Epilogue
GRADY
The lighting booth was my favorite place in The Evergreen Room.
Most people didn’t even know it existed—tucked away on the second level, soundproofed glass overlooking the main venue below.
This was where the magic happened. Where I could orchestrate an entire event with the press of a button, control the mood, the atmosphere, the exact shade of romantic or festive or corporate professional.
Control. My favorite word.
Well, second favorite now.
My first favorite was currently leaning over the control panel, her dark hair falling across her shoulder as she studied the lighting grid I’d pulled up on the screen.
“So if we do the winter stars effect here,” Mollie said, tapping the timeline, “and then transition to the warmer glow during dinner…”
“It’ll be perfect.” I moved behind her, close enough to smell vanilla and cinnamon—her signature scent that I’d never get tired of. “Though you know everyone’s just going to be focused on the hot chocolate bar.”
She turned, grinning up at me. “Twelve toppings.”
“I’ll never understand why anyone needs twelve options.”
“Because choice is freedom, Grady. Freedom is joy. Joy is—”
“Christmas spirit, I know.” I pulled her against me, unable to resist. Three years together, and I still couldn’t keep my hands off her. “You’ve explained this philosophy extensively.”
“And yet you still book events with sad, boring dessert tables.”
“Corporate clients don’t want whimsy. They want—”
“Boring professionalism, I know.” She mimicked my tone perfectly, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
This. This was what I never knew I needed. Someone who challenged me, teased me, made me remember that perfection wasn’t the only goal worth chasing.
Mollie had taught me that messy could be beautiful. That chaos could create magic I’d never find in a spreadsheet.
Though I’d never admit how many spreadsheets I’d made for tonight’s party.
“Show me the controls again,” she said, turning back to the panel. “I want to understand how you make it all work.”
I reached around her, caging her against the console with my arms. “This button controls the main chandelier.” I pressed it, and below us, the crystal fixture dimmed to a gentle glow.
“This one activates the perimeter lights.” Golden warmth flooded the edges of the room.
“And this—” I hovered over the star effect button, “—creates the winter constellation.”
I pressed it, and above the empty venue, crystalline stars cascaded across the ceiling in patterns that seemed to dance and shimmer.
Mollie’s breath caught. “It’s beautiful. Every single time, it takes my breath away.”
“That’s the idea.” I rested my chin on her shoulder, looking down at the room we’d transformed together over the years. Her vision, my execution. Her heart, my structure. “Though I think we should adjust the timing on the transition. Maybe add a five-second fade instead of—”
“Grady.”
“What?”
She turned in my arms, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. “We have two hours until everyone arrives.”
“I know. Which is why we need to finalize—”
“We’ve finalized everything. Three times. You have backup plans for your backup plans.”
“That’s just good event management.”
“That’s obsessive control.” But her eyes were practically sparkling as her hands slid up my chest. “And I love your need to make everything perfect…”
“But?”
“But right now, I’m more interested in a different kind of control.”
Heat shot through me. Three years, and she could still undo me with a look. “Mollie, the party—”
“Is two hours away. The room is ready. The caterer is on schedule. Everything is perfect.” Her fingers found my tie, loosening it slowly. “And we’re alone. In a soundproof booth. Where no one can see us.”
I glanced at the window overlooking the venue. “Someone could walk in—”
“The door locks.” She was already reaching past me, and I heard the click of the deadbolt engaging. “And I happen to know the owner personally. I don’t think he’ll mind.”
My hands found her hips, pulling her closer. “The owner has very strict policies about appropriate venue usage.”
“Does he?” She was working on my shirt buttons now, moving with maddening slowness. “What are the consequences for breaking those policies?”
“Severe.” My voice had gone rough. “Very severe.”
“Mmm. I guess I’ll have to take my punishment then.”
God, this woman.
I lifted her onto the control panel—carefully avoiding the buttons—and stepped between her legs. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“Promises, promises.” She pulled me down for a kiss, and I tasted peppermint hot chocolate. Of course, she’d already been sampling from the station downstairs.
“If you hit a button,” I murmured against her lips, “and change the lighting sequence I spent three hours programming—”
“Then you’ll just reprogram it.” She bit my bottom lip gently. “Stop thinking about timelines and sequences and let me wreck your control for once.”
“You wreck my control every day.”
“Good.” Her hands were in my hair now, pulling me closer. “Then this should be easy.”
Below us, the empty Evergreen Room sparkled with winter magic. Above us, stars twinkled in patterns I’d designed. But all I could focus on was the woman in my arms.
I lost myself in her—the heat of her mouth, the grip of her hands pulling me closer. Everything else fell away. The world shrank down to this booth, to her scent, her breath, and those quiet sounds she made against my lips that made it impossible to think straight.
She unbuckled and unfastened my dress pants and shoved them down, freeing my cock. I moaned, the sound ragged and foreign even to my own ears, as she wrapped one hand around it and gave long, bold strokes. My hips jerked involuntarily, my control shattered by her touch.
My own hands were frantic. I slid the straps of her dress down, and she wriggled, helping me, sliding her arms out of it until the fabric pooled at her waist.
I pushed down the strapless bra, and my breath hitched.
Damn. They were fuller now, softer—somehow even more incredible than before.
They’d always been jaw-dropping, but after our twin girls, they carried this quiet proof of what we’d made together.
I brushed my thumbs over her nipples, and she tore her mouth from mine with a sharp, breathless sound.
Instead of coming back to kiss me, she dropped her head, her hair sliding over my stomach like silk—and then she took me into her mouth.
The heat was unreal, the pressure perfect.
She knew exactly what she was doing, every move pushing me closer to the edge until my legs were shaking and I was seconds from losing it.
“No,” I gritted out, pulling her away gently by her hair. “Not like that. Not this time.”
I needed to be inside her. Now.
I shoved the bunched fabric of her dress up to her hips and stepped between her legs, kissing her again, deep and possessive. As my tongue plundered her mouth, I slid a finger into her wet pussy. She was so ready for me, hot and slick.
She cried out into the kiss, her hips bucking against my hand. I added a second finger, curling them, stroking that magic spot inside her until she was writhing. Then I focused my thumb on her clit, making slow, firm circles.
“Grady,” she begged, her voice a broken whisper. “Please. I need you. Fuck me.”
I didn’t need her to say another word. I lined myself up with her, eyes locked on hers, and the thought hit me like fire through my veins. I wanted to give her another child. I want to feel her body grow with our baby again, to see her bloom like only she could.
I drove deep into her in one hard, unrelenting thrust. She arched against me with a sharp cry, digging her nails into my shoulders.
I set a brutal rhythm, pounding into her while the slick sound of our bodies meeting matched our ragged breaths.
I didn’t let up on her clit, my thumb moving in time with each thrust, determined to wring every drop of pleasure out of her.
“Look at me,” I demanded, and her hazy, lust-darkened eyes found mine. “Come for me, Mollie.”
It was the look in her eyes—that trusting expression—that undid us both. Her inner muscles clenched around me, a violent, pulsing wave, and her scream was muffled against my chest. The feeling was too intense—straight out of a dream.
My own control snapped. With a guttural groan, I drove into her one last time, spilling myself deep inside her, my own orgasm a blinding, white-hot release that seemed to go on forever.
For a long moment, the only sound was our harsh, gasping breaths, mingling in the quiet, star-lit booth. I leaned my forehead against hers, my body still trembling with the aftershocks.
Then, a slow, delirious giggle escaped her. It was infectious. A chuckle rumbled in my chest, then another, until we were both laughing, breathless and spent, clinging to each other in the aftermath.
“Oh, god,” she finally managed, her voice husky. “My skirt is probably all wrinkled now.”
I kissed her shoulder, then her neck, then her lips, soft and lingering this time. “Worth it.”
The reality of the world outside our bubble began to seep back in. I pulled away slightly, tucking myself back into my pants with clumsy hands. She slid off the console, her legs visibly unsteady, and began the process of reassembling her dress and bra.
She caught my eye as she smoothed down her skirt, a fresh wave of laughter bubbling up. “We’d better get ourselves back together before the catering crew arrives.”
I reached for my tie, which now dangled precariously from the fader switch. “Right. Because we look so professional right now.”
She came to me then, straightening my tie with practiced ease before starting on my buttons. Her touch was so familiar, so loving, a stark and beautiful contrast to the wild woman of moments before. I cupped her face, kissing her once, gently.
“I love you,” I said, the words simple and profound.
Her smile was my everything. “I love you too. Now, fix your hair. You look thoroughly debauched.”
As I ran a hand through my hair and she reapplied her lip gloss from her clutch, I glanced out the window. The winter stars still shimmered above the empty tables. Everything was perfect. But for the first time all day, I didn’t feel the need to control it. I just felt grateful.
Two hours later, with guests beginning to arrive and the lighting sequence mysteriously altered from my original design, I stood beside Mollie at the entrance to The Evergreen Room.
Her hair was slightly mussed despite her attempts to fix it.
My tie was crooked. And neither of us could stop smiling.
“You changed my star pattern,” I said as Hope and the others walked in.
“Did I?” Mollie’s eyes were pure innocence. “Must have been an accident.”
“There are no accidents in event planning.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to punish me later.”
I pulled her closer, watching our friends—our family—fill the space with laughter and warmth. “I’m counting on it.”
She leaned into me, and I realized something I’d spent years learning. Control was overrated. But this—her hand in mine, our people around us, the imperfect perfection of life together—this was everything.
Even if she had changed my carefully programmed lighting sequence to include pink instead of red.
Especially because of that.