Epilogue
Kat
Six months later, I’m settled into life in Denver. Working at the art station Asher set up for me by the wide windows of our new condo, bent over my desk as I add final touches to an illustration for the children’s book series.
The project has been amazing so far. Everyone involved loves children’s stories and art as much as I do, and it’s been so fun collaborating with the author and publisher. We’re working on the second book now, and the first one comes out in a few months.
My phone buzzes with a text from my mom.
MOM: Saw the article in the Maplewood Gazette about your book deal! Dad and I are so proud. We’re framing it for the den.
I smile as I read it, then call her back instead of texting.
“Hi, sweetheart!” she answers. “Did you see the article?”
“I did. Thank you for sending it.”
We chat for a bit about the article, about the book, about how the illustrations are coming along.
My parents have been so much more supportive lately.
Less worried about me having a “real job,” more interested in my actual work.
They even commissioned me for a watercolor anniversary gift last month, which meant the world to me.
It makes me feel less like a black sheep, more like I’ve found my place in the world.
“We need to finalize your plans for the visit,” my mom reminds me. “You’re coming back to Maplewood soon, right?”
“Yeah, we’re still planning on it. I’ll confirm the dates with Asher tonight.”
“Edward and Audrey are so excited to see you both,” she says warmly.
I grin at that. I love that Edward and Audrey are together now.
They’re really good for each other, and I like that they’ve become friends with my parents too.
The four of them do dinner together once a week now, playing cards and just hanging out.
Asher told me the whole story about what happened between his parents, about his mom’s affairs and the custody battle.
I know he worried about his dad being alone for so long.
But Edward’s not alone anymore. He’s building a true community in Maplewood, something solid.
“Oh, and I know you’ve put Daniel behind you entirely,” my mom adds, her tone shifting. “And I’m glad about that. But you might be interested to know that Daniel and Maya’s engagement exploded publicly at the grocery store a week ago.”
“What?” I can’t help the laugh that escapes.
“Apparently Maya was seen beating him with a head of lettuce. Right there in the produce section. Made quite the scene.”
I wince. “What happened?”
“I don’t know all the details, but it sounds like Daniel had a wandering eye.”
I feel bad for Maya. That’s humiliating, finding out your fiancé is cheating in such a public way. But I’m also glad for her that she found out before the wedding. She dodged a bullet, just like I did. And for Daniel? I don’t feel one bit sorry for him. He made his choices.
We say goodbye and hang up a few minutes later. As I clean up my art supplies, capping paints and washing brushes, done for the day, my phone buzzes again. This time it’s Asher.
ASHER: Can you meet me at the Denver Museum of Fine Arts at 7?
I grin. We’ve been meaning to go there for a while, but have been busy with getting settled in and work and his hockey schedule.
ME: You’re on. I’ll be there.
I head to the bedroom and change into something a little nicer than my work clothes, a comfortable dress with a floral pattern that hugs my curves—one of Asher’s favorites.
Then I hop into the new Range Rover that Asher insisted on getting me after we moved to Denver and drive over at the agreed time, curiosity building about what he’s planning.
When I arrive and walk up the wide front steps, the museum looks oddly empty, with just a single security guard waiting out front. I hesitate, thinking maybe I’ve gotten the time wrong or they’re closed.
“Kat Sanders?” the guard asks as I approach.
I blink, surprised. “Yes, that’s me.”
He smiles and leads me inside. The marble floors echo beneath my heels as we walk through quiet corridors, surrounded by incredible art. But there’s no one else here. Just us.
Asher is waiting in the main gallery, dressed in nice pants and a shirt that hugs his broad shoulders. The guard nods at him and leaves us alone, and I step into the room. Stunned that we have the empty museum all to ourselves.
“Did you rent out the whole place?” I ask, looking around.
He grins. “I pulled a few strings. Called in some favors. I wanted us to be able to enjoy it for the first time without having to fight the crowds.”
“This is insane,” I breathe.
“Come on,” he says, offering his arm. “Let me show you around.”
We wander through the galleries together, our fingers threaded together. He lets me dictate the pace, walking slowly alongside me and shooting little sidelong glances at me from time to time.
“How was practice today?” I ask as we pause in front of a stunning landscape. “You seemed pretty happy when you texted earlier.”
His face lights up. “It was great. Coach Dunaway pulled me aside after drills. He said I’m showing the kind of leadership he wants to see from veteran players, even though I’m still new to the team.”
“That’s amazing,” I say, squeezing his fingers. “I love seeing how happy you are there.”
“It’s been better than I even hoped,” he admits. “Noah’s been incredible as captain. He made sure everyone accepted me from day one. And Reese, Theo, Sawyer, and everyone else have been including me in everything. It feels like I actually belong somewhere for the first time in my career.”
“I can tell. Your whole face changes every time you talk about them.” I smile, thinking about all the team dinners and group hangouts he’s been invited to lately.
“I like knowing that it’s not just a job to you, it’s like a family.
Oh, and did I tell you? Margo invited me to that charity planning meeting next week!
And Callie’s been texting me restaurant recommendations. ”
“That’s great,” Asher says, his hand warm on my lower back. “I’m glad the WAGs have been so welcoming. Heather mentioned how much fun you all had at the last game.”
“I love watching you play,” I tell him honestly. “Even if I’m still learning all the ins and outs of the game.”
“Hey, you’ve picked up a ton, especially for someone who didn’t know much at all about hockey when I met her.” He chuckles, leaning down to press a kiss to my temple. “Hearing you get pissed off about a bad offside call is the hottest thing I think I’ve ever heard.”
I grin, leaning into his kiss. “That one took a while, but I think I finally get it.”
We move through a few more rooms, our conversation shifting back and forth between little things in our daily life and the art pieces we’re looking at. But I can sense an undercurrent of tension in him, a restlessness that’s unusual for someone who’s normally so controlled on and off the ice.
“You’re being weird,” I tell him finally, stopping in front of a particularly beautiful piece. “What’s really going on?”
He takes a deep breath, and suddenly I can see how nervous he actually is beneath the confident exterior.
“I brought you here because this is where you belong, bright eyes,” he says, his voice slightly rough. “Surrounded by beautiful things, being appreciated for the incredible artist you are.”
My heart starts hammering as he steps closer, the museum lights casting shadows across his face.
“You’ve taught me what real love looks like,” he continues, reaching into his jacket pocket. “What home feels like. You bring color to my world in ways I never imagined.”
He drops to one knee, pulling out a small velvet box and flipping it open.
The ring inside is perfect—not a traditional diamond, but a stunning vintage emerald surrounded by small diamonds in an art deco setting.
It’s unique and unexpected and absolutely perfect for me, just like the man holding it.
A man who knows what I love, what matters to me, and shows me every single day how much I mean to him.
“Asher,” I whisper, my eyes filling with happy tears. “Oh my god…”
“I love your stubborn independence and your incredible talent,” he continues, his voice thick with emotion. “I love the way you see beauty in everything, the way you make me want to be better. I love that you took a chance on us when it would have been safer to walk away. Will you marry m—?”
“Yes!” I breathe, the word tumbling out before he can even finish. “Yes! Of course, yes.”
He slides the ring onto my finger with shaking hands, and I throw my arms around him, holding him tight as he stands up.
Our lips meet, and I slide my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.
The kiss grows quickly, building in heat the way it always seems to do between us, a fire that’s impossible to extinguish.
We stumble backward a little, lips and tongues colliding, and I bump into the wall in a corner of the room.
An empty space with no paintings nearby.
I can feel the bulge of his cock against my belly as he trails his lips from my mouth along my jaw and then down my neck, making goosebumps spread over my skin.
“I’m so fucking glad you said yes,” he murmurs against my throat. “I’ve been going out of my mind all day, knowing I was gonna ask you.”
I laugh, but the sound turns into a moan as he mouths at the place where my shoulder and neck meet. The sensation goes straight to my clit. “Asher.”
He groans softly. “Baby, you can’t fucking say my name like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because when you say it like that, it makes me want to fuck you right here. Screw getting you home first.”
Heat rushes through me at his words. When he pinches my nipple through my dress, I moan his name again… maybe a little on purpose this time. “Asher.”
He draws back, heat blazing in his eyes as a smirk curls his lips. “Oh, you know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you? My fiancée is a beautiful, dirty girl. You want me to fuck you right here, bright eyes?”
I glance around. We’re far into the museum now, away from where anyone could hear us. Not in view of any security cameras that I can see. “We’re alone, aren’t we?”
He nods, watching me.
“Then I don’t want to wait either.”
He makes a hungry sound, kissing me again, hard and demanding. Sliding my dress up with urgent hands, he works my panties down my legs. When he slips his fingers back between my legs, his nostrils flare, and I know it’s because I’m already wet.
I whimper, my hips rocking against his hand. “Fuck me. Please.”
“I will, baby. Fucking hell,” he curses gruffly. “Get my cock out.”
My fingers shake with urgency as I do what he said, fumbling with his belt and zipper.
The second his cock is free, his pants shoved down far enough to be out of the way, he lifts me up.
Gripping my thighs, he pins me against the wall, holding me there as the fat head of his cock nudges my entrance.
Then he drives into me. A few thrusts have him buried all the way inside my pussy, and I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out.
He murmurs into my ear in a low rasp as we move together, urgent and desperate in the empty museum.
“Fuck, I can’t wait to marry you. Can’t wait to make you mine.”
“I’m already yours,” I gasp, my head falling back. “Always will be.”
He groans, trailing his lips along the exposed column of my neck. Then he pulls back just enough to look at me. “Then be a good girl and come on your future husband’s cock. Show me how much you need this.”
His words send fire licking through my veins, and I reach down between us.
The days when I felt self-conscious about anything with this man are long past. I know how to take what I need now, so much more confident than I once was, and I work my clit with fast, tight circles that have my toes curling in my shoes.
“I can feel how close you are,” he grunts, his thrusts growing harder. “I can feel you getting tighter around me.”
“Don’t stop,” I beg, my voice stuttering out. “Please don’t stop.”
“Never, baby. Fucking never.”
The pressure builds and builds until it breaks in a sea of stars, white spots flashing behind my eyes. I come hard, my whole body shaking with it as my pussy walls ripple around him.
He lets go too, driving into me a few more times as he chases his own release, groaning deeply as jet after jet of cum spills inside me. He grinds his hips against mine as he empties the last of himself, as if determined not to let me miss a single drop.
When he pulls out after several breathless moments and sets me carefully back on my feet, my legs are shaky. He grabs my discarded panties, but instead of giving them back to me, he tucks them into his back pocket instead.
I give him a questioning look, my eyebrows rising. “Um, do you need those?”
He chuckles.
“I think I’ll keep them tonight. I like the sight of you like this too much to give them back.” His voice drops, low and possessive. “With my ring on your finger and my cum sliding down your thighs. I want you to stay like this for the rest of the night.”
I shiver at the claiming heat in his words. He’s such a caveman sometimes, all territorial and primal. But I like it. I like that his obsession with me leaves no room for doubt about how he feels about me. I never have to wonder or worry. His love is obvious in everything he does.
We finish straightening our clothes, and I’m very aware of the sticky wetness between my legs as he tucks himself back into his pants. I brush my hair over my shoulder, my pulse still racing a little as I glance around the large space.
“This will always be my favorite museum now.”
He laughs, the sound echoing in the gallery. “Same. We’ll have to get a membership.”
We explore a bit more, wandering through other galleries as his cum slowly dries on my thighs. It’s filthy and messy and hot, and I like it way more than I probably should. I like wearing the evidence of his love—both on my finger and between my legs.
When we finally leave about an hour later and walk out hand in hand into the Denver night, he lifts our joined hands to his lips, kissing my knuckles as my ring sparkles in the streetlight.
“I love you, soon-to-be Mrs. Vaughn,” he murmurs.
My heart flutters as our gazes meet. “I love you too, Mr. Vaughn.”
Last Christmas, I was afraid of love and unsure of my path. Convinced I’d never be good enough, that my dreams were foolish. Now I’m engaged to the man I adore, thriving in my career, and building a life I never dared imagine was possible.
Sometimes what starts out as fake, I realize with a giddy thrill, becomes the realest thing of all.
Thank you so much for reading!