Epilogue Violet
7 MONTHS LATER
I run my fingers over the delicate lace detail and fine beading of a simple but stunning ivory gown, and smile at the warm buzz of contentment I feel when I zip up the white Violet James Bridal Couture garment bag. The dress is from my new made-to-measure bridal line—an exclusive selection of silhouettes that I custom fit for a more affordable way to wear a Violet James gown—and the dresses are especially close to my heart. My bespoke couture does exceptionally well but it’s hardly accessible for most people, and I decided early on that I didn’t want to run my business like that.
Claire accepts her dress with beaming gratitude, her cheeks flushed with excitement and nerves, and I pray that the thrill of giving a bride the dress of her dreams never, ever gets old.
“I can’t thank you enough, Violet,” she says as we move toward the front door of my San Francisco studio. “This dress blew all my expectations out of the water. It’s perfect.”
“You’re so welcome.”
Claire pauses to look around at the space, hesitating like she’s not quite ready to leave. “I can’t believe I won’t have a reason to come back again. I was so nervous about finding a dress that would make me feel beautiful, but I loved every one of our appointments. You’ve created a warm, safe space here. So bright and colorful and full of joy. I hope you know that.”
I scan the room, taking the time to really look at what I’ve built over the last seven months. Pristine ivory wedding gowns displayed on simple white mannequins. Rows of dresses in a rainbow of colors for bridal parties and red carpets and galas, and special occasions. Tuxedos and well-cut suits. Private changing areas. Emerald-green velvet sofas around a coffee table with printed catalogs for consultations. Candles and rugs and soft music. Walls covered in photographs of celebrities and brides and everyday people wearing my designs. A client schedule that’s filled two years in advance.
Independence. Creativity. Satisfaction. Peace.
“It’s easy for me to forget how far I’ve come,” I reply with a warm smile. “Thank you for reminding me to appreciate it.” I give her a fast hug before opening the door, letting in a stir of early summer air and the sounds of end-of-day foot traffic on the busy street outside. “Now. Everything is ready to go for the weekend but promise me you’ll reach out if you have any worries before the big day. And please send me pictures! That’s my favorite part—seeing you and the dress the way it was intended to be worn.”
Claire runs a hand over the bag like she’s petting a cat, and she shakes her head in disbelief. “I’m getting married in a Violet James gown !”
I laugh as she slips through the door, then lock it behind her and rest my back against the wood with a sigh. It’s been a long day in the studio, and as rewarding as it is to finally be creating my own lines, I’ve got something more to look forward to this evening.
Chord’s been on a road trip all week, and he’s due home for a single night before we fly out late tomorrow afternoon for his last game of the playoffs. The Cup decider. He’s worked so hard to take the Fury to the top, and even though I’m a bundle of nerves for him, something tells me he’s going to get what he wants. He’s worked so hard for this. He deserves it. And he’s determined to have it.
I’m already living my dream, but my man is this close to getting his too.
I lock up the studio and order a rideshare to take me to our apartment, then let myself in with a drop of disappointment that the place is still dark inside. I’d hoped Chord would be home and our night could start as soon as I walked through the door, but when I check the time, I remember he’s not due in for another hour.
I slip off my shoes, throw my burnt-orange-colored blazer over the coat rack near the door, and move through the apartment, flicking on lights as I go.
I don’t think I’ve smiled as much in my life as I have since Chord and I moved into this place, and it’s no surprise that I find myself grinning again now. I adore our little home. The deco detailing. The timber floors. The fireplace and the bookshelves. The personal touches we’ve added together. The way Chord’s scent lingers in the air even when he’s away. The warmth.
As I move up the hallway, I brush my fingertips along the frame of the bright, beautiful abstract artwork we bought on our first date in Aster Springs, then enter our bedroom. It’s my favorite space—for obvious reasons—and I quickly wash my hands in the ensuite bath before passing by the kitchen on my way to my little studio nook in the living area. Nothing will make the next sixty minutes move faster than losing myself in my music and sketchbook.
But before I reach my cozy armchair in the corner, I spot a bright pink sticky note covered in Chord’s familiar scrawl stuck to the front of the fridge and stop dead in my tracks. My pulse races as I rush forward again and snatch it up.
Evening, Wallflower. Couple of things for your to-do list tonight.
1. Pack your bag for an overnighter.
2. Put on something warm and casual—and easy to remove.
3. Be waiting downstairs at seven o’clock.
I look around, hoping to find Chord or at least evidence that he was recently here, but this note on the fridge and the possible tease of his cologne is all there is.
I read the note again, adrenaline and nostalgia heating my skin as I remember the notes he used to leave for me when I was his assistant at Silver Leaf. That was almost a year ago now, but with his scribbled instructions between my fingers again, my heart pounds with an old, intoxicating mix of anticipation and infatuation.
With just an hour until I need to be ready for whatever Chord has planned, I rush through a shower and throw some clothes in a bag, then hurry to the street with barely a minute to spare.
He’s already waiting for me, leaning against the hood of his favorite cherry-red sports car, looking like a million bucks in his snug dark blue jeans, muscle-hugging white t-shirt, dark hair curling underneath a backward baseball cap. I release a happy sigh at the sight of his slightly amused face before throwing myself into his arms.
He slips a hand behind my head and tilts up my mouth to claim it with his own. Our kiss is long and hungry, tongues stroking, hands clutching, bodies pressing until there’s only one way we could be closer to each other, and it would require removing all our clothes. I miss him so darn much when he’s gone, and though I know this is the life of a hockey player, I’m secretly looking forward to this time next year when Chord will be ready to retire, and I don’t have to share him anymore.
“I’ve missed you, Wallflower,” he says, cradling my head and stroking my pink cheeks with his thumbs as he brushes the tip of my nose with a soft kiss. “So fucking much.”
“I missed you too.” I grip his wrists as he drops his forehead onto mine. “But you’re here now.”
He hums his agreement, then reluctantly removes his hands so he can pick up my bag and open the car door. “And I’ve got a surprise for you.”
I slip into the seat and press my hands over the butterflies in my stomach. “You didn’t have to do anything special. You’re only here one night before your last game and—”
“And that’s exactly why I want to do something special.” He closes the door, throws my bag into the trunk, and rounds the car before sliding behind the wheel, taking my hand, and pulling out into the street. He presses my knuckles to his warm lips, then holds my hand on his thigh as he drives. “The next few days are going to be all about hockey, but tonight is all about us.”
I’ve learned not to protest when Chord wants to spoil me. I don’t need grand gestures to know I love him, but he’s so cute when he gets an idea in his head, like a kid with a new toy, that I can’t bring myself to fight it. And I get a kick out of watching him have his fun.
We cruise out of the city as the sun begins to fall, and though Chord refuses to tell me where we’re going, it doesn’t take long to figure out our destination. About an hour after we start the trip, just as the sun is sinking behind the horizon, we roll past the gates outside of Silver Leaf.
“We’re spending tonight on the ranch?” I ask hopefully, twisting in my seat as the white timber gates slide out of view.
Chord casts me a wide grin. “Sort of.”
“Sort of?” I watch the darkening scenery glide past my window as Chord ignores the private road to his house and keeps on driving. “What does that mean? Where are we going?”
His only response is a knowing little smile and his fingers growing tighter around my own. Soon he pulls the car onto a sealed driveway that wasn’t there this time last year, and I frown as I try to get my bearings in the rapidly disappearing light.
We drive through a field that is wild and empty but for the road under our tires until suddenly, in the distance, something twinkles up ahead—lots of little lights wrapped around a frame, maybe?
I’m still not sure where we are when Chord finally pulls the car around the turning circle at the end of the drive and cuts the engine.
I peer out at what looks like an enormous concrete slab framed by poles slung with ropes of twinkle lights. The most romantic campsite with a linen fort-style tent and pillows and blankets and a firepit is set up in the middle of it all, and when I squint harder, I spy wine glasses and candles arranged on one side for a picnic.
“Chord!” I gasp. “It’s beautiful but… Please tell me you didn’t buy a road and build a concrete platform just for one night?”
“Not quite.” He shakes his head with a happy smirk—like a kid with a secret, there’s no other way to describe it—and I force myself to be patient as he rounds the car, opens my door, and leads me off the asphalt toward the campsite.
We step onto the enormous concrete circle, and the setup is even prettier up close, with the low fire crackling and throwing off an orange glow from the low steel drum and the blankets beckoning us in the cooling air and falling night.
Before I can ask again what this is all about, Chord pulls me against him, my back on his chest, and loops his hard arms around my middle, pressing a kiss against my hair before he releases a heavy sigh of contentment. And suddenly, I don’t care if or how or why he bought me a road and a slab of concrete. I only care that he’s here.
I sink against his warm, immovable frame and close my eyes. I’m in the arms of the man I love in the middle of Silver Leaf Ranch. My favorite places in the world.
“Are you hungry?” he murmurs close to my ear, his warm breath sending goosebumps rippling along my arms.
“A little.”
“Good. I had employees from Silver Leaf come by and set all this up so it would be ready when we arrived.”
He guides me to a cushion, covers me with a blanket, and retrieves a cooler hidden behind a stack of cushions. The amazing meal inside has Dylan’s fingerprints all over it, and as the stars pop to life in the blackness above us, we share dinner and Silver Leaf pinot noir the way we used to—without ceremony, straight from the boxes, eating from each other’s forks.
When it’s done, Chord collects the empty containers and sets them aside, then scoops me into the crook of his arm and draws me down on the pillows, his other hand under his head, legs crossed at the ankles. I snuggle against him, wrapping myself in the warmth of his chest, the crackle of the fire, and the smell of burning wood, and luxuriating in the feeling that everything is right in my world.
Another sigh leaves Chord’s lungs. “I don’t feel right when I’m not with you.”
I turn my nose into his shirt so I can inhale his familiar fragrance. Clean like powder. Fresh like mint. Earthy like cedar with base notes of man. Tall, delicious, devastating man .
“I feel the same. Something is missing when you’re not here.”
He hums and kisses my temple, then points to the sky. “Arcturus,” he says, drawing my attention to the brightest star.
“I know.” I recall that night at the ranch so long ago when Chord showed me the stars for the first time. I think that was the first time I saw the vulnerability hidden underneath his hard, cold exterior. “I remember.”
“Have you made a wish tonight?”
I burrow closer to him and close my eyes to create a memory that will live with me forever. “I wish for a million more moments just like this one.” A rumble sounds in his chest, and I smile to myself. “How about you? Do you have a wish?”
Chord’s throat bobs against my forehead, his chest stills, and his arm curls protectively around me, but when he doesn’t speak, I open my eyes. And gasp.
“Violet,” he says with an open jewelry box in his hand, an enormous diamond glinting at me in the light of the fire.
I scramble upright, sitting back on my heels and covering my mouth as Chord shifts onto one knee before me.
“Violet,” he repeats. “In a few days, I’m going to lead the San Francisco Fury in the championship final, and we’re going to take home the Cup. I’m going to achieve the one thing I thought would make all my years of sacrifices and hard work worth it.”
He pauses as his brow furrows, and I reach out to cup his face. I love his confidence, and I have no doubt he’ll accomplish what he’s set out to do, but something is obviously different tonight. “I know. And I’m so proud of you.”
Chord blinks rapidly. “But, Wallflower—it doesn’t feel the way I imagined it would. It’s taken me weeks to figure out why, but now I know. Nothing in my life feels enough unless you’re right there beside me. I can’t picture a single moment in my future that doesn’t have you in it. And I don’t mean waiting at home while I’m on road trips, chasing a dream that I’ve already fulfilled five times over. If it was my plan to finish my career where I started—on top—then I’m about to do that. I don’t need to do it again.” Chord clears his throat and blinks against the glassy sheen in his eyes. “What I need is to live a new dream, and what I want is to make you my wife.”
A choked sob escapes my throat, and Chord’s mouth twitches with pleasure even as he blinks back tears, and his voice is gravelly and cracked as he continues. “Here’s what I wish when I gaze up at your star—tonight and every night since I admitted to myself that I loved you almost a year ago. I wish I could wake up with you every morning forever and make love to you every night. I wish I could stand in front of our family and friends, and vow to love, honor, and protect you for as long as I have breath in me. I wish I could give you children and build us a life filled with laughter and tears and big, beautiful moments just like this. Hundreds of summer nights spent under the stars.”
Chord glances around at the platform underneath us, the frame of lights all around. “And this… I thought this could be your new studio so we can make Silver Leaf a home for both of us. You can move your business here permanently or split your time between here and the San Francisco store—whatever feels right to you. I don’t care how we do it, just as long as we’re together. All the time. Every day. And every single night.”
My heart races and my pulse rushes in my ears as Chord wets his lips and plucks the classic round-cut diamond from its cushioned case. When he holds it up between us with a questioning crease on his forehead, I offer him my shaky hand, and he holds it in his.
“Violet James,” he murmurs as his warm blue gaze heats every inch of my body and the deepest reaches of my soul. “Wallflower. Will you marry me?”
“Yes.” Tears slip down my cheeks as Chord slides the platinum band onto my finger. “Yes, I will marry you.”
He scoops me up into his arms and holds me tight before taking my mouth in a rough, insistent kiss and lowering me onto the blankets. We make love, right there in the open under the stars. Exploring each other’s bodies by the dying light of the fire, our mouths and tongues and hands moving without rest for hours and hours. Falling asleep naked and twisted in our blankets and around each other. Safe. Content. Loved.
With Chord’s arms holding me, his breath on my neck, and his heart thrumming next to mine, I couldn’t have wished for a more beautiful way to start the rest of our lives. It’s perfect and magical.
It’s all my dreams come true.
Thank you for reading Wallflower !