Epilogue
Reese
May 31st
Dante Hastings Back in Action! After Controversial Suspension, Hastings Is Ready to Dominate the International Fencing Stage Next Season
June 28th
LOVE IN THE AIR: Reese Sinclair Stuns as She Joins Dante Hastings’ Big Comeback at the Summer Nationals
July 15th
Robyn Hood Premiere Turns Heads! Reese Sinclair to Grace the Red Carpet, as Early Reviews Hail the Film as “Revolutionary”
Dante extends his arms as I slide the tailored jacket over his shoulders, my hands lingering. We move in tandem, helping each other dress in the hotel suite we booked near the Robyn Hood premiere.
Our matching suits are going to look so hot when we walk the red carpet together.
It’s been three months since Dante moved his things into my place—boxes of fencing gear and trophies stacked beside designer shoes and scripts. The decision came naturally after his suspension was lifted in May, our schedules suddenly were parallel lines instead of intersecting ones. No more late-night FaceTimes from hotel rooms or weekends spent half-asleep on planes.
We get more time together now. More opportunities to be just us.
Living together means witnessing the small moments—him waking up at 5:00 a.m. for training, the unconscious way he stretches his shoulder when it rains, how he listens to me read through new scripts that have been submitted to Fighter Films for production. I leave notes on the kitchen island for him to read; he leaves apples in my purse. Domesticity that once seemed impossible now feels inevitable.
“Turn,” I command playfully, reaching for his cufflinks. “Let me make you presentable.”
“So demanding,” he murmurs, a smirk playing at his lips as he offers his wrists. My fingers brush against his pulse point as I work with the onyx cufflinks, and his breath catches. “Careful now, or we’ll be late.”
“Now you,” he commands. I spin obediently, and his fingers find the delicate buttons trailing down my corset.
“These buttons are impossible,” he grumbles affectionately, though his touch remains sure and steady.
“Says the man who picked this outfit,” I tease, glancing over my shoulder.
“Because you're exquisite in it.” He slides the matching blazer over my shoulders. “Though you're exquisite in anything.”
“Even in your fencing jacket?”
“God, especially that.” His lips brush my neck. “But tonight, you have a premiere to grace.”
I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Must we?”
I wonder if anyone would actually notice if I didn’t show up to my own film premiere. The thought makes me smile.
But of course I have to go. Early reviews are already calling Robyn Hood timeless, praising my nuanced portrayal and Amara’s masterful direction. Critics are even whispering about award season potential.
The world is about to see just how incredible this film turned out to be.
“Heather, Geraldine, and Ramsey will have my head if I don’t deliver you to this premiere on time.” He laughs softly. “Now let me see those hands. These rings complete the look.”
I turn to face him, watching as he slides each ring onto my fingers with reverent care.
“Beautiful,” I whisper, admiring how the silver bands catch the light.
“You always are.” His eyes meet mine. “I do know how to showcase my girl.”
My heart swells at the possessiveness in his tone.
Dante moves through the world with a quiet understanding of my needs that I find both comforting and unnerving. Sometimes I think about how he knows exactly when to let silence fill the space between us and when to break it. The way he challenges me feels inevitable.
After his suspension concluded, I’ve had the privilege of seeing him in his prime. At his return match, I watched him reclaim his place on the piste. He moved like he’d never left the sport at all. He demolished his opponent’s defenses one by one. When he scored that final point, that defining moment that silenced every critic who’d doubted his return. I had to grip my seat to keep from running onto the piste.
There was something embarrassingly earnest about rearranging my filming schedule to accommodate his next matches, but I did it anyway. We both perform better when we’re together.
Dante faces the mirror, and I can’t take my eyes off of him. From his perfectly styled dark hair to his immaculate shoes, he’s devastating.
We both pretend to hate when people call us a power couple, but maybe we’re just afraid of how accurate it feels.
“Like what you see?” He catches me staring.
“Perhaps,” I demur. “You do clean up rather well, Mr. Hastings.”
“Just well?” His eyebrow arches as he turns to face me.
“You know exactly what you do to me,” I say, heat coloring my cheeks.
I tilt my head up, and he kisses me, his mouth gentle against mine. My pulse flutters beneath my skin. Everything about this feels precious. The soft press of his lips, the way we fit together without effort.
The human body remembers things, mine remembers him from that first kiss and how now each touch feels both familiar and thrillingly new.
“God, Reese, I’m never going to tire of doing that,” he says with a smile.
“Me neither.”
We break apart, and I gather up my essentials before we head out.
Dante sits on the bed, checking his phone, his expression suddenly grave. “Finn’s scan results came in.”
I pause, anxiety creeping in. Finn, Alec’s childhood best friend who’s practically another brother to Dante, has been in Mercy General since a devastating climbing accident two weeks ago. “And?”
“The doctors want to try a more aggressive treatment plan to help him recover.”
“When we get back to LA, why don’t we drive up to Mercy General again?” I offer, remembering how Dante’s eldest brother, Alec, had been a shell of himself during our first visit. “I hate seeing your family hurting like this.”
“I would love that,” he says softly, and I notice the way his voice wavers slightly, though he’s trying to stay strong. “Alec needs all of us right now.”
“I’ll always be here for you,” I promise, reaching for his hand. The simple gesture speaks volumes.
“Things might get messy. Got that Nike campaign in Italy. Exhibition match too.”
“Funny you mention Italy.” I try to hide my smile. “Amara and I were just talking about scouting for the Thelma & Louise piece there.”
“The one with that writer you keep gushing about?” His smile turns playful, lightening the mood.
“Perhaps,” I reply with a coy grin, my heart warming at how well he knows me.
He pulls out his phone, already working through our shared Viggle calendar with those capable hands. “We’ll make it happen.” The certainty in his voice makes me shiver.
“Private jets and stolen moments?”
“Something like that.” He tugs me forward until I’m standing between his legs. When he presses his face against my stomach, I run my fingers through his hair. “Weekend rendezvous in Paris. Midnight walks in Vienna.”
“Sounds exhausting,” I tease. We both know I'm already planning which weekends I can escape.
“Worth every second, though.”
I nod, allowing vulnerability to surface briefly. “Always.”
The phone interrupts—our car is waiting.
The truth of the matter is that this is home now—not just our things together, our suitcases carrying both of our possessions, but this space between us. The careful understanding that we’re a home together.
“I love you,” I say simply.
“I love you,” he replies. “Come on, let’s show the world why Robyn Hood is amazing.”
The screaming fans shake the car windows. I trace our initials on the fogged glass, watching the letters disappear. Premiere night always hollows me out. So many films in, and I still feel this way—simultaneously too big and too small for my skin, like I’m wearing someone else’s life.
“Four,” Dante says quietly, his eyes finding mine. His hand reaches for mine without looking, our fingers finding each other in a way that feels inevitable. We inhale together.
“Seven,” I whisper, holding my breath until my lungs ache, counting silently.
“Eight,” we exhale as one. It’s our private ritual, perfected over the year—something small and ours in this public life where we belong to everyone but ourselves.
He squeezes my fingers once, twice. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
The limo stops. Through tinted windows, camera flashes pulse like lightning across the crimson carpet. My heart beats unreasonably fast.
“One last chance to change your mind,” Dante says suddenly. His eyes meet mine, sincere without ornament. “You mentioned wanting your own moment. You can walk this alone.”
Of course he remembered that comment from months ago. Dante collects everything I say, stores it away like it matters. Like I matter.
“Are you kidding?” I adjust his tie needlessly, wanting to touch him, to feel his tattooed skin beneath expensive fabric. “We’re doing this together.”
His smile breaks across his face, brief but real. “Whatever you want.” The words sound simple, but we both know they contain multitudes.
“What I want,” I say, barely audible, “is you. Always you. Red carpets are optional.”
His golden eyes darken. “Reese—”
Ramsey opens the door before he can finish. We emerge together, a fortress of two. The crowd’s volume swells instantly, hungry for us in our suited glory.
“Reese! This way!”
“Dante! Over here!”
His hand finds the small of my back.
“They’re losing their minds for you,” he murmurs against my neck. “But who could blame them? You’re starlight in human form.”
“Sometimes I still can’t believe this is real,” I whisper back.
“Of course it’s real. You’re the most real thing I know,” he admits, and there’s something unguarded in his smile that makes my chest ache with tenderness.
We reach the reporters. Questions come at me fast.
“Reese, who are you wearing tonight?”
“Reese, what’s your fitness routine?”
“Reese, how do you balance love and work these days?”
Before I can answer, Dante interrupts, his tone conversational but firm. “Maybe ask her about the stunt sequence she performed herself. Or her executive producer credit. Or the film Fighter Films is producing next summer.”
The reporters blink, recalibrating.
I smile sweetly. “What he said. Also, Haider Ackermann, I eat whatever I want, and I don’t ‘balance’ anything—I excel in every aspect of my life.”
Dante’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “She’s being modest,” he tells the reporter. “She excels because she’s extraordinary.”
“Stop,” I say, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. “You’ll ruin my reputation as a hard-ass.”
“Never,” he promises, and that single word carries years within it—fights and reconciliations, late-night script readings and early morning coffees.
We move through interviews. At the step and repeat, Dante suddenly shuffles back.
“All yours, fighter,” he announces, kneeling dramatically. He gestures to the empty space before me. “The world awaits.”
I laugh at his display. The photographers capture his devotion and my surprised delight. “You’re insane,” I whisper, loving him for it.
The crowd cheers as I pose in my suit. His devoted gaze is on me the whole time.
“Insane for you,” he smiles back.
As we enter the theater, his fingers lace through mine. He stops walking suddenly and pulls me into a small alcove just before the entrance.
His forehead rests against mine for one euphoric moment before we rejoin the world, our private universe temporarily closed. But it’s there, always there, a sanctuary we’ve built heartbeat by heartbeat.
“I love you, Reese Sinclair,” he whispers.
“I love you.”
When the lights dim and the film begins, his hand will find mine in the dark. And that will feel better than all the applause in the world.