Epilogue #2
He is perfect. Not flawless. He’s still cocky, stubborn, prone to driving too fast and working too late, and deflecting with sarcasm when he’s intimidated.
But Liam is perfect for me. He would never impose a ceremony I didn’t want or a dress I didn’t choose.
He knows me—the messy-haired, strawberry-toothpaste-using, flannel-pajama-wearing me—and he loves every chaotic inch.
I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.
I lean in to kiss him again, but we’re interrupted by the doorbell ringing.
I pull back, frowning. “Who could be this early?”
Liam shrugs, but a spark flickers behind his eyes that I can’t interpret. “Go get the door and find out.”
I go with a frown. The confusion deepens as I spot, through the glass panel beside the door, a man.
He’s broad-shouldered and dressed entirely in black—jacket, pants, boots.
His head is shaved to a precise buzz cut, and his eyes are hidden behind dark wraparound shades despite the soft morning light.
I open the door and also notice the tattoos on his hands: flowers and letters.
The man extends a folded newspaper toward me without a word of greeting or an explanation.
“Um…” I take it. “Thank you?”
He nods once, and a smirk crosses his face. “Enjoy, Mrs. Rockwood.”
He turns and walks back to a black SUV idling in the driveway. The man pulls away, disappearing down the tree-lined road.
I stand in the doorway, holding the newspaper and processing the encounter.
Then I shut the door and go back to the kitchen.
Liam is where I left him, sipping his coffee nonchalantly.
“Since when do we subscribe to the paper?” I ask, setting it on the table between us. “And aren’t delivery boys supposed to be gangly teenagers on bicycles?”
Liam’s mouth twitches behind his mug. “Have you looked at it?”
“No, I was too busy wondering if we’d been visited by a hitman.”
“Really? You’ve been bugging me to meet Kit for months.”
“Who?”
Liam smirks. “My guy?”
“That”—I point a thumb at the driveway—“is your resourceful personal assistant?”
I had imagined Liam’s “guy” as a middle-aged accountant with lots of connections, someone who’d employ brains over brawn. But the guy at the door didn’t look like the type to negotiate before breaking a nose.
“Did he bring good news?” Liam asks.
I glance down at the folded newspaper, expecting a copy of the Lake Sun but finding today’s edition of the Springfield News-Leader.
I unfold it.
A photograph of a man in a rumpled suit, his face twisted in ugly fury as he’s being led down a set of steps by two federal agents in navy windbreakers, dominates the front page.
His wrists are cuffed behind his back. His hair, usually styled with meticulous precision, hangs limp across his forehead.
It’s a picture of Matt. Being arrested.
I read the headline.
FEDERAL RAID IN DOWNTOWN SPRINGFIELD
Debt Empire Heir Arrested in Multimillion-Dollar “Sewer Service” Fraud Scheme
SPRINGFIELD—Matthew VanCamp, heir to one of the state’s most aggressive debt collection agencies, was taken into federal custody early Wednesday morning amidst allegations of a pervasive “sewer service” fraud ring.
An unsealed federal indictment accuses the VanCamps’ agency of intentionally failing to notify thousands of defendants of pending lawsuits.
Instead of delivering court summonses, contracted process servers allegedly dumped the legal documents—a practice colloquially known as “sewer service”—and submitted falsified affidavits to the court claiming successful delivery.
The scheme allowed the agency to secure millions of dollars in default judgments, quietly garnishing the wages and freezing the bank accounts of victims who had no idea they were even being sued.
According to the FBI, in some instances, process servers swore under oath that they had successfully served papers to defendants who were later proven to be out of the state, in the hospital, or currently incarcerated.
My jaw drops to the floor, and I sink into my chair. “Oh my gosh, Matt is an outright criminal. How did it… How…” I look at my husband. “What did you do?”
Liam smiles; he doesn’t even try to deny he’s behind this somehow.
He turns the paper, still flat on the table, and studies the photo with a smug pout.
Then he looks at me. “I figured someone willing to fight dirty with a woman and her family only because she said no to him wouldn’t play by the rules in his business either. ” He clicks his tongue, satisfied.
“But how…?” I point to the article. I’m speechless.
“It took Kit a couple of months to get to the bottom of how much of a dirtbag your ex was. Then we dropped a bow-tied box of evidence in the lap of a hungry FBI agent, and the rest”—he gestures at the paper—“is history.”
My phone rings on the table, the photo of me and Emma filling the screen.
I pick up.
“Have you seen the frigging news?” She doesn’t even say hello.
“Just now. Liam and his guy, they, err… facilitated the discovery.”
“What? They framed Matt?”
“Yep.”
“Put me on speaker,” my best friend demands.
I tap the speaker icon and set the phone on the table. “You’re on.”
“Liam!” Emma’s voice booms through the phone.
“You are an absolute god of vengeance! I am building a shrine to you in my living room as we speak. I’m lighting a candle right now.
You didn’t just beat that slicked-back swamp rat; you obliterated his entire family!
Seriously, do you take requests? Because I have a list of exes we could look into.
And I know I had my doubts when you guys first cooked up this whole fake marriage scheme, but I take it all back.
I am officially, permanently, 100 percent Team Liam. ”
“I’m honored.” Liam chuckles. “And my guy is awfully happy to brush his knuckles on douchebags, just send the list.”
“Oh, and Emma—” I interrupt, looking at Liam. He nods, understanding what I want to say without me needing to voice it. “The marriage isn’t fake anymore. Liam proposed last night, and I said yes. We’re official now.”
Emma’s squeals reach eardrum-busting decibels. “Tell me everything.”
I remove the phone from speaker and bring it to my ear, standing. Liam stands, too.
He comes up behind me and brushes my hair aside, dropping a kiss on my neck. “I’ll wait in the car outside; come when you’re ready.”
He doesn’t put pressure on me to hang up or huff impatiently. He’s never jealous of the other people in my life or possessive of my time. And gosh, I love him so fucking much that sometimes I think it’s too much.
He leaves me alone, and I give Emma a debrief on last night and this morning. She squeaks along like an overexcited mouse.
When I’m done, she sighs. “He went to war for you. How hot are you for him right now?”
“Too hot. In fact, do you mind if we hang up? I need to go kiss my husband.”
“Yeah, do me proud.”
I drop the call and rush out the front door, catching up with Liam just as he’s about to get behind the wheel.
“Hey,” I yell.
He stops and turns. I run to him and press him against the side of the car, kissing the living daylights out of him.
He chuckles when I let him go. “You have to stop that if you want us to get to work on time.”
I smile, deranged, feral, I don’t even know. “Well, for you it’s the strawberry toothpaste that does it, for me it’s you destroying my enemies.”
Liam smirks, his gray eyes flashing with that familiar arrogant spark. “Glad to know my love language translates.” Then he drops his forehead on mine. “I told you. I’d never keep you in a cage. But I’m never letting anyone hurt you again, either.”
“And I’m done running,” I promise, tugging on his lapels and kissing him again.
* * *
Two weeks later, Liam and I get married in our cave. I’m wearing a simple white slip dress and hiking boots; he’s in jeans and a button-down shirt. He leaves me waiting outside for ten minutes before he finally parts the vines, offering me his hand. “Come.”
Inside, he’s lit at least a hundred candles, turning our private sanctuary into a cathedral of stars. He must’ve sneaked up here in secret to set everything up—the stealth romantic.
Liam leads me to the center of the cavern, his hand warm and solid around mine.
In the past, I never made it to this point of the ceremony.
The panic always set in long before I ever stood in front of the men I was supposed to marry—the suffocating tightness in my chest, the buzzing in my ears, the frantic, irresistible urge to bolt for the nearest exit.
I look down at my dirt-speckled boots resting against the stone floor. They are heavy. Grounded. Completely still.
I stare back up at the man who gave me a safe place to land.
His intense eyes reflect the candlelight, waiting for me.
We don’t bother with long speeches or rehearsed promises.
The words don’t matter anymore. We slide plain gold bands onto each other’s fingers, and without waiting for anyone to tell him he can kiss the bride—no one else is here—I rise on my toes and kiss the groom.