skills are on full display as she spins to the beat of the mariachi band, her backpack full of dreams bouncing with every move. She throws a playful wink my way, and I laugh as she motions for me to join her.
I wave her off, pointing to my heels in an exaggerated "help me" gesture. “I’ll get there eventually, but not in these,” I say.
Pedro leans in, amused. “She’s relentless.”
“That’s part of her charm,” I reply, as Sara sidles up next to us, looking both intrigued and a little shy as she watches Mallu, her eyes lingering.
I nudge Sara with my elbow, a knowing smile on my face. “You should get out there.”
Sara flushes, her usual serious demeanor cracking for just a moment. “I don’t know…”
Mallu catches Sara’s gaze from across the floor, and the playful grin on her face shifts into something a little more inviting. She crooks a finger, gesturing for Sara to join her with a sultry smile. It’s not a question—it’s a challenge.
Mallu spins closer, giving Sara a playful twirl before pulling her into a rhythm that feels easy and natural. Sara starts out awkward, but Mallu’s energy is infectious. Soon enough, they’re dancing like it’s second nature, and Sara’s shy smile gives way to laughter that lights up her whole face. It’s not love at first sight, but it’s definitely something—a connection sparking in the movement, in the space between them.
Pedro watches them for a moment, grinning. “Did you just set up a whole dance-floor romance?”
I shrug. “I only set the stage. They’re writing the story. I mean, brains, beauty, and bounce. What more could you need?”
We laugh, but before I can get too lost in the Sara-and-Mallu situation, we spot Mark across the tent, talking to Valentino, Tío Juan’s farmhand. Ridiculously handsome, Valentino seems like he stepped out of a high-end cologne ad—tall, tan, and sporting a smile that could probably launch a thousand cattle across a rolling pasture.
I nudge Pedro with my elbow. “What do you think? Mark and Valentino?”
Pedro raises an eyebrow, scanning the scene. “If it isn’t already happening, it’s about to.”
“Mark’s got that deer in the headlights look,” I add, watching as Valentino leans in a little too close, brushing something off Mark’s shirt. I can almost see the moment Mark short-circuits.
Pedro chuckles. “Better him than me.”
“And here I thought you’d be jealous of Valentino’s abs,” I tease.
“Why be jealous of something I already have at home?” he says, slipping his arm around me, pulling me close. I roll my eyes but can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.
There’s definitely a spark there, and I make a mental note to ask Mark about it later—after I’ve had some more canapés, of course.
As Pedro and I make our way through the tent, making our rounds like we’re on a post-wedding goodwill tour, we finally reach Omar. True to form, he’s seated off to the side, successfully avoiding all forms of social engagement. He’s got a beer in one hand, his phone in the other, and the distant look of someone half-listening to the world around him while secretly hoping no one will notice him scrolling.
When we’re practically standing right in front of him, he finally glances up from his phone and offers the world’s smallest smile.
“You holding up?” I ask as he sets his phone down on the table.
“Barely,” he replies. “Too much human interaction.”
Pedro smirks and kicks Omar’s shoe. “Dude, you’re holding up better than I expected.”
Omar raises his beer, giving Pedro the world’s most unenthusiastic toast. “The beer’s doing all the heavy lifting, man. Plus, you know, not dancing. That’s the key to surviving weddings.”
Pedro’s shoulders slump. “Come on, dude. Just one dance. Let the world see those dad-on-vacation-at-Disney moves.”
Omar takes a sip of his beer, then leans closer to Pedro with a smirk. “Listen, bro, if I get out there and start dancing, you’re never gonna be able to keep your hands off me.”
Pedro bursts out laughing. “Oh yeah? You think I can’t handle all that raw, uncoordinated energy?”
Omar grins as he shimmies in his chair. “Trust me, once these hips get moving, your heart won’t stand a chance. I’m saving this friendship, man.”
“I gotta agree. Definitely can’t let the friends-to-lovers energy take hold,” I chime in.
Pedro snorts, shaking his head at me. “You jealous?”
Omar narrows his eyes, the tiniest hint of a grin sneaking onto his face. “I’ll just stay here and watch you two make fools out of yourselves.”
Omar raises his beer again. “To slow, quiet deaths in the corner.” He gestures toward the dance floor, where Mallu and Sara are in full swing, Sara beaming like she just won the lottery.
I grin. “Well, the threesome invitation is open.”
Omar gives me a knowing look. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
As Pedro and I sit at a table under the stars, the soft glow of the fairy lights casting a warm halo around us, I find myself lost in thought, my gaze drifting to the rings on my finger. The diamond of my engagement ring sparkles in the light, a promise of forever etched into its facets. But it’s the simple gold band of my wedding ring that catches my eye, a symbol of the years of love and laughter we've shared.
I turn to Pedro, my stomach fluttering with a sudden rush of excitement. “Hey. ”
He looks at me, his brow furrowing in concern. “What’s up?”
A grin spreads across my face as I lean in. “So...turns out, we’re gonna need to start searching the apartment for that final hidden stash of Tio Juan’s VHS tapes a lot sooner than we thought.”
For a moment, he’s silent, his eyes widening in shock. But then, a burst of pure, unadulterated, joyful laughter bubbles up from his chest. “Are you serious?” he asks, his voice thick with emotion.
I nod, my eyes welling with happy tears. “I’ve known for about a week. I was just waiting for the right moment to tell you.”
His grin widens as he pulls me into his arms, lifting me off my feet in a tight embrace. “A week ? Are you testing my trust issues again?”
I laugh, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I wanted it to be special!”
He pulls me into his arms, his lips finding mine in a kiss that’s equal parts tender and passionate. Then he leads me onto the dance floor to shake it out to some Taylor Swift, played by a scantily clad mariachi band.
As the night winds down and the guests begin to depart, some more unsteadily than others, I find myself reflecting on the journey that brought us all here. The path hasn’t always been easy, and there were times when I thought I'd never find my way. But through it all, I've had the love and support of an incredible group of humans, the ones who never gave up on me, even when I was ready to give up on myself.
We all say our goodbyes and Pedro and I set off for the guest house. As I stand in front of the porch, I take one last look around the ranch. It’s more than just a place; it’s a symbol of the peace and love we've all found, a reminder of the power of forgiveness. And if the sight of Tío Juan and Gretchen sneaking off into the barn, giggling like teenagers, is any indication, it’s also a place where love and passion are as abundant as stars in the Utah night sky.
As we walk hand-in-hand, the cool night air kissing our skin, I can’t help but feel a sense of déjà vu wash over me. It’s like I'm living in the final scene of one of my own screenplays; the happily ever after I've always dreamed of writing for myself.
Life has a way of being stranger—and often funnier—than fiction. And if there’s one thing I've learned on this wild, unpredictable ride, it’s that the best stories are the ones we write for ourselves, even if they don’t always follow the script we had in mind.
I lean my head on Pedro’s shoulder, a contented sigh escaping my lips. “You know, if someone had told me a six years ago that I'd end up married, pregnant, and slow dancing under the stars at a porn star’s wedding, I would have wondered if it was my wedding.”
Pedro chuckles, his arm tightening around my waist. “ And if someone had told me I'd be the one knocking you up and funding your dreams, I would have checked them into a mental institution.”
I snort at his joke. “I guess it all came…Full Circle.”
He laughs as he presses a kiss to my temple. “That was beautiful.”
And with that, he sweeps me into his arms, his lips finding mine in a kiss that leaves no doubt about just how beautiful he finds me. And as we stumble into the guest house, our laughter echoing into the night, I realize that this, right here, is what love looks like.
It’s messy and imperfect and sometimes downright ridiculous, but it’s our happy ending, and I’m sticking to it.