Epilogue #2
He smiles faintly but doesn’t answer right away, only squeezes my hand, as if holding the thought close for just a moment longer. Then he sets his glass down on the stone beside him. His eyes hold mine, burning with something he hasn’t yet said.
“I did something,” he begins.
My chest tightens. “What did you do?”
“I talked to your father.”
The words startle me, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. My father has always been the immovable wall in my life, the one person I never thought Kingston would approach. “You talked to him?”
“I wanted to do this right,” Kingston says, his mouth twitching like he isn’t sure if I’ll laugh or run. “I asked his permission.”
Shock ripples through me. My father, stern and impossible, gave his ear to Kingston. “And he said—”
“He gave me his blessing.” Kingston’s smile is small, almost boyish, and something inside me breaks open at the sight of it. “Not easily. He made me promise a lot of things. But he said yes.”
The air between us changes. He releases my hand only to shift down to one knee, right there on the terrace, with the vineyard falling away behind him. My breath lodges in my throat as he pulls a small box from his pocket.
“Elise,” he says. He opens the box, and the ring inside catches the sun, a brilliant spark against the dusky sky.
“I love you. You’ve changed everything for me.
I don’t want a life that doesn’t have you at the center of it.
I want to build something with you, vineyards and vintages and a family and a future.
I want every morning and every night. Will you marry me? ”
My vision blurs, tears slipping free before I can stop them.
“Yes,” I choke out, the word tumbling past a sob. I nod so hard I must look ridiculous, but I don’t care. “Yes, Kingston, yes.”
He slides the ring onto my finger, his hands steady even as mine shake. The metal is cool, the diamond blazing with fire, but all I feel is the heat of his fingers closing around mine.
He rises and pulls me into him, his mouth claiming mine with a kiss that tastes of salt and wine and joy. Somewhere in the distance, I hear voices, vineyard workers cheering and clapping, but all I can see is him.
When we finally pull apart, breathless, he presses his forehead to mine. “Forever,” he whispers.
“Forever,” I breathe, and I believe it with everything in me.
The drive back to the villa feels like a dream. My hand rests on Kingston’s thigh, the ring catching the light every time the car turns. He keeps glancing at it, then at me, like he can’t quite believe it either.
“You know,” I say softly, twisting my wrist to admire the sparkle again, “you didn’t have to ask my father.”
“I did,” he answers without hesitation, his hand covering mine. “Because you deserve everything done right. And because I wanted him to know I’m not letting you go.”
I lean into his shoulder, and he kisses the top of my head.
When we arrive at the villa, the terrace glows with candlelight, laughter already spilling into the night.
Grilled steaks and roasted vegetables scent the air, and malbec gleams like garnets in the glasses waiting at each place.
His siblings are already gathered—Greyson and Trinity waving us over, Beckett topping off Sadie’s glass, Ginny elbowing Ryker to hush when he starts in with a joke.
“About time,” Ryker calls, lifting his glass. “Did she say yes?”
Kingston smirks, tugging me closer. “Of course, she did.”
The table erupts with cheers of celebration.
Before I can tease back, Kingston clears his throat, and the laughter quiets. “I have one more surprise,” he says, eyes glittering with mischief.
From the far end of the terrace, footsteps echo. My breath catches as my father steps into the glow of the candles, smiling so wide his eyes crease. Beside him are Trace and Vicky, both grinning like conspirators. My throat tightens, tears stinging as I whirl on Kingston. “You didn’t.”
“I did,” he says simply, kissing my temple.
The family rises in a flurry of hugs and cheers. My father pulls me into his arms, his voice thick. “I’m so happy for you, sweetheart.”
“Good,” Ryker mutters loudly, faking relief. “Because I already planned the bachelor party.”
“Absolutely not,” Kingston shoots back. “You’re not in charge of anything.”
Beckett chuckles. “I second that. No one wants Ryker in charge of an open bar.”
“I’m fun,” Ryker protests. He glances at Ginny, who lifts an unimpressed brow. He slouches in defeat. “Fine. But I still get to give a speech.”
“God help us all,” Greyson says dryly, and Trinity hides her laugh behind her glass.
Soon, appetizers are passed and wine poured. Trace lifts his glass high, his voice warm with pride. “To Kingston and Elise. To love done right. May this be the start of something great.”
“To Kingston and Elise!” everyone echoes, glasses raised high.
I barely manage a sip before Vicky leans across the table, her eyes sparkling as they sweep over me. “Now, don’t make this engagement too long. We’ve waited long enough for more grandbabies.”
I groan as Ryker bangs his palm on the wood. “Finally! Someone else is in the hot seat.”
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Vicky warns, turning her gaze on him. “You and Ginny aren’t off the hook either.”
Ginny chokes on her wine, while Ryker sputters, “We—we’re pacing ourselves!”
“Pacing, huh?” Kingston grins, sliding his arm around me. “Maybe Elise and I should show you how it’s done.”
“Ew, no one needs a demonstration.” Beckett groans, earning another round of laughter.
The night stretches into more teasing, more toasts, and even an impromptu dance when someone finds music.
Kingston’s hand never leaves mine, the weight of the ring anchoring me even as everything feels surreal.
My father claps him on the back, and Ryker spins me in a mock waltz before Kingston cuts in.
Vicky insists on kissing both my cheeks, calling me her daughter now.
Under the Argentine stars, with family surrounding us and love bubbling up in every laugh and every glass raised, forever doesn’t just feel possible. It feels like it’s already begun.
The food is rich, smoky, and perfect, but I hardly taste it.
My attention keeps drifting to Kingston, to the way his eyes linger on me like I’m the only thing worth looking at.
We laugh about the vineyard workers cheering, about how my father will probably still pretend to disapprove, and about how quickly word will spread back home.
By the time dessert comes, I can’t wait any longer. I slide my chair closer, brushing my knee against his. “Take me inside,” I murmur.
His eyes darken, and he doesn’t need to be asked twice.
He leads me through the villa, up the stairs, and into the bedroom where the windows open onto the warm night. The air is heavy. Kingston turns to me, and the look in his eyes makes my knees weak. “Say it again,” he whispers.
“Yes,” I tell him, my voice trembling. “Yes, to all of it.”
The smile that curves his mouth is devastating. He cups my face in his hands and kisses me, slow at first, then deeper, harder, until my knees weaken. His tongue slides against mine, a deliberate stroke that steals my breath, and I clutch at his shirt, pulling him closer.
Our clothes come off in a trail across the floor, my dress slipping down my shoulders, his shirt tugged over his head, the heat of his bare skin pressing against mine. His hands roam, reverent and greedy all at once, tracing my spine, cupping my breasts, thumbs circling until I gasp.
“Impatient,” he teases when I tug him closer.
“Completely.” I laugh, even as need curls hot and low.
He lays me on the bed and follows me down. His mouth trails over my collarbone, drawing a moan from my lips as his tongue circles my nipple. The contrast of heat and cool air makes me arch into him, desperate for more.
“Kingston,” I breathe.
He looks up, his mouth glistening, his eyes molten. “I love it when you say my name like that.”
His hand slides between my thighs, fingers stroking through wetness I can’t hide. He groans, the sound vibrating through him. “So ready for me.”
I can’t speak, only nod, only lift my hips into his touch. His fingers tease, slip inside, filling me, curling just right until pleasure coils. He keeps his gaze locked on mine, watching every reaction, every tremor of my body.
He kisses his way down my body, tongue blazing a trail until he reaches the ache between my thighs. His mouth closes over me, hot and unrelenting.
“Oh—God.” My hips lift off the bed as he licks and sucks, tongue circling my clit and driving me higher with every stroke. “Right there—don’t stop. Kingston, yes…yes…baby, please—”
Pleasure crashes over me in a blinding rush, stealing the breath from my lungs.
I’m still trembling when I pant, “Fuck me. Now. Please.”
Kingston rises, eyes dark and wild as they rake over me.
“Roll over,” he growls.
I obey, heart pounding. He grips my ass, spreading me open, and I freeze for a second until he leans close and whispers, voice like sin, “Your ass is art, baby. And I plan to worship it. But not yet. I want to fuck you from behind, hold these cheeks while I watch you fall apart. But that’s later.
Right now, I want to make sure you’re ready. ”
His fingers slide inside me—slow, skilled, curling just right. The only sounds are the wet rhythm of his hand and the breathy moans slipping from my lips.
Then he lies back on the bed and taps his thigh. “Come here. Take your time.”
I straddle him, carefully lowering myself. The stretch makes me pause. I rise, breathe, try again. Inch by inch, I take him, until he’s fully seated inside me.
“You okay?” he asks, voice tight with restraint.
I nod, breathless. “Yes.”
His hands grip my hips, guiding me into a rhythm that has me gasping. Each thrust drives deeper, hitting a spot that sends stars across my vision. My body clamps around him just as he groans his release, and we collapse together in a tangle of limbs, sweat, and tangled sheets.