Epilogue
ADRIAN
"The partners have voted..."
Judith stops speaking, letting her words hang, making me wait through an excruciating pause.
"Congratulations, Adrian. You're our new managing partner."
I should feel triumphant. Instead, I feel ... incomplete. I want to tell Emmy. Such a leap from my normally regimented, solitary life, since my instinct now, whether it's good or bad news, is to tell her first.
When did that happen?
Back in my office, I pull out my phone to text her when I hear a knock on the door.
"Come in."
Lo and behold, it's her. My girl. The love of my life.
Emmy enters holding a paper bag high, her face beaming in a genuine smile. "Sip'O'Clock time. So? Don't keep me in suspense. I have your celebratory drink and cake right here."
"I got it. Managing partner."
"Yay!"
She sets down the coffee and cake, crosses to me, and hugs me tight. "I'm so proud of you."
I hold her close, and this—this is what makes it real. Sharing it with her.
"It doesn't feel complete without you here."
Emmy pulls back. "Well, I'm here now."
"It's also pretty assuming of you. What if I didn't get it?"
She just smiles and shrugs. "Then we'll still have cake."
We sit, drinking coffee in comfortable silence. Everything I've worked for, everything I've achieved, but she's the part that matters most.
I'm about to tell her that when her phone buzzes. Her face changes as she reads the screen, her forehead furrows, and she starts chewing on her bottom lip.
Shit. Did something happen?
"Adrian..." The tone makes my stomach drop. She hands me her phone.
HEADLINE: "Romance Novelist Emmy Blake's Real-Life Love Story: Fake Dating her Estate Lawyer?"
SUBHEADING: "Sources claim relationship with attorney Adrian Hale began as arrangement to satisfy inheritance clause."
Cold rage floods through me. "Graham Whitmore. That son of a—"
I start reading, my jaw clenches with each line. Every word makes me angrier.
"This could destroy your career," I say. "Your reputation as a writer—the scandal will follow you—"
I'm planning our legal strategy—defamation suit, retraction demands—when I realize Emmy is making a weird sound. I turn to her, so confused and unsure I'm actually seeing this.
She's laughing. Actually laughing, tears streaming down her face.
"Emmy?"
She points at the article, still laughing. I stare, completely lost, briefly wondering if the stress finally got to her and she's losing it.
"We really have all the popular tropes pat down," she gasps through laughter. "Enemies to lovers. Fake dating. Forced proximity. All we're missing is a one-bed scenario. Though technically we've been sharing a bed—"
"Your career—"
Emmy leans back and wipes her eyes. "You destroyed our agreement. Who will believe Whitmore?"
Our relationship is real now, documented in genuine texts, photos, and witnesses. Whitmore has nothing but speculation and anonymous sources that won't hold up in any proceeding.
"You're not worried?" I ask, watching her carefully.
"Should I be?" She tilts her head, that challenging look I've come to love.
"No. No, you shouldn't be."
The intercom buzzes, my receptionist's voice breaking the moment. "Mr. Whitmore is here."
My lips draw together tightly as I meet Emmy's eyes. "Send him in."
She moves to stand beside my desk without needing to be asked, presenting a united front as Graham enters with that triumphant expression already plastered across his smug face.
"I assume you've seen the article."
"Withdraw your motion, Graham. The relationship requirement has been met."
"Your relationship is fake!" He waves his phone like it's damning evidence. "The article proves—"
"Nothing. You're a lawyer." My voice drops to the lethal calm I reserve for hostile witnesses. "You should know better than to make accusations without evidence."
"I have sources!" His voice rises, and desperation creeps in.
"Anonymous sources aren't admissible." I lean forward, maintaining eye contact. "What tangible evidence do you actually have?"
He flounders, grasping at straws. "The timing—"
"We're in a committed relationship. Not disputed."
"You facilitated fraud—there is no evidence that you two were in a relationship before the reading of the Will."
"Precisely," I stand. "You have no evidence we were in a relationship. So kindly show me the evidence that we were not in a relationship." I walk around my desk. "
The silence that follows is answer enough. He can't prove it because he has none, and any that may have been no longer exist. All current evidence points to two people genuinely in love.
Judith appears in my doorway, her timing impeccable as always. "What's this about an article?"
Whitmore whirls toward her like a drowning man reaching for a lifeline. "Ms. Morrison! Their relationship is fraudulent!"
Judith's gaze travels from me to Emmy, then settles on Whitmore with the assessment of someone who's spent decades reading people. "I've watched them together for weeks. If they're acting, they deserve Oscars."
She steps into the room, commanding attention without raising her voice.
"I'm prepared to testify to the authenticity of their relationship.
In fact, I'll be handling the Blake estate matters from here on out.
Adrian will recuse himself to avoid any appearance of impropriety, but make no mistake—the relationship requirement has been met.
I've witnessed it personally. And I'll state that under oath. "
Whitmore's face falls as the reality of his defeat sinks in. He leaves without another word, the door closes behind him with a quiet click that sounds like victory.
I exhale tension I didn't realize I was holding, and Emmy leans against my desk as we both process what just happened.
"Adrian, that was..."
"Something."
We laugh together, the relief palpable between us.
Judith remains in the doorway, a knowing smile on her face. "Congratulations. Both of you." She smiles and leaves us alone, closing the door with the same quiet finality.
Emmy sits fully on my desk now, legs dangling, vulnerability replacing the confidence she wore during Whitmore's confrontation. "I'm terrified too, you know."
I look up from where I'd been straightening papers I don't need to straighten. "Of what?"
"What if we don't work? We've seen each other at our worst, our most guarded selves. What if it's not enough?"
I move to stand between her knees, framing her face with my hands the way I've done a dozen times before, but somehow it feels new each time.
"That's exactly why it will work. We've already passed the hardest part—being honest about our fears.
Plus, we have weeks of practice dating under our belts. We're actually pretty good at it."
Her laugh comes through tears. "I have conditions, though. No more contracts. No predetermined end dates. We figure it out as we go, like normal people."
"Agreed." The relief in her eyes mirrors what I'm feeling in my chest. "One condition from me," I add, unable to resist. "You have to keep making me read romance novels. I've learned they're basically instruction manuals for emotionally stunted lawyers."
She laughs, "actually, for emotionally stunted males in general," and pulls me down for a kiss that tastes like home.
When we break apart, she reaches into her purse and extracts a folded piece of paper. "I found something yesterday in Violet's copy of Persuasion."
My hands aren't quite steady as I unfold it and read aloud: "Love is a risk, but so is every great story. Emerson will understand this someday. P.S. - If you're reading this, darling girl, it means my plan worked. Adrian is perfect for you. Stop fighting it."
The words settle between us like the missing piece of a puzzle we didn't know we were solving.
Well, damn. 'Stop fighting it'... "She knew, my, my, well, I'll be fucked," I look up from the note to find Emmy's eyes bright with unshed tears. "And I was..."
Emmy's not sure if she wants to laugh or cry.
She slaps a hand playfully onto my chest. "Ha.
Ha. My stiff-collared lawyer is cracking jokes now.
" Emmy lifts the coffee cup but stops before taking a sip.
"She set us up. That impossible clause wasn't about control—it was about pushing me toward someone who would challenge me, someone worth the risk. "
"She told me to look after you." I think back to those library conversations. "I thought she meant professionally, that she wanted me to ensure the estate was handled properly."
"She meant all of it." Emmy chuckles and shakes her head. "She was playing matchmaker from beyond the grave."
We're both laughing now, the pieces of her plan finally falling into place—Violet's knowing looks, her careful questions about my personal life, the way she'd smile when I mentioned Emmy's name.
"Thank you, Violet, you wily old fox. To her memory, to the woman who saw something in us we couldn't see ourselves."
"For manipulating us?" Emmy teases, but there's no heat in it.
"For knowing us better than we thought we knew ourselves."
I pull her off the desk and into my arms, kissing her with all the gratitude and love and wonder I feel. When she pulls back, her eyes search mine with a question I can answer now without hesitation.
"What happens now?"
"Now we live happily ever after, like in your novels."
"Life isn't a romance novel, Adrian."
"Ours is." I brush a strand of hair from her face. "And I plan to spend every chapter proving it to you."
"I love you, Adrian."
"And I love you, Emmy. Forever and ever."
And somewhere in the stacks of first editions and leather-bound classics in the Blake library, if you listened very carefully, you might hear the echo of an old woman's delighted laughter—because Violet Blake always did love a good love story, especially when she got to write the beginning herself.
The End
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