Epilogue
BIANCA
One Year Later
It’s Sunday morning, and three half-conscious billionaires are sprawled across a bed built for four.
In our penthouse. The penthouse I picked out, and the triplets bought, so we could live together.
Most weekends, I let them sleep in. I’ve been a baker all my adult life, so I am used to early mornings. They are not.
Last night was a lot of fun. And after all the energy they put into ensuring I had multiple orgasms, my guys could use the rest.
I’m at the kitchen island with a stack of glossy magazines I made the mistake of bringing home from the grocery checkout.
Gideon tells me I should ignore them. But I don’t have that sort of self-restraint. Even though my relationship with the Sawyer triplets has been public for a year, the media still loves publishing stories about us.
Some of them are sensational—like the one where someone claimed we were all married in a past life, and we’re still searching for the fourth brother.
Most media coverage is kind. But not always.
The latest is Ander’s favorite. He pinned it to the fridge yesterday and circled the headline in red Sharpie.
Bianca Donovan: Plural lovers. Plural wreckage.
I should be going through my stack of mail, which includes an invoice from Eliza for the new bakery awning. Instead, I’m reading gossip magazines.
Get your priorities straight, Donovan.
Bare feet pad across the marble behind me. I don’t turn around. There’s no need to. Lightest step. Fastest.
Ander.
He drops a kiss on the crown of my head, swipes my mug, takes a long pull, and grimaces. “How much sugar is in this?”
“If you don’t like sugar, get your own coffee.”
“Good point.” He sets the mug down. “Whatcha doing?”
“Reading what the media has to say about me this week. It’s character-building.”
He flips the top magazine open and barks out a laugh at the second page. “Baby, they’re calling us trendsetters.”
“Well, maybe having multiple partners is trendy.”
“Trendy.” He’s already grinning. “We’re not trendy. We’re billionaires. Billionaires can do whatever the fuck we want, and the rest of the world calls it… aspirational. Bold. Inspiring.”
“Well, we are inspiring,” I tell him. “The role models for a perfect relationship.”
He’s pouring his own coffee now. “I don’t know any other women who could handle three men like us.”
I smile. He smiles.
Then Gideon arrives. He stops behind my stool, sets one hand low on my back, and reads the column over my shoulder for a half-beat.
“Trendsetters.” He shakes his head. “You have to stop reading that stuff.”
“And miss out on reading what people think about me? Never!” I gasp in mock outrage. “There’s a quote in here from some socialite saying she’s re-evaluating her marriage because of us. We are influencing people.”
“Time to hang up your apron, baby!” Ander jokes. “You’re an official influencer.”
“Joke’s on you.” I laugh. “Online influencer has been a longtime career goal of mine.”
“Do whatever you want.” Ander sips his coffee. “As long as you keep making me honey lavender cupcakes.”
“Thankfully, we don’t have to rely on anybody’s influencer career,” Gideon says. “We’re still billionaires.”
Ander cackles.
“Charles should have been more careful.” Gideon pulls open the fridge, looking for something to eat, and lands on a cold slice of pizza. “We put years into that company. He didn’t notice when control slipped out from under him, leaving us with the majority.”
“At least he still has the fucking signet ring,” Ander says.
“Well,” Gideon corrects. “Charles was left with millions. Just no control over anything we decide. So, not bankrupt, but not in charge of a single Sawyer board vote either. That’s a win for us.”
Theo comes in last. Damp hair. He kisses my cheek. Then he refills my mug from the carafe and stirs in the right amount of sugar without being asked.
“Charles confirmed for Thursday,” Theo says. “Coffee at the club.”
“How was the call?”
Theo thinks about how to answer. “He saw the foundation numbers. We tripled funding this year. He didn’t say much, but he saw them. Overall, civil.”
And for now, that’s good enough. The triplets are open to having a relationship with Charles, but it will be on their terms. So, they’re taking it slow. It’s a long road ahead, and maybe it will reach a dead end.
I think about Theo’s speech the night I met him. Kindness as infrastructure. Building systems that catch the people the world drops.
The triplets have spent this year proving that the foundation stands behind what it promotes.
In addition to what they were already doing, there’s a new scholarship and mentorship program in their mother’s name.
And they personally funded a brand-new initiative to end child hunger with part of their fortune.
Their mother started something. Her sons are the ones keeping it alive.
I’m so proud of them, and I’m so happy that I am a part of it, too.
My phone vibrates against the marble. Daphne.
Daphne: Brunch at noon. Also, Cuthbert misses his auntie.
I burst out laughing. Cuthbert. The smallest mouse. The fast one. The one I originally named Ander on account of how he wouldn’t stop running.
Daphne renamed all three of them within a week of bringing them home. Cuthbert is the one with all the energy. Bartholomew is the calm one. And Reginald is the lean, dark one who stared at me without blinking.
She refuses to explain the names. She says it’s their vibe. I’ve stopped asking.
“What’s funny?” Gideon asks.
“Daphne. The mice.”
“Are they still thriving?”
“Cuthbert is the size of a baked potato.” I pull up a photo she sent me. “He has his own little harness now. She walks him on the rug.”
“I love her so much it scares me.” Ander wipes his mouth on his sleeve. “She’s coming today?”
I nod.
“My bestie.” Ander takes another bite of pizza.
She is actually his bestie. They text. They meet up for coffee sometimes. She made Ander a flowchart of his own worst impulses for his birthday, and he framed it.
The elevator dings at noon.
“Daphne’s here,” I announce, even though all three of them already know she’s here.
She’s the only person who shows up exactly when she says she will.
She comes in with a bottle of champagne in one hand. “For mimosas!”
Daphne kisses my cheek, drops onto the couch next to me, and immediately reaches for a magazine, which I’ve brought to the coffee table to give the chef the space he needs in the kitchen.
“Oh, the past-life one.” She flips to the page. “I read this in one while waiting at the pharmacy.”
Theo sets a glass of orange juice in front of her without being asked. He has had Daphne’s standing brunch order memorized since the third time she came over.
She lifts the glass to him. “Theo. You’re my favorite.”
“Ander is your favorite.”
“You’re my favorite this week,” she clarifies. “It rotates.”
Angelo, the chef, tells us brunch is ready, and we all sit at the dining room table.
Halfway through the eggs, Daphne sets her fork down and looks at me.
“Donovan. Do you have any four a.m. shifts this week?”
“On Thursday. Yes.”
“She doesn’t have to,” Theo tells Daphne.
“Oh, I know she doesn’t have to,” Daphne responds.
“You have all made that abundantly clear. I’ve seen the clothes you bought her, the car, and I’ve heard about her bank account.
Not to mention the vacations, the jewelry.
Pretty much everything she could ever want, and plenty of things she would have never even considered.
Like fresh peonies delivered every Monday. ”
Theo lifts his coffee cup an inch. “I will neither confirm nor deny the peonies.”
“I know I don’t need to keep working.” The guys have never pressured me to quit. “And I definitely work less than I did. Eliza runs the day-to-day, and she’s brilliant at it. She lives in my old apartment now. Free rent, on account of…” My eyes cut sideways to Theo and Ander.
“Donovan Holdings, single member.” Theo dips his head at me.
“Donovan Holdings, single member,” I repeat. “I own the building. Eliza owns the apartment in spirit. Jamie and Luis got big raises. The bakery runs fine without me.”
“So why are you still going in at four a.m.?” Daphne asks.
“Because Sugar Bloom Bakery reminds me of my mom, and I’m going to keep that alive.” My shoulders lift. “I’m not giving that up. Not for any amount of peonies.”
Theo’s hand finds the back of my neck. Warm. Resting.
“Plus,” I add, “I might open a second location next year. Eliza has some ideas. Besides, I need something to fill my time when I run out of gossip magazines.”
Ander throws his head back, laughing, “You and those gossip magazines. I love you so fucking much.”
We pull up to the cabin on a Friday.
It was renovated this summer, so it’s doubled in size. Gideon suggested buying a new cabin, but this one means so much to all of us.
It’s the place where the four of us were together for the first time. It’s also the place where my guys stood up to their father for the first time.
This cabin represents the true beginning of our relationship.
Even though I didn’t want a new cabin, Gideon insisted on two new additions to accommodate all of us. There are now six bedrooms, one for each of us, and one that we share. We mainly use our shared room, because we love sleeping together.
And there’s a guest room, although we’ve never actually had a guest.
I’m at the kitchen island, while Ander is making us dinner—some sort of pasta concoction that smells delicious. I’m scrolling online when I come across a name that I have not thought about in almost a year.
Jasper Jenkins.
I almost don’t open the article. But when I read the headline, From Hack to Hope, I can’t help it.
There is a picture of him, with a trimmed beard and kinder eyes, in the kitchen of a small diner in a small town. His new focus is on saving family-owned restaurants that need help with logistics and marketing.
His new follower count is bigger than the old one.
I’m grinning down at the phone when Ander turns toward me from the pot of pasta.
“What’s funny, baby?”
“Nothing’s funny.” I’m smiling because I’m pleased. “Remember Jasper Jenkins?”
“The food blogger? The mouse guy?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I face the phone outward, so he can see it. “He found redemption. His platform used to be so negative, but now he’s using his following to help small businesses.”
I set the phone face down on the marble. “I love that he turned it around. People can surprise you.”
“Yeah?” Ander gives the pasta one more stir, then sets the wooden spoon on the rest. He’s gone unusually still. “Speaking of surprises.”
Something in his voice makes me look up.
Theo is coming down the stairs. Gideon is right behind him, holding something small in his palm that I can’t quite make out.
“What did you guys do?” I ask, my smile turning suspicious.
Ander wipes his hands on a dish towel and walks around the island toward me. Theo and Gideon close in from the other side, until I’m standing inside a wall of three of them.
“Bianca, we have something for you.” Theo’s voice has gone soft.
“We’ve been talking about this for a while,” Gideon says from beside him. “All three of us.”
Ander reaches for my left hand. “Baby, will you marry us?”
I forget how to breathe.
“It can’t be legal,” Theo speaks before I can point that out. “We know that. Unfortunately, the law isn’t as evolved as the four of us.”
“Yet,” Ander adds.
“Yet,” Theo agrees. “But we want a ceremony. We want vows. We want everyone we love in a room together while we promise the rest of our lives to you.”
Gideon opens his palm.
It’s a ring. Delicate. Gold band, with three stones set side by side. One from each of them.
“It’s symbolic,” Gideon says. “But it means everything we wish we could put in a courthouse.”
My eyes are watering. I don’t bother blinking.
“Yes.” I am laughing and crying at the same time. “Yes. Of course, yes. Sign me up for the illegal wedding.”
Ander lets out a whoop loud enough to rattle a window.
Theo slides the ring onto my finger. Then he lifts my wrist, turns it over, bringing his mouth to the inside of it, exactly where the little heart-shaped birthmark sits.
The angel kiss. The one my mom said meant I was loved before I even got here.
He kisses it.
My throat closes around the rest of what I want to say, and I say it anyway.
“My mom would have loved you.” I look at each of them in turn. “All three of you.”
“She raised one hell of a woman,” Ander tells me.
Gideon pulls me into his chest and kisses the top of my hair. “We’re going to spend the rest of our lives earning you.”
“And fucking you,” Ander adds proudly.
I smile. “I want all of those things.”
Theo hasn’t let go of my wrist. His thumb is still moving across the birthmark.
The pasta on the stove is starting to boil over, and not a single one of us moves to do anything about it.