Emma
One year later
It’s been a whole year since my world stopped and restarted in the span of a single heartbeat that didn’t even belong to me. A year since I woke up to a second chance I never thought I’d get.
Tonight, my art is hanging for the first time in a gallery in Windhaven, and I still can’t quite believe it’s real.
I have had plenty of art shows in New York throughout the decade I was there, but there is something more special about having one now in the town I grew up in, where I picked up my first brush and paints.
I stand in front of the mirror, using both hands to smooth down the fabric of my dress, willing myself to breathe through the nerves. My fingers brush against the delicate chain of my locket, the weight of my mom's presence wrapping around me like a soft embrace.
I look at my reflection, at the scar that runs down the center of my chest, a pale pink line marking where I was broken and rebuilt. At first, I thought it would be something ugly and something to hide, but now, I see it for what it really is: a map of survival, proof that I made it through.
My phone buzzes on the dresser, pulling me from my thoughts. I glance down to see Dallas’s name lighting up the screen.
Dallas
Are you freaking out yet? Be honest.
Me
Nope. Totally cool. Haven’t panicked once. Definitely haven’t been staring at myself in the mirror for the past twenty minutes contemplating faking my death to get out of this.
Dallas
That’s the spirit. God, I wish I was there. Stupid fiancé and wedding planning and deadlines.
I thought you liked wedding planning?
Dallas
I like wedding shopping. Not wedding budgeting or staring at a seating chart for hours. Different things, babe.
Fair.
Dallas
It’s going to be amazing. Send me real-time updates and pics.
I love you!
Love you, too, D!
I set my phone down, smiling, but the nerves creep back in almost immediately. As if he can sense it, Alex appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame like he has all the time in the world.
I turn to look at him and swear he just sucked the air straight from my lungs.
Fuck.
He’s in a perfectly tailored black suit, crisp white shirt, top button undone like he couldn’t be bothered. His hair is slightly tousled but the most tame I’ve ever seen. There is a devilish look in his eyes, a hunger. He looks devastating, and he knows it.
“Ready, baby?” His voice comes out rough and deep in the way that makes me fall to my knees for him.
“I think so.”
His gaze drags over me like he’s already thinking about getting me out of this dress, darkening as he pushes off the doorframe and crosses the room with easy confidence.
“Jesus, Em,” he whispers, sliding a hand up my arm, fingers tracing the strap of my dress.
“You’re—” He shakes his head, exhaling like he can’t come up with the right words.
“Fucking stunning.” He presses a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of my lips.
I tilt my chin up, teasing. “We’re gonna be late.”
“We’ve got a couple minutes.” His hands slide to my hips, lips ghosting over my jaw.
“Alex.” I moan and it is anything but a protest.
His fingers slip down, gripping the hem of my dress, and in one motion, he slides his hands underneath. I shiver as his palms glide over my thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft skin. “Tights?” he muses, enjoyment lacing his voice as he hooks his fingers into the sheer nylon.
I barely have time to react before I hear an unmistakable rip right at my center. “Alex!” I gasp, swatting at his arm. “These were brand new.”
“I’ll buy you ten more.” He announces against my skin, completely unrepentant.
Heat pools in my stomach as his hands part my thighs, fingers tracing up the sensitive skin before sliding between them.
He strokes over me, teasing, taking his time.
My breath catches when his fingers slip beneath the fabric of my panties, parting me with slow, knowing movements.
Another moan escapes me as my fingers dig into his shoulder as his touch grows more insistent.
“Always so wet for me.” He whispers against my ear with satisfaction.
I let out a breathy moan, my knees threatening to buckle as he circles his fingers in slow, torturous strokes. He presses one finger inside me, curling it just right, and my body clenches around him. My grip on his suit jacket tightens.
“We’re gonna be late.” I manage to gasp, but it’s a weak protest.
Alex smirks, adding another finger, stroking in and out with a rhythm that has me melting against him. “I don’t care.” He says, watching me with dark, hungry eyes.
I can’t speak, I can only nod as pleasure coils through me. His lips find mine, stealing what little breath I have left. I let myself forget everything else for a moment—the past, the trauma, the what-ifs.
Because right here, this is ours.
The gallery is breathtaking.
Soft, golden light spills from the overhead fixtures, casting a warm glow over the deep blue walls where my paintings hang, each piece carefully arranged, each canvas telling a different part of my journey.
The space smells of fresh paint and aged wood, with the faintest hint of champagne and pastries wafting from the refreshment table near the entrance.
I walk slowly through the room, fingers ghosting over the cool metal railing lining the exhibit. Seeing my work displayed like this—framed and mounted with little plaques underneath each one—does something to my heart that I can’t quite describe.
They are pieces of me.
Abstract strokes of color blend together in a way that tells a story only I could understand completely.
Hints of deep blues and stormy grays from the early days when I first came home, when everything felt heavy and uncertain.
Bold, fiery reds with streaks of gold from the moment I fought against my illness, against my fear, against Alex.
And then, my favorite pieces, the ones filled with warmth.
Hazy pinks and soft, hopeful yellows, painted in the quiet moments, in the love I’ve found here, in the life I never thought I’d get to live.
These paintings are a love letter to Windhaven.
A love letter to survival.
I look around, taking in the faces of the people who have carried me through it all.
Frankie and Liv are off to the side, standing way too close for two people who claim they hate each other.
Liv has a glass of champagne in her hand and Frankie keeps leaning in like he’s telling her a secret.
Whatever he says makes Liv gasp, and smacks his arm, lips twitching as she tries not to laugh.
Cam and Sophia are also suspiciously close. Cam’s arm is resting on the back of Sophia’s chair, his fingers idly playing with the ends of her hair. Soph is blushing, tucking a loose curl behind her ear as she takes a sip of her drink.
Leo stands by the entrance, balancing Mia on his hip.
She claps excitedly at the sight of a painting they are near, babbling something incoherent but absolutely enthusiastic.
Alex stands next to them, grinning at her and nodding along as if he understands every word.
He reaches out, smoothing a hand over her curls, and the sight of them makes me happier than I’ve been in a long time.
It’s perfect.
Almost perfect.
I swallow hard, pressing a hand over my chest.
My parents should be here. Mom and dad should be here, admiring each piece for longer than necessary, taking countless pictures of every moment, making sure I know how proud they are of me.
They would be here if the world were fair.
Mom always told me this would happen one day, that I’d see my name on a gallery wall, that people would admire my work and feel something when they looked at it. I never believed her.
I wish I could tell her she was right.
But I feel her.
I feel her in the warmth of the room, in the quiet pride swelling in my chest. I know she would tell me that she never doubted me for a second, that I was meant for this.
Alex appears at my side, his hand warm against the small of my back. “Do you want to do your speech now?”
I nod.
We step up on a small stage set up with a microphone in a corner of the space. I clear my throat, heart pounding as all eyes turn to me. Alex stands right beside me, his presence riveted and grounding.
I take a deep breath. Then another.
“Hi, everyone. Um, I don’t really know what to say except…
Thank you. Thank you for being here tonight, for supporting me, for believing in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself.
This past year has been… well, it’s been a lot as most of you know.
There were days I didn’t think I’d get to stand here, let alone see this dream become reality.
But I did it, because of all of you. Because of the love I’ve found here, the family I have, the second chance I’ve been given.
These paintings aren't just mine, they belong to all of us. To Windhaven. To the life we’ve built together.
And I just… I hope they make you feel something.
I hope they remind you that even in the darkest moments, there is light.
There is always light. So, thank you. From the bottom of my… new heart.”
Applause fills the room, and I exhale, relief flooding through me as Alex squeezes my hand from behind.
But he doesn’t let go.
Instead, he takes the microphone from my other hand. I turn to him, confusion furrowing my brows, he just smirks like he’s up to something. He didn’t tell me he wanted to say anything or had a speech ready but I let him take control.
“Hey, everyone,” he says casually. “If we’re being honest, Emma’s the one who should always have the microphone, but I just need one more minute of your time.”
My stomach is flooded with butterflies.
He turns to me, eyes filled with something so intense and sure, that I am overwhelmed.
“I met Emiliana Rose Diaz when I was seven years old,” he starts, thick with intensity.
“And from the moment she walked into my life, she made it her mission to drive me absolutely insane.” Laughter ripples through the crowd, but he doesn’t break eye contact with me.
“I spent most of my life trying to convince myself that what I felt for her wasn’t real.
That I was just overprotective. That what I felt wasn’t actually love.
But the truth is, I’ve always loved her.
Every stupid fight, every eye roll, every time she looked at me like she wanted to murder me in my sleep, I loved her then, and I love her now.
More than anything. More than I ever thought was possible. ”
My vision blurs as Alex reaches into his pocket. I am also positive my heart completely stops when he drops to one knee.
The room goes silent in anticipation.
“Emiliana,” he breathes, voice cracking just slightly. “You are the strongest, most stubborn, most brilliant woman I have ever met. You are my best friend. My home. My heart. And I don’t want to live a single day without you. So, Princess, will you marry me?”
Tears spill down my cheeks. My hands fly to my mouth in shock. My heart, my new heart, beats wildly, but this time, not out of fear but something bigger, something louder.
“Yes. Of course. A million times, yes!”
The words barely leave my lips before Alex is on his feet, lips on mine, arms wrapped around me so tightly I think he might never let go. The room erupts in a cheer, in laughter, in applause, but all I can feel is him. His hope. His warmth. His love.
My dream came true tonight.
And then somehow, another one did, too.