Epilogue
MATT
Six Months Later
September
I take a sip of my whiskey, letting it sit on my tongue for a second before swallowing, then reach for my cuff links. A grin tugs at my lips as I look at the M and J monogrammed into the silver, a wedding gift from Jordan.
“You nervous?” Jensen asks from across the room, slipping his arms into his suit jacket.
I nod toward my glass. “This is my second, so…” I huff a quiet laugh. “Yeah. I’m a little nervous.”
Not about marrying her. I’ve already done that.
But about standing outside a Greek chapel, right in front of her grandfather, getting crowned like some ancient king, trying to remember all the things we’ve practiced over the past few months.
We’re in Spetses, in one of the villas I rented for the bridal party—me, Jensen, Kevin, and Jeff in this one. Jordan, Sabrina, Megan, and Roman and Alley in the other. The rest of the guests are staying at a boutique hotel nearby.
“Shit,” Kevin says. “I’m on my third and I’m not getting married. Don’t know what that says about me, but I’m ready to have a good fucking time.”
“Jesus. Pace yourself, Kevin. We’ve got all night,” Jeff says, adjusting his watch. He’s always been the responsible one.
I glance down at my glass again, debating whether I need a third.
I don’t. I’ll save that for later, when I have to solo-dance in an enclosed circle.
I look over at Jensen, sober as they come. He’ll be celebrating his two-year sobriety this weekend, and I’m really fucking proud of him.
“I don’t know how you do it,” I say. “It’s admirable, brother.”
“Thanks, man.” He chuckles. “Don’t know how admirable it is when you consider what got me here”—he makes a face—“but remembering how drunk Kevin got at his wedding is enough to keep me sober most days.”
We all bust up laughing.
“Holy fuck. I thought Megan was going to divorce me before we even left the reception,” Kevin quips.
“Yeah, we were all pretty fucked up that night,” I say, glancing at him. “Even Jeff.”
Jeff grips the back of his neck, sucking in a breath. “Yeah. I distinctly remember sleeping on the couch.”
Jensen winces. “Well, I went home with one of the bridesmaids who was Megan’s friend from college. Thank God they aren’t friends anymore.”
Kevin laughs. “Oh, yeah… Jamie Hansen. Good for you. She was hot.”
“I slept with one of the bridesmaids, too,” I say with a grin, remembering how damn good Jordan looked that night. We hadn’t gone together. But we definitely left together.
“And look at you now.” Jensen claps a hand on my back. “Only took you guys thirty years, but, hey—better late than never.”
Heat spreads through my chest, letting that sink in. Christ, I can’t wait to see her. She thought it would be more exciting if we went a few days without each other, to build the anticipation.
It’s built. I’m ready to be with her.
The bridal party, Roman included, flew on my plane and arrived three days ago. I bought the rest of our families first-class seats. Cole came with Jensen’s parents. I thought about bringing him with us, but didn’t think it would be the best environment for a thirteen-year-old boy. Jordan agreed.
And Jordan was right.
“Jesus. Are you about to cry? We’re not even at the wedding,” Kevin says.
I shoot him a glare. “Fuck off.”
“It’s okay if you cry, man. Jensen cried at his wedding.”
Jensen scoffs. “You’re such a dick, Kev. I didn’t cry—I got choked up.”
“Same thing.”
Jeff laughs. “You’re acting like you’ve never teared up at anything.”
“I haven’t.”
“Bullshit,” I say. “Even I got choked up at Jensen’s wedding.”
“He’s soulless,” Jensen mutters. “No wonder he and Meg are so perfect for each other.”
“Careful,” Kevin says. “That’s my wife.”
Jensen just grins.
A beat of silence passes.
“I cried when the kids were born,” Kevin admits. “Does that count?”
“Sure,” Jensen says dryly. “And it almost makes up for you being a dick.”
I glance at my watch. “We’ve got to leave in ten minutes.”
I take a deep breath and step in front of the full-length mirror, assessing myself. Sand-colored suit. White button-down shirt, no tie, collar loose. Silver cuff links. Watch. My grandfather’s necklace. Brown loafers. A good tan.
And I’m having a great fucking hair day.
I clap my hands once. “Let’s fucking do this.”
Jesus.
When Jordan said she wanted to get married in Greece, I honestly didn’t care either way. It was never about the wedding for me. It was always about Jordan.
But holy fuck.
This is incredible.
The chapel sits up on a stone ledge—not a cliff, smaller than that, but higher than the sand below. The ocean stretches out in front of us, beach for miles in both directions, and the sun’s almost at that sweet spot where the colors all start to blend together.
I’m standing near the entrance of the chapel with the priest and ceremonial table just behind me, Jordan’s bouquet in my hands.
Jensen’s standing beside me. He’s our Koumbaro and my best man.
He’s not Orthodox, but he was baptized Catholic like me.
Father Dimitri hesitated at first, but said it was fine.
Jensen being the Koumbaro was the only thing I asked for. The rest was all Jordan.
A string quartet sits off to the side, filling the air with soft music, the sound of waves crashing in the distance.
I see Alley first as she climbs the last few steps, her arm linked with Cole’s.
What a stud. He’s in a gray suit, his short wavy hair neatly styled. Cece gave him a pair of his dad’s old cufflinks, and he was proud as hell to wear them. He keeps his eyes forward, avoiding everyone’s gaze. He hates attention.
Alley smiles at me and Jensen, and I’m already grinning, nerves rising, flickering through my chest.
The rest of the bridal party follows: Kevin and Megan, Sabrina and Jeff. They walk the stone aisle and take their seats in the front row.
The song ends, and a new one begins, one Jordan spent hours choosing. My pulse picks up, anticipation buzzing as Jordan ascends the stone steps with her pappoús. The second she comes into view my vision blurs, and I swallow hard.
She looks so fucking beautiful.
A lump forms in my throat, and my grin spreads wide as she walks toward me with a smile worth every goddamn day it took to get here.
Everything else fades. All I see is her. Jordan. My best friend. My wife. My fucking soulmate.
Christ. I’m so in love with this woman it scares the hell out of me.
She finally reaches me. Her pappoús hands her off, and it takes everything in me to not pull her in and kiss her.
Instead, I take her hand in mine and whisper, “You look so beautiful, babe.”
She laughs softly, her eyes turning misty. “Thank you,” she whispers back.
We turn toward Father Dimitri and the ceremonial table, still holding hands, incense spiraling off into the ocean air.
The prayers begin, candles burning between us, Father Dimitri chanting in a rhythmic, sing-song tone. Jensen steps forward when he’s supposed to, serious as hell as he switches the rings between our hands.
Then he holds out the Stefana, the flower crowns I’ve been told repeatedly aren’t flowers.
The priest lifts them carefully and sets them on our heads, the ribbon connecting us.
I glance at Jordan and a rush of emotion hits me, stinging the back of my throat.
She’s smiling, eyes shining, and one look tells me everything: she’s overwhelmed, she’s happy, and this is everything she ever wanted.
And she loves me.
We drink sweet wine from the same cup, three times. Then we walk—around the altar, around each other, around something bigger than both of us.
It’s long. Traditional. Probably confusing as hell for half the guests.
I’m not Greek. I’m not religious, and I never really pictured a wedding for myself.
If I had, it would have been a short ceremony on the beach.
Barefoot in the sand. Simple vows with the woman I love.
But this, doing something so rooted in who Jordan is—damn, it hits in a way I never expected.
It’s over before I can even process it. The chanting begins to fade. The crowns are lifted. Father Dimitri smiles.
We’re married. Again.
And I’d do it a hundred times over.
We laughed. She cried. I tried not to.
I didn’t screw anything up.
We head back down the stone aisle toward the sun setting over the ocean. Guests toss rice as we pass, laughter and applause rising around us.
When we’re only a few steps from the end, I pull Jordan into my arms and crash my mouth to hers.
Her lips melt against mine, her arms sliding around my neck as cheers erupt around us. I dip her low and dramatic. She laughs, and the sound drowns out all the other noise.
We’ve been married a year, but this feels different. Grounded. Real. Permanent.
I slowly bring her back up, our gazes locked. “I love you, babe.”
“I love you, too.”
I clasp her hand in mine and lift them both into the air with a loud whoop.
There are three things I’m absolutely certain about right now: I love Jordan, Greek weddings kick ass, and I am most definitely drunk.
Not too drunk, but enough that the circle of people around me while I make a fool of myself dancing feels like a great idea.
Dinner soaked up cocktail hour, and a couple shots before the dancing started seemed necessary.
Jordan’s tipsy too, and I love seeing her like this—laughing, hair coming loose, completely unconcerned with who’s watching as she claps along to the music and tries to pull her grandfather into the circle.
Jordan pushes Jensen in next, and he drags Kevin in with him. A second later Jeff’s in there too, and somehow Cole ends up between us, doing some trendy move while everyone cheers him on.
Another song starts. Another circle forms. More clapping, more shouting, and at some point I lose my jacket. Jordan lost her shoes two hours ago.
String lights glow above us, and for a second I just stand there in the middle of it, watching her laugh, feeling like the luckiest fucking man alive.
I step out of the circle to catch my breath, my eyes fixed on my wife and her gorgeous smile.
Tonight’s been incredible. Loud. Fun. Unforgettable. Better than I could have imagined.
And it’s not even the best part.
It’s knowing this won’t end. That we get to keep doing life together.
Friday night dates. Game nights at the house. Jordan curled into my side during football while Cole and I eat too many buffalo wings and I pretend he doesn’t have sauce all over his face.
That’s what I’m looking forward to most.
Yiayiá’s gaze catches mine from across the dance floor. She smiles and nods once.
I nod back.
Another song starts, this one slower. The circle disperses, and Jordan breaks for me.
“Hey,” she says, breathless, her arms falling around my shoulders.
My hands automatically slide to her waist, pulling her in for a kiss.
“Hey, babe.”
We start swaying to the music, slow, my gaze on hers, unable to look away.
“I don’t want tonight to end,” she says softly.
“Me neither,” I murmur. “You did good, babe.”
She looks around, like it’s the first time she’s noticing everything. I wouldn’t be surprised if it is. Tonight’s been a whirlwind.
“I did do good,” she admits.
Her hand slides down to the bare skin of my chest, where I’ve loosened a button or two since the dancing began. “Thanks to you.” She grins, pausing before adding, “Did I tell you the guy I married is filthy rich?”
I chuckle. I’ve always loved her stupid jokes.
I lift a brow. “Really?”
She nods. “Yeah. But it’s not just that.” Her fingers toy with my collar. “He’s kind. He shows up. He listens… even when I’m tipsy and not making sense.” A smile spreads wide. “He makes me feel safe.”
Something warm spreads through my chest as I watch her. After everything we’ve put each other through, she still looks at me like I’m her favorite person. And that’s a good fucking thing—because she’s mine.
“Oh,” she says, leaning in to whisper, “and he’s great in bed.”
I laugh, my lips kissing hers before I can even think about it.
When I pull back, I take her hand, weaving our fingers together, and nod toward the stone wall overlooking the water.
She follows without question, letting me steal a few minutes alone with her.
“Did you see Cole dancing with my friend’s daughter?” I ask, spotting him on the dance floor.
Her eyes go wide as she follows my gaze. “I did. I was surprised he took the initiative.”
“I think she asked him,” I say. “He’s way too shy to ask.”
“I don’t know why. He’s such a good-looking kid.”
“I know.” I look back at her. “Can you believe that was us at his age?”
“Yeah… except we were doing a lot more than dancing.”
“Second base,” I say with a smirk.
“Oh, God.” She winces. “That makes me sick when I think about how young Cole is.”
I shrug. “We turned out fine.”
It’s the truth. I haven’t always been able to say that. But we did.
She laughs. “What did you guys end up doing yesterday?”
I grin. “Had brunch. Drank. Got tattoos.”
Her jaw drops. “What? All of you? Even Jeff?”
“Yep. Even Jeff.”
“What did you all get? I want to see.”
“Jensen got Roman’s birthday. Jeff and Kevin got a Greek word that means father. And I got this,” I say, turning toward her. I tug my shirt up just enough for her to see the script along the muscle that cuts across my hip.
She runs her finger beneath the word.
“Kairos,” she says. Her brows scrunch. “I know that’s a Greek word. It’s familiar… something to do with time?”
“Sort of,” I say quietly. “It’s hard to explain, but it means the right moment. When something finally becomes what it’s supposed to be.” My eyes lift to hers. “Kind of like with you and me. How we spent twenty years getting it wrong. But really, the timing just wasn’t right.”
Her hand slides up to my chest, her eyes wet and full.
“Dammit. Don’t you dare make me cry right now,” she says, laughing softly. Then she sobers, her gaze steady on mine. “I love it,” she whispers. “And I love you.”
I bring my hand to hers, covering it with mine. Emotion rises fast, tightening my throat, threatening.
But I’m too damn happy to cry.
“I love you, too.”
Maybe it was inevitable that we’d end up here. Not because we were lucky, but because we finally learned how to choose each other.
Jordan calls it fate.
Maybe she’s right.
The kid on the swing set didn’t have a clue what love was.
I do now.
And it’s her. It’s always been her.
“Babe.”