Epilogue #2
“THINGS CHANGE?” Fitz was practically vibrating with excitement. “Mate, this is huge. This is—oh my God, we need to plan the wedding.”
“We’re not planning the wedding right now.”
“We’re absolutely planning the wedding right now.”
“Fitz—”
“First things first,” Fitz said, pulling out his phone. “Venue. You need a venue. Something elegant but not pretentious. Romantic, but not cheesy. I’m thinking—”
“I’m thinking we haven’t even set a date yet,” I interrupted.
“Set a date!” Fitz said immediately. “June. June weddings are classic. Or September. September’s nice. Good weather. Not too hot. Not too cold.”
“We’re not getting married in June or September.”
“October?” Fitz suggested. “Fall colors. Perfect aesthetic. Great for photos.”
“We haven’t discussed—”
“You need a photographer,” Fitz continued, typing furiously on his phone. “And a caterer. And a band. Or a DJ? No, a band. Definitely a band. Something classy. Jazz, maybe? Or—”
“FITZ!”
“What?”
“We’re not planning the wedding right now.”
“Why not?”
“Because we literally just got engaged!”
“That’s exactly why we should plan it now,” Fitz said. “Strike while the iron’s hot. Get ahead of the chaos. Trust me, if you wait, it’ll spiral out of control.”
“It’s already spiraling out of control,” Hayden muttered.
“I think it’s exciting,” Gabriel said. “Quinton’s getting married. To Julien’s sister. Who would’ve thought?”
“Not me,” Nathan said. “Six months ago, he was swearing off dating entirely.”
“Six months ago, I hadn’t punched Colton Whitcomb in the face,” I pointed out.
“Best decision you ever made,” Julien said, and I was surprised to hear genuine warmth in his voice. “Vivian deserves someone who’ll fight for her. Literally, apparently.”
“I’m not making a habit of it.”
“You’d better not,” Julien said. “I can’t keep bailing you out of jail.”
“You didn’t bail me out. Winnie and Vivian did.”
“Semantics.”
Fitz was still typing on his phone. “Okay, so venue, photographer, caterer, band, flowers—you need flowers. Vivian strikes me as a peony person. Or roses? Classic roses. You can’t go wrong with roses.”
“I have no idea what kind of flowers she likes,” I admitted.
“You don’t know what kind of flowers she likes?” Fitz looked horrified. “Quinton. Mate. You’re marrying this woman and you don’t know her favorite flower?”
“I know other things about her!”
“Like what?”
“Like... she hates olives. And she’s allergic to shellfish. And she thinks pineapple on pizza is a crime against humanity.”
“Those are food preferences,” Fitz said. “I’m talking about romance. Flowers. Chocolates. Love languages.”
“Her love language is sarcasm,” I said.
“That’s not a love language.”
“It should be.”
“You’re hopeless,” Fitz said, shaking his head. “Absolutely hopeless. Good thing you have me to help plan this wedding.”
“I don’t need help planning the wedding.”
“You absolutely need help planning the wedding.”
“Vivian and I can plan it ourselves.”
“Can you, though?” Fitz raised an eyebrow. “Because from where I’m standing, you don’t even know what flowers she likes.”
“I’ll ask her!”
“You should’ve asked her already!”
“We’ve been engaged for five days.”
“That’s plenty of time to discuss flowers!”
“Oh my God,” I said, turning to the others. “Help me.”
“You’re on your own,” Nathan said, grinning. “This is hilarious.”
“Hayden?”
“I’m staying out of it,” Hayden said. “I’ve got a boat to buy.”
“Gabriel?”
Gabriel held up his hands. “Sorry, man. I’m with Fitz on this one. You should probably know what flowers she likes.”
“THANK YOU,” Fitz said triumphantly.
“I hate all of you,” I said.
“No, you don’t,” Fitz said cheerfully. “Now, let’s talk about the guest list. How many people are we inviting? Fifty? A hundred? Two hundred?”
“We haven’t—”
“Two hundred is too many,” Fitz continued, ignoring me. “Too impersonal. But fifty’s too small. You need at least a hundred. Maybe a hundred and fifty. That’s a good number. Intimate but not cramped.”
“Fitz—”
“And the seating chart,” Fitz said, his eyes lighting up. “Oh, the seating chart. That’s going to be a nightmare. You can’t put your mother next to Julien’s mother. They’ll kill each other.”
“They get along fine,” I said.
“They’re polite to each other,” Fitz corrected. “That’s not the same as getting along. Trust me, you need to separate them. Put them on opposite sides of the room. Maybe different tables entirely.”
“You’re overthinking this.”
“I’m being strategic.”
“You’re being insane.”
“Same thing,” Fitz said, waving me off. “Now, what about the bachelor party?”
“Oh God,” I said.
“We need to plan the bachelor party,” Fitz continued. “Something epic. Something memorable. Vegas? No, too cliché. Miami? Too hot. New Orleans? Too drunk.”
“We’re not going to New Orleans,” I said firmly.
“Why not?”
“Because the last time you went to New Orleans, you got arrested for trying to steal a street performer’s saxophone.”
“I was borrowing it,” Fitz protested. “And I gave it back!”
“You gave it back to the wrong person.”
“Details.”
“You’re not planning my bachelor party,” I said.
“I’m absolutely planning your bachelor party.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Fitz.”
“It’s happening, Quinton,” Fitz said, grinning. “You can’t stop me. I’m a force of nature.”
“You’re a force of chaos,” Hayden muttered.
“Same thing.”
Julien, who had been quietly observing the entire exchange, finally spoke up. “For what it’s worth, Quinton, I’m happy for you. Vivian’s... she’s great. And you’re good for her.”
I blinked. “Thanks, Julien. That means a lot.”
“But if you hurt her,” Julien continued, his voice dropping slightly, “I will end you. Professionally, personally, and possibly literally.”
“I remember,” I said. “You’ve mentioned it before.”
“I’m mentioning it again.”
“Noted.”
“Good.” Julien took a sip of his water. “Now, can we please finish this game? I would like to get home before Athena decides the house needs to be ‘energetically cleansed’ again.”
“What does that even mean?” Nathan asked.
“It means she burns sage in every room and chants about ‘releasing negative energy,” Julien said wearily. “Last time, she set off the smoke alarm. The fire department came. Again.”
“Your life is a disaster,” Hayden said.
“I’m aware.”
We finished the round—Nathan hit two more trees, Fitz made three birdies and wouldn’t shut up about it, Hayden complained about his back, Gabriel spent most of the time texting Cate, and Julien muttered darkly about planetary alignments.
By the time we made it back to the clubhouse, the sun was starting to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.
“Same time next month?” Gabriel asked as we loaded our clubs into our cars.
“Can’t,” Hayden said. “I’ll be looking at boats.”
“I might be in Paris,” Fitz said. “Margot invited me to visit.”
“I’ll be renovating Nathan’s office,” Julien said grimly. “Again.”
“It wasn’t Ester’s fault!” Nathan protested.
“YOUR IGUANA COMMITTED ARSON.”
“SHE’S NOT A CRIMINAL.”
I laughed, watching them bicker as they climbed into their cars.
Six months ago, I had been convinced that dating was a trap. That relationships were a distraction. That I was better off alone.
And now?
Now I was engaged to the most incredible woman I had ever met.
I had friends who drove me insane but would drop everything to bail me out of jail.
I had a job I loved, even when it involved reptilian arson and front-page newspaper scandals.
Life was chaotic.
Life was messy.
Life was absolutely, completely, perfectly imperfect.
And I wouldn’t change a single thing.
Well.
Maybe I would ask Vivian what her favorite flowers were.
Just to get Fitz off my back.
THE END