Epilogue 2 #2
“You never faltered in your belief in who I was, and who I could be, long before I had the courage to believe it myself. Thank you for standing by me, lifting me up, and giving me space to become the woman I always hoped I might be.”
She smiles then, a small, intimate thing meant only for me.
“And over these years, it’s been a privilege to watch you become the man you are today—still fiercely determined and devoted, but softer around the edges, with a heart that has only widened to hold our family. I find myself falling in love with you again and again with each passing day.”
I feel my own eyes begin to water at the sight of her tears now rolling down her cheeks. However, her voice doesn’t waver.
“I promise to keep choosing you too, with the same heart you have always chosen me.”
Something in me yields at that. This woman. This love. This life. It is more than I ever believed I deserved.
My father lifts the box that Max handed him earlier, opening it with care. Inside rest the same bands we placed on each other’s hands ten years ago, refined by time, marked by the life we built together.
We exchange them, the familiar weight settling back where it belongs.
Then, my father steps back, his voice warm. “You may seal your vows.”
I don’t hesitate.
I cup Olivia’s face, fingers framing her jaw, decorum forgotten. The kiss I give her is without restraint, conveying the love I feel for this woman that I have loved through all these years, and the life still unfolding ahead of us.
Applause swells around us when our lips finally part. Guests rise. The quartet shifts into a lighter melody. Sunset spills gold across the terrace as my father embraces us both, his hand firm on my shoulder.
Everyone I love is here and this moment could not be more perfect.
The ceremony gives way to celebration—glasses clinking, laughter rising, familiar faces drawing closer—as the night comes alive, full of promise.
The door closes behind us with a click, and the sound settles through the suite like a boundary being drawn. The night slows. The world recedes.
Olivia takes two steps onto the rug and sways, buoyed by wine and the long stretch of celebration. She catches herself on the side table and laughs under her breath, entirely at ease. My hand finds her waist without thought, steadying her before she even realizes she needs it.
She doesn’t allow herself this often. When she does, it’s because she feels safe enough—and it’s only ever with me.
Tonight, she was incandescent, all ease and light. Watching her dance with Max, his small hands clutched in hers, her laughter rising freely as she spun him around, filled me with a joy so complete it left no room for anything else.
I was grateful Olivia didn’t have to cut short her fun this time.
Early on, Lucinda—our longtime nanny, steady and unflappable—swept the twins upstairs, as she has done countless times before. She’s been a constant presence from Max’s early days and earned Olivia’s trust over the years. She can relax, knowing Cordelia and Margot are in the safest hands.
When Max’s bedtime came, my parents stepped in, insisting we stay as long as we wished while they took him with them. To be honest, I could have never expected how naturally they would take to the role of doting grandparents. But watching it unfold…it feels right.
She leans into me now, her cheek brushing the shoulder of my suit.
“I think I’m…” She pauses, a small hiccup escaping her. “…maybe a little drunk.”
I smile into her hair. “You don’t say.”
She swats my chest, the gesture more affectionate than reproachful.
She bends her knee to reach for the buckle of her heel, but I catch her hands before she can get there. “No. Let me.”
I lower myself on my knees in front of her. She steadies herself by resting her hands on my shoulders, her fingers sliding to the back of my neck. I lean into it.
“You’re always so good to me,” she murmurs. It isn’t praise so much as wonder.
I unfasten the first heel and slide it free. She exhales in relief and leans down to kiss the top of my head in thanks. When I take off the second, she presses her lips to my temple.
I look up at her, amused. “You’re supposed to be letting me help you get ready for bed.”
“I am,” she says. “I’m providing…emotional support.” Her words dissolve into a giggle.
Without warning—because I can—I rise and sweep her into my arms.
“Nathaniel!” she laughs, startled.
“My love,” I say, adjusting my hold, “you can barely walk straight. I’m preventing a concussion.”
She laughs again, nuzzling her face into the crook of my neck as I carry her into the ensuite.
Marble counters gleam beneath soft sconces.
The window is cracked open to the night, the air carrying salt and sea.
I set her on the counter, her legs dangling, and for a moment I can’t help the thought that she looks unbearably precious like this.
I step between her knees and lift her chin with my hand. “Turn for a second, baby.”
She complies and I reach into her hair, removing the pins one by one. Her hair loosens and spills over her shoulders. My fingers thread through her tresses and lightly massage her scalp.
“Feels nice…” She exhales, eyes fluttering shut.
I then reach for her makeup remover and cotton pads. When I roll my sleeves up to reveal my forearms, I catch the shift in her attention immediately. Her gaze flicks down, tracking the line of skin from wrist to vein.
She’s watching me with a soft smile, legs resting around my hips where she sits on the counter, relaxed and warm like she belongs there.
I soak the pad with solution and step closer. She tilts her face up for me without a word, offering herself to my hands as she always does.
I know the exact steps to get her ready for bed because I’ve watched her do it countless times over the years, in their various permutations—half-awake, hair still damp, murmuring reminders to herself about eye cream or swearing she’ll remember the toner tomorrow.
These moments never announced themselves as important when we first lived them.
Little did I know how much they would come to mean, or how something so mundane could feel like proof of a life fully shared.
I lift the cotton pad and begin, slow and careful, sweeping across her cheek.
She holds still for the first few seconds…
Then she leans forward mid-swipe and presses a kiss into the corner of my mouth.
I pause, momentarily disarmed, and she laughs softly.
Before I can recover, she does it again, lips grazing my jaw.
Then my cheekbone. Each kiss lands with a small, pleased giggle that curls low in my chest.
“Be good.” I try for stern but miss by a mile. “If not, we’ll be here all night.”
She groans theatrically and steals another kiss anyway. “Why are you so handsome? It’s very distracting.”
“I’ll try to tone it down.”
“No, don’t.” She says at once. “I like it.” Her fingers trace along my collarbone through the fabric of my shirt before fisting it. “You should amp it up instead.” She tugs. “Take this off please.”
I raise a brow. “I’m trying to clean your face, baby.”
“And forcing me to sit upright when all I want to do is lie down…” She pouts playfully. “It’s an ordeal. At least give me something pretty to look at to make it easier on me.”
I shake my head, surrender already decided.
I set the cotton pad aside and unbutton my shirt, slipping it off and dropping it to the floor. When I straighten, her head tips back and she exhales, pleased.
“God.” She eyes me appreciatively. “You’re so beautiful.”
She never believes me when I say the same to her. She deflects. She smiles and changes the subject. It’s the one habit she hasn’t quite shed yet.
I prepare a fresh cotton pad and step between her knees again, gently wiping across her face.
However, my Olivia is nowhere near still—her hands are roaming my chest as if she’s mapping me by touch, fingertips gliding over planes of muscle and warm skin like she’s memorizing something she already knows by heart.
She has no idea what she does to me when she’s touching me like this.
Like I’m something she can’t get enough of.
God, I love it. I love being wanted by her.
I want to look good for her. I want her to feel proud when I’m standing beside her.
And I love—more than I’ll ever admit—that she can’t keep her hands off me.
She presses a kiss to my sternum. Another to my throat when I lean too close. I laugh helplessly before I can stop myself.
I catch her chin between two fingers, lifting her face away from my chest so I can actually finish what I started. “You’re not upholding your end of the bargain.”
She blinks up at me, eyes wide with faux innocence. “I don’t know what you mean.”
I cup her cheek, my thumb tracing the apple of it. “Stay still and we’ll be done soon, okay? Can you be good for me, baby?”
She melts instantly. She leans into my palm as if the request has settled something inside her. She nods once and lets her hands fall to her sides. She gives herself over so easily when I ask, so sweet in her obedience when she offers it.
With her still at last, I finally finish cleaning her face. Her hands behave, mostly, though her legs brush against my hips now and then like she can’t help herself. I pretend not to notice. I don’t succeed.
When I’m done, I lean it to press my lips against hers. The kiss is slow and drugging, far longer than necessary. I tell myself it’s a reward for her, but I know it’s every bit for me too.
“You did so well for me,” I murmur against her mouth.
She smiles into the kiss.
I slide my hands around her waist and lift her down from the counter. She loops her arms around my neck, stealing another kiss on the way, and I set her on her feet before pressing one to the crown of her head.
“Now,” I say softly, gently spinning her around to face the mirror, “let’s get you out of this dress.”