Epilogue
Alex
Everyone I loved was in this room.
The nerves were making me fucking sweat, and I kept frantically scanning the crowd for my parents.
The cathedral was packed to the rafters, but Dad had texted me the second they sat down, so I had a rough idea of where to look.
Every time I spotted them, I had to swallow back the urge to throw up—it finally hit me that my name was going to be called any second.
I could see Holly a few rows ahead of me; she’d be on stage way before I was.
We each shuffled forward, one agonising step at a time.
I kept craning my neck toward the faculty seating, but I hadn't spotted Carrie yet. She had told me this morning she’d be swamped with her own responsibilities, but she had made a point of intercepting me before we lined up.
She’d kissed my cheek and promised me, with that look of absolute certainty, that she would be watching.
I shuffled forward again, wiping my damp palms against my gown. I was genuinely stressed about shaking the Director's hand—I was half-convinced my hands were so sweaty the diploma would just slide right out of my grip and hit the floor.
My head snapped to the podium as Holly’s name was called.
Her bright blonde curls practically glowed against the heavy black cap and gown.
Off to my right, her family watched with quiet, polished pride, giving her polite, restrained applause.
I had no such decorum. I launched out of my seat and screamed her name so loud her dad flinched, cheering until my throat completely gave out.
That girl had been a true friend for three years.
I felt this weird, fierce, almost maternal pride watching her up there—she was still the same loud, sunshine-bright eighteen-year-old I’d met on day one, just taller, brilliant, and infinitely more capable.
I chuckled to myself, still completely bewildered as to what kind of chaotic impulse had possessed her to sign up for a Master of Laws next.
I let out a deafening whoop that made her break decorum, laughing and winking at me from the stage.
As she walked off, she threw some ridiculous finger-guns toward the faculty wing.
I sighed with relief when I saw Carrie in the front row, rolling her eyes but clapping with a small, proud smile she was clearly trying to hide.
Seeing her made the rest of the world—the crowd, the stairs I was certain I’d fucking trip on—completely vanish.
Just her presence made the air easier to breathe.
Oh fuck, was that my name?
My legs turned to jelly. I concentrated on every single step, praying to a God I didn’t believe in that I didn't face-plant in front of a thousand people. I reached the Director, a man I’d only ever seen on university posters, and offered a shaky smile as we shook hands.
I stepped over to Billie, who was holding my diploma.
Regardless of how our relationship started; she’d been a steady, supportive presence throughout my degree, and I was so glad it was her handing me the prize.
She gave me a quick, warm hug as the photographer’s flash went off.
The crowd clapped, but my people? My people went fucking mental.
My Dad was standing up, whooping like we were at a football match; Mum was still seated but sobbing into a tissue; and oh, god—Mia and Adrian were at the back, Mia screaming like she was at a rock concert. It was mortifying. It was perfect.
A sharp, familiar whistle pierced through the noise as I descended the stairs.
I looked over, and I could have been knocked over by a feather when I met Carrie's eyes. She was standing up now, clapping for me, completely unbothered by the fact that people were staring at her. She looked devastating in a dark blue fitted dress—she’d insisted we match, which is why I was wearing dark blue tailored trousers under my gown.
The way she was looking at me—with such open, unfiltered pride—made me actually stop on the steps. I had to shake my head to remind myself this was real.
The second I made it back to the sea of graduates, I was practically rugby-tackled by Holly. "We did it!" she squealed, nearly knocking my cap off.
I laughed, quickly shushing her as the next name was called. "We did, sweetheart," I whispered, clutching my diploma to my chest. "We actually did it."
***
The kitchen was a temporary oasis of cool air and silence, a sharp contrast to the high-octane fucking madness unfolding on the lawn.
Outside, the marquee was glowing with fairy lights, and the "put-up" bar Carrie had insisted on hiring was currently being besieged by my very merry Dad and a surprisingly tipsy Adrian. I could hear Holly’s laugh ringing out over the music—she was probably teaching her parents some questionable dance moves she had picked up on a night out.
I leaned against the cool marble of the dining table, my graduation gown long gone, replaced by the crisp white shirt I’d worn beneath it.
I took a slow, deep breath, just watching them all through the glass.
My parents, my best friends, our chosen family—all there, in the home Carrie and I had built.
The silence didn’t last long. I felt the air shift behind me, and then a pair of familiar, elegant arms wrapped firmly around my waist. I didn't even have to look to know the feel of her—the scent of her expensive perfume mixed with the faint, lingering heat of the afternoon sun.
I sank back into her, a smirk tugging at my lips as I rested my head against her shoulder.
"Hiding, princess?" Carrie’s voice was a low hum against my ear, vibrating right through my spine.
"Just taking a second," I murmured, covering her hands with mine. "It’s a lot. Seeing everyone out there... it’s everything I wanted."
Carrie turned her head, her lips brushing my temple.
"You earned every bit of this, Alex. The degree, the celebration...
the family." She paused, her grip tightening possessively for a heartbeat.
"And I believe Barnaby has just successfully stolen a slider from your father’s plate, so the 'chaos' is officially in full swing. "
I laughed, turning in her arms to face her. Her professional clip was gone, her dark hair falling in soft waves around her face, and her eyes were glowing with a pride that still made me feel like I was fucking flying.
"I'll deal with the dog in a minute," I whispered, sliding my hands up to her neck. "Right now, I just want to look at my girlfriend."
Carrie raised an eyebrow, that signature spark of dominance dancing in her gaze. "Technically, we had a guest list to attend to. But," she leaned in, her lips hovering a breath away from mine, "I suppose the Guest of Honour is allowed a few minutes of... private consultation."
We kissed softly, a slow, deep connection that tasted like champagne and the sweet, lingering relief of a long journey finally ending. When we pulled back, I didn’t let go; I just shook my head, a dazed smile fixed on my face, and leaned my forehead against hers.
Carrie held me tightly, her hands steady against my back, letting me ground myself in her.
In that moment, it all finally felt real.
The late-night library sessions, the frantic coursework deadlines, the moments I thought I’d never make it—it had all culminated in this.
I had a fucking business management degree.
Not just a pass, but a First with Honours. I did it. I actually fucking did it.
The pride in her eyes was almost overwhelming. She leaned in, her voice dropping to a tender, private register meant only for me. "I am so proud of you, Alexandria. I hope you know that."
I pulled back just enough to really look at her, my heart feeling like it was too big for my chest. I reached up, cupping her face and kissing her again—just a light, lingering brush of the lips—before I found my voice.
"I love you," I whispered.
Carrie’s smile was soft, the kind she only saved for when we were alone, even if the rest of our world was just on the other side of the glass. "I love you too."
For a second, we just stood there, anchored to each other in the quiet of our kitchen. Then, a loud, indignant shout from my Dad echoed from the lawn—something about a dog and a very expensive burger—and the spell finally broke.
"We should probably go save your father's dinner," Carrie murmured, though she made no move to let go of me just yet.
"In a minute," I said, pulling her back in for one more kiss. "Let them wait. I'm busy being a graduate."
As we stepped back out onto the lawn, the fairy lights twinkled against the darkening sky, casting a warm glow over the party. The transition from the quiet kitchen to the party was seamless because, the moment we appeared, the "chaos" had a target.
Barnaby, who had been mid-heist near the buffet, spotted Carrie immediately.
He abandoned his pursuit of a rogue chicken wing and trotted over, his tail doing a slow, rhythmic wag of pure devotion.
He didn't even wait for a command; he just sat obediently by Carrie’s heels, looking up at her with those big, soulful eyes as if she was the literal sun in his universe. I couldn't blame him.
I chuckled, shaking my head at the sheer power she had over that animal. "See? Total discipline."
Dad huffed, clutching his paper plate like a battle shield. "He never listens to me," he grumbled, though he was already surreptitiously tearing off a piece of steak to 'accidentally' drop. "I tell him to sit, and he looks at me like I’m speaking Latin.”
I laughed, leaning into Carrie’s side. "That’s because you always give in to him, Dad! He knows exactly who the soft touch is."
My Mum, perched in a nearby garden chair with a glass of wine, let out a knowing hum. "She’s not wrong, love. If he even looks at you with those puppy eyes, you start carving him the best meat we have to offer. You’re his favourite vending machine."
"He was starving!" Dad defended, though he was fooling nobody.