Epilogue
AVA
T he backyard is full of noise—laughter and clinking glasses, Poppy squealing as Jacob lifts her high in the air.
Roman's mom is fussing over the grill with her apron on and tongs in hand, like she's running a restaurant.
My aunt is chatting with Amanda in the shade, both sipping wine and throwing looks my way every few minutes.
It feels weird having everyone together like this, this normal life after everything that happened.
Roman stands across the yard, watching Poppy and watching me. We do that now—keep each other in view, not because we're desperate or scared, just because we want to.
He catches my eye and smiles with that expression he gives me now that's different from before.
It still makes my stomach flip.
My aunt walks over, setting her wine down beside me. "You look happy."
"I am." The words come easy because it's true.
She doesn't say I told you so because she doesn't need to. Her hand squeezes mine. "He's different."
"He is different," I agree. "We both are."
She nods once. "Took long enough."
I laugh because of course she'd say that. “It’s worth it.”
Poppy runs up, sweaty and grinning, cheeks red from too much sun. "Mommy, Daddy said I can have TWO popsicles!"
I look at Roman across the yard.
He holds up both hands like he's innocent. "They're the small ones."
My aunt chuckles beside me. "He's scared of you now. Good."
I grin, smoothing a curl from Poppy's forehead. "One now, one after dinner."
Poppy groans dramatically but skips off toward the cooler anyway. Roman mouths thank you to me from across the yard, his eyes dragging over me in a way only I can see.
Fuck, he’s so hot.
Later, when the sun gets low and most people have left, Roman comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist as we watch Poppy blow bubbles with Amanda on the porch.
"She called me Prince Daddy earlier," he says, chin on my shoulder.
I smile. "You got your title back."
"I did." His hands squeeze my hips. "Are you good with everything? With us?"
I don't answer right away because I'm thinking about the divorce papers, how he tore them up in our kitchen six months ago, how we have been rebuilding since then piece by piece.
"Yeah," I say finally. "I'm good."
His breath catches. "Ava?—"
"We're not the same people who got married ten years ago. We're not the same people who almost divorced. But I like who we are now."
He looks at me, his eyes dark. "Yeah?"
I nod. "Yeah."
He doesn't kiss me gently but moves fast, grabbing me and spinning me toward the house like he has been holding back all day. We barely make it through the back door before his mouth is on mine, his hands everywhere.
"Bedroom," I gasp.
He lifts me, carrying me down the hall like a man who knows exactly what he wants.
When we crash onto the bed, it's not soft or careful, but hungry and desperate. He pulls my sundress off and curses when he sees me underneath.
"Fuck, I missed this," he murmurs against my throat. "Had to watch you all day in this fucking dress, imagining when I’d get to do this."
There's nothing fake about the way he touches me now, just lust and pure desire. He pushes into me like he is coming home, like this is where he belongs. I hiss out his name as I dig my heels into his ass, enjoying every second of my husband filling me.
Owning me.
We move together, gasping and grabbing and sweating. He holds my face like I might disappear and fucks me like I won't. I cry when I come. He kisses the tears away and says I love you like those are the only words he knows.
When it’s over and we are tangled in sheets and catching our breath, he says, "Next time I ask you to marry me, you better say yes."
I roll my eyes. "You didn't ask this time."
"I'm asking now."
I laugh. "We’re already married."
He gazes into my eyes, and my heart skips a beat. "Marry me again."
"No."
He reaches down and tugs on my hair, forcing my eyes to meet his. “No?”
Excitement pulses through me as I bite my lip, looking up at him as he tugs harder on my hair. “No.”
He wastes no time in shoving back into me, capturing my gasps with his mouth. He fucks me until I can barely see, and just when I’m about to come, he stills, staring down at me, panting.
“Ro…” I whine, lifting my hips as he grits his teeth.
“No.”
Oh my god, I’m so close. “Ro!” I hiss, digging my nails into his shoulders, tugging him to me. “Please!”
“Say you’ll marry me.”
I laugh, my neediness taking over when he gives me a short thrust.
Fuck playing games.
I want this fine specimen of a man to fuck me so hard I can’t walk. I love the way he wants me, the way he wants to own me. Most of all? I love that he wants to marry me again.
“Let me say my vows and mean every fucking word, baby,” he mutters, his finger brushing against my clit as I nod against him.
“Mmm…”
“Say it, Ava.”
I lock eyes with him, and he smirks, knowing he’s going to get what he wants.
But then so do I.
“Yes.”
Thrust.
“Yes what?”
Thrust.
I can barely talk now as my body shudders and tightens around him, his thrusts now relentless.
“Yes, I’ll marry you!” I choke out as he releases my hair, gathering me into his arms as I become undone.
Panting, he stares down at me, stroking my cheek as he shakes his head. “I’m the luckiest bastard in the world.” He dips his mouth to mine, claiming my lips like only he can.
“You are,” I whisper, curling into his chest. The sound of his heartbeat pumping under my ear.
We're not perfect, and we're not fixed, but we're trying.
And as we walk outside later, Poppy running ahead in the grass, the sun setting behind us?—
I know we made it.
Finally.
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