Chapter 27
SIX MONTHS LATER
The mirror in Eleanor’s guest suite didn’t lie.
She looked like an actual bride in a dress that made her heart skip when she first tried it on.
Simple, elegant ivory with delicate lace sleeves that made her feel both beautiful and like herself.
Six months after his lakeside proposal, here they were on Martha’s Vineyard, about to make it official.
“If you touch your hair one more time, I swear I’ll stab you with this bobby pin,” Lucy threatened, brandishing her weapon of choice. “I’ve spent forty minutes getting these curls right.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled, dropping her hands to her sides. “Nervous habit.”
“Nervous? You?” Lucy stepped back, assessing her handiwork with a critical eye. “The woman who told off an entire office full of people and then flew across the sound on a ferry to fix it? Puh-lease.”
She laughed despite the butterflies in her stomach. “That was different. This is forever.”
“Forever with a guy who looks at you like you’re the only star in his sky.” Lucy tucked a final pin into her updo. “Do you know how rare that is? Most women would kill for that look.”
“That’s dramatic, even for you,” she laughed.
“I’m serious!” Lucy insisted, turning Devney to face her. “I’ve never seen a man more in love. It’s actually sickening how perfect you two are together. Makes me want to hurl glitter all over your disgustingly happy life.”
She shook her head, smiling. “You have such a way with words.”
“It’s my gift,” she shrugged, then reached for the diamond earrings. “These were your grandmother’s, right?”
She nodded, emotion clogging her throat. “I wish she could have been here.”
“She is,” Lucy said, all humor dropping from her voice as she squeezed her friend’s hand. “She’d be so proud of you, Dev. Finding genuine love in the middle of a fake engagement. That’s some serious rom-com material.”
“We should sell the rights,” she joked, blinking back tears. “That might fund your bakery expansion.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Lucy grinned, then pointed sternly at her eyes. “And don’t you dare cry. I spent too long on your makeup.”
A knock interrupted them. Eleanor Beauchamp entered, elegant in a silver-blue dress that complemented her hair. Her eyes widened when she saw the bride.
“Oh, my dear,” she breathed, pressing a hand to her heart. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.” Her voice wavered. “And thank you for all of this. The estate, the dress…everything.”
Eleanor waved away her thanks. “It’s been our pleasure. Andrew and I haven’t enjoyed ourselves this much in years.”
“Still,” she insisted, “you’ve gone from business associates to…I don’t even know what to call it.”
“Family,” Eleanor said. “You’ve become family to us, and we’re so happy to share in this day with you.”
“She’s probably been planning your wedding since Martha’s Vineyard,” Lucy said. “Face it, you’ve been adopted.”
She elbowed her friend discreetly but couldn’t deny the truth in her words. Eleanor had taken her under her wing with surprising grace, the kind that paid no mind to social standing.
“Speaking of planning,” Eleanor continued, “it’s nearly time. Ronan is waiting, and if his pacing wears a hole in our lawn, Andrew will never let him hear the end of it.”
She laughed at the image of her usually composed fiancé wearing a path in the grass. “We can’t have that.”
Lucy handed her a bouquet—a simple mix of cream roses, greenery, and one cheerful yellow sunflower nestled in the center.
“Ready to get hitched to Mr. Wilder?”
“More than ready.”
Lucy smoothed the lace at her wrists and gave her a look that was one blink away from misty. “He’s going to lose it when he sees you.”
Devney laughed, nerves shifting low in her stomach. “No promises.”
The doors opened, and Andrew Beauchamp stepped forward, extending his arm with the calm certainty of one used to leading.
She slipped her hand through the crook, then hesitated. “Thank you.” Her voice was soft. “For stepping into this role. For being—” her voice caught, “—what I didn’t have.”
A gentle, fatherly look replaced his previous more reserved expression. “Happy to fill in as the father of the bride,” he said. “Even happier it’s you.”
And then the music began. Bach’s “Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major.”
It floated through the garden, delicate and rich, the notes curling around her like a memory.
She had chosen it herself. Not because it was traditional, but because it mattered.
Because months ago, right here on this estate, she’d talked Ronan into playing it before a cocktail party.
He’d resisted. She’d pushed. And when he finally gave in, the sound of that cello had undone her.
It was the first time she saw past the armor.
The first time she knew there was more to him than strategy and steel.
Now, walking toward him to that same piece, the significance of the moment settled over her—full, radiant, and real.
The path curved through the garden, sunlight heating the stone beneath her steps. The rows of white chairs blurred at the edges. The murmur of the guests faded.
At the far end stood the arbor. Simple. Beautiful. Framed in white drapery and green vines, it looked like a scene from a dream. Her breath caught when she saw them—sunflowers, tucked into the arrangement.
Just a few. Just enough. Her throat tightened. And then she saw him.
Ronan was beneath the arbor, impeccably dressed, his posture resolute, though his features betrayed the powerful, barely contained emotions within him. He looked at her like he couldn’t believe she was real.
Each step pulled her closer. When they reached the front, Andrew gently placed her hand into Ronan’s. “She’s yours now,” he said. “Take care of her.”
“I will.” Ronan’s gaze locked on hers. She handed off her bouquet, adjusted her grip on his hands, and felt everything inside her settle.
Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small card. “I had this all planned out,” he said, his voice low but sure. “A perfectly crafted speech with exactly the right words to express what you mean to me.”
He glanced down at the card, then back to her, regret in his expression. “But I realize now that’s not what matters.”
To everyone’s astonishment, including hers, he tucked the card back into his pocket. “I don’t need a script with you, Devney. You’ve taught me that the best moments in life are the unplanned ones. The ones where we allow ourselves to feel.”
Someone seated nearby let out a sigh. Ronan Wilder, embracing spontaneity? The world had tilted on its axis.
“I love you,” he continued. “Not because it makes sense on paper, but because you make me laugh when I least expect it. Because you see the man I am, not the man everyone thinks I am. Because when I’m with you, I’m better than I ever thought I could be.”
He took a deep breath. “I promise to love you honestly and completely. To value your happiness as my own. To build a life with you that’s rich in laughter and adventure.
And I promise to always let you have the last word in at least twenty percent of our arguments—which is far more generous than my initial offer. ”
That earned a genuine laugh from her and their guests. She blinked back tears, overwhelmed by his raw honesty. When it was her turn, she drew a deep breath, composing herself before she spoke.
“Ronan,” she began, her voice wobbling. “If anyone had told me a year ago that I’d be standing here today, I would have laughed in their face. Not because I couldn’t imagine loving you—that part happened without me noticing—but because I couldn’t imagine you loving me back.
“We started with a fake engagement and ended up with a real one. Talk about a plot twist.”
That earned another laugh from their guests, and his lips curved in that quiet expression she’d grown to cherish—just shy of a smile.
“I promise to keep challenging you,” she continued. “To never let you retreat behind that stoic CEO mask when what you need is to be seen. I promise to be your partner in every sense—supporting your dreams while pursuing my own.”
She squeezed his hands. “And I promise to love you through every version of yourself—the serious CEO, the one who plays cello when he thinks no one is listening, and all the new versions we haven’t met yet.
I even promise to pretend I don’t notice when you organize the refrigerator by expiration date, even though we both know I’ll mess it up within twenty-four hours. ”
By the time they exchanged rings, she couldn’t have stopped her expression of joy if she tried. When the officiant pronounced them husband and wife, his kiss was both tender and possessive, a public declaration of private feelings that made her heart race.
The reception flowed seamlessly onto the terrace overlooking the ocean, the setting sun casting light across tables draped in white linen.
She floated from group to group, accepting congratulations, laughing at Knox’s increasingly outrageous toasts, and always, always finding her husband’s eyes across the room.
“If anyone had told me six months ago that I’d see Ronan Wilder glowing this much, I would have checked them for a fever,” Knox said, appearing at her side with two champagne flutes.
She accepted the offered glass. “Get used to it. I plan to make him laugh more than he thinks he’s capable of.”
“Good.” He clinked his glass against hers. “He deserves it. And so do you, Sunshine.”
With the reception in full swing—guests mingling, laughter rising, the sky sliding toward dusk—she stepped away, just long enough to steady herself and take it all in.
The edge of the terrace offered a view of the water still kissed with light, and was a secluded spot away from the buzz of celebration.
She was still absorbing it when arms slid around her waist. “Escaping already?” Ronan murmured in her ear.
She leaned back against him. “I’m taking a moment. It’s been quite a day.”
“Any regrets?” His voice held that particular tender inflection she knew so well, reserved only for their private moments.
She turned to face him. “Not a single one. You?”
“Only that it took me so long to realize what had been there all along.” An odd sight over his shoulder caught her eye—a server weaving through the crowd, her hair pulled into a severe bun. But it wasn’t her pace that caught Devney’s attention.
It was her stare. Fixed. Sharp. Directed straight at Gabriel, who stood near the bar mid-laugh.
“What is it?” Ronan asked, noticing her shift.
“That server,” she murmured. “She hasn’t looked away from Gabriel.”
They watched as the woman crossed the terrace, her steps quickening. She carried a tray of champagne flutes, the glasses catching the fading light. As she reached the bar, she stopped abruptly.
The tray tilted.
Everything seemed to slow. The champagne flutes slid forward, crystal catching the last rays of sunset as they tumbled through the air.
Then they hit the stone terrace—one, two, three sharp cracks followed by the musical shatter of glass.
Champagne spread across the stone in a golden pool, bubbles fizzing against the terracotta.
Other servers rushed forward with towels and a dustpan, but the woman didn’t move. She just stared at Gabriel.
“Tessa,” Gabriel said, and she could hear the shock in his voice.
The woman took a step back. “I never thought I’d see you again.” Then she turned and ran. Across the terrace. Through the archway. Gone.
She stared after her. “What just happened?”
“I don’t know,” Ronan said, his eyes on Gabriel. “But he does.”
She opened her mouth to ask another question, but Eleanor appeared at her side, graceful and unshaken. “It’s time for the first dance.”
Ronan took her hand. As he led her toward the center of the terrace, Devney looked back one last time.
Gabriel hadn’t moved. He stood there, glass in hand, watching the space where the server Tessa had vanished—frozen, like his past had just crashed into his present and he hadn’t figured out what to do about it yet.
“Should we be worried?” she asked.
“Tomorrow,” Ronan said, pulling her close as the music began. “Tonight is ours.”
As they moved together on the floor, the world narrowed to them—to the pressure of his hand at her waist, his breath against her hair, the constant, strong beat of his heart under her hand, grounding her.
“I love you, Mrs. Wilder,” he whispered.
“I love you, too.” She smiled against his chest. “No strategy required.”
The celebration carried on around them—music swelling, glasses clinking, laughter floating from the terrace—but they stayed in their own orbit. He reached for her hand, their fingers finding each other with instinctive ease.
“Happy?” he asked, the single word carrying everything he couldn’t say.
She leaned into him. “Completely.”
And for a long moment, she held on.
To the man she had once pretended to love.
The one who now held her heart without question.
What lived between them was no longer a lie. It was real. It was claimed. It was earned.
Somewhere between the pretending and the truth, between resistance and surrender, she had done the one thing she never meant to do. She had stayed long enough to matter. She had pressed where it hurt. She had refused to let him remain untouched.
She had changed him.
She had conquered him.
She had tamed him.
Next:
Gabriel in Trusting Mr. Sterling