Epilogue
I’m a married woman. Again.
I was divorced for barely sixty days before tying the knot again. This time I know I got it right.
“Doing alright, honey?” Greyson nuzzles into my neck from my perch on his lap.
“Mmhmm. Just thinking.”
“About what?” He sweeps my hair behind my shoulder to kiss my neck and shoulder.
“How different my life is from nine months ago. I’m not the same person, but in the best way.” I lean into his hold.
All my damaged and broken bits have been carefully removed, revealing the woman I always wanted to be.
“If I didn’t have Everly, I’d swear I jumped timelines because this life is a dream.”
“Not a dream. But if it were, I’d never want to wake up.”
“Did today go how you wanted, wife?”
“It was everything I could’ve ever wanted. I mean, look around us. We’re surrounded exclusively by people who love us and showed up in a big way. Our daughters are happy, what more could I want?”
And I mean it. Everly’s wrangled Izzy and Delilah into an intense ballet-Ring Around the Rosie hybrid, cackling amongst the wildflowers.
Harper’s monopolized Reid and Connor, taking turns dancing atop their cowboy boots. They’re going to have wicked back aches tomorrow.
Cecelia continues to churn goodies out from the kitchen; I don’t know where we’re putting it all, but no one can resist her cooking.
“Do you think we should let people change their clothes? They all live here.” No reason for our family to be uncomfortable.
“Naw, I was hoping to whisk you away here soon anyway. They can be in their nicer clothes a bit longer. The girls will have a sleepover at the ranch while we celebrate our nuptials the right way.” His wink shoots straight to my core.
“Okay, I’m ready to leave,” I whisper, to which Greyson chuckles, a devilish grin cutting across his rugged face.
“My wife gets what my wife wants. I’ll go spread the word and meet you back here.”
He gives me a kiss that borders on indecent in public and slaps my ass on his way.
It’s good timing because I need to use the bathroom before we go. Gathering all this billowing fabric is a workout, but at least we’re at the main house instead of being stuck using a small toilet closet.
The house is quiet, and everyone’s celebrating in the gardens and on the patio.
Not everyone. I half turn around a corner and freeze.
James has Olivia pressed into the wall, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, locked at the ankles. That bodycon dress isn’t doing her any favors to protect her modesty, but it’s done them the favor of easy access, because it’s gathered around her waist.
Her fingers have decimated his neatly styled hair from the ceremony and is nothing compared to what hers looks like. The salon-level updo I admired mere hours ago is demolished. Braids hang loose, pinned hair is haphazard—a complete wreck from James’s exploration.
Why am I fixating on their hair? Probably because it’s safer than anything happening south of their foreheads.
James is devouring her. One of his hands holds her jaw, angling her exactly where he wants. She slaps his hand away and tugs his hair back, taking control of the kiss. They part for air and…dear god. Her red lip color is smeared everywhere, and she’s got beard burn on her face, neck, and chest.
I refuse to look lower for any grinding, rubbing, or naked parts I can never unsee.
What’s wrong with me? Why am I still standing here?
My dress must rustle or maybe I gasp, because Olivia’s eyes snap open and lock onto mine.
I shake my head rapidly, trying to convey I didn’t see anything, or that I won’t tell anyone. I’m not even sure which.
With composure beyond her twenty-four years, she calmly taps James on the shoulder and asks to be put down in the same tone you’d ask someone to pass the salt.
He hesitates, but slides her down his body, and she quickly pulls her dress down to cover herself.
She gestures over his shoulder, and he’s already talking as he spins on his heel.
“What’s going on—” His voice cuts off like someone hit the pause button.
“Well,” he says forcing a tight smile, “this isn’t ideal.”
“James,” Olivia snaps, pulling pins from her hair, shaking it loose, and twisting it into a tight bun. If it weren’t for the beard burn, anyone else would have no idea she’d just been ravished by her older brother’s best friend.
Olivia ushers all three of us into the nearest room. Once the door’s locked, we avoid eye contact, waiting for someone to break the silence.
Excuses, apologies, and promises are on the tip of my tongue, but that’s not who I am anymore. So I wait.
James, a literal attorney, snaps into negotiation mode. “I won’t insult your intelligence and gaslight you by saying, ‘it’s not what it looks like,’ because it is.”
Liv’s eyes go wide, boring a hole in the side of his head.
“Yes, Liv and I have…something. Sometimes. We happen to be…on right now.” He tips his head to the side with a shrug.
“No one knows.” Liv’s voice is tight, laced with fear. “Especially not Greyson.”
As if sensing her increasing anxiety, James reaches down and laces his fingers with hers like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
He clears his throat. “So, I’m asking you to keep this between us.”
An incredulous laugh escapes me. “You want me to lie to my husband? I think you know that’s not going to happen.”
“We aren’t ready for anyone to know, because we don’t even know what this is,” she says, pointing between them.
They have no intention of telling him. If I hadn’t walked in on—whatever this is—it might have gone on indefinitely. Greyson deserves to know.
“You need to tell him. Or I will.”