Epilogue #2
As we walk toward the car, my new ring catching streetlights and my husband's hand warm and possessive on my lower back, I can't help but think about how different this feels from our first official date a year ago.
Then, we were two people trying to figure out if what happened in Vegas was real or just incredibly good sex and questionable decision-making.
Now I know exactly what it was—the best fucking mistake of my life.
Three months later, I'm standing in a bridal suite at the Four Seasons, staring at myself in a real wedding dress, and wondering how the hell we got from plastic Elvis sunglasses to this moment where I look like something out of a fairy tale.
"Stop fidgeting," Emma orders, making final adjustments to my veil. "You look absolutely stunning, and my brother is going to lose his shit when he sees you."
"Language," Mama Kingston chides from her chair by the window, but she's beaming. "Though Emma's right. You look like a princess, sweetheart."
"A very sexy princess," my mother adds, dabbing at her eyes with tissues. "I still can't believe my baby girl is marrying a hockey player who reads philosophy books."
"The best kind of hockey player," Emma grins. "The kind who cried when he called your mom to ask for her blessing to marry you properly."
"He did not cry," I protest, but I'm smiling.
"He absolutely did. Spent twenty minutes telling her how much he loves you and asking for her permission. She cried for twenty minutes after that conversation."
The wedding we're about to have is everything the Vegas ceremony wasn't—elegant, intentional, surrounded by everyone we love.
The venue is gorgeous without being ostentatious, the guest list includes teammates and coaches alongside professors and family friends, and the ring bearer's pillow alone cost more than our entire Vegas wedding.
But honestly? I kind of miss those plastic Elvis sunglasses.
"Time to go, ladies," the wedding coordinator announces, poking her head into the suite. "The groom is pacing like a caged tiger, and I think he might spontaneously combust if we keep him waiting much longer."
"That's my boy," Mama Kingston laughs. "Always did have trouble with patience when he wanted something badly enough."
The walk down the aisle is a blur of faces and music and the kind of overwhelming emotion that makes you understand why people spend thousands of dollars on weddings.
Jamie and Cole are standing up with Dax, both grinning like idiots, while Martinez looks on like a proud father.
The entire team is here, dressed in suits that probably cost more than most people's cars, and I can see several of them wiping away tears.
But all of that fades when I see Dax. He's standing at the altar in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, his hair styled but still slightly mussed like he's been running his hands through it, and when our eyes meet, his face transforms into that smile that makes my knees weak and my heart race.
"Holy shit," he mouths, and I bite back a laugh.
"Language," I mouth back, earning a grin that could power the city.
The ceremony itself is beautiful but quick—we're both too eager to get to the part where we're officially, properly, ridiculously married. When the officiant asks for our vows, Dax goes first.
"Tessa," he begins, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes, "a year ago I thought I had to choose between loving you and being successful. You taught me that was the stupidest fucking thing I'd ever thought."
"Language," several voices call out from the crowd, causing everyone to laugh.
"You taught me that love doesn't make you weak—it makes you brave enough to fight for what matters. You make me better at everything, from hockey to being human, and I choose you every day not because I have to, but because loving you is the easiest decision I've ever made."
By the time he finishes, I'm crying and trying not to ruin my makeup.
"Dax," I manage, my voice slightly shaky, "you taught me that vulnerability isn't weakness—it's the courage to trust someone with your whole heart.
You showed me that standing up for love is worth any professional risk, and that the best partnerships are built on mutual respect, shared dreams, and really incredible sex. "
"Dr. Bennett!" Emma gasps in mock horror while everyone else dissolves into laughter.
"What? It's important! Physical compatibility is a key component of relationship success. It's psychology!"
The kiss when the officiant pronounces us married is everything—passionate, celebratory, and witnessed by three hundred people who've watched us fight for the right to be together.
When we finally break apart, the crowd is on their feet cheering, and Dax spins me around like we just won another championship.
"Mrs. Kingston," he whispers against my ear as he sets me down.
"Dr. Bennett-Kingston," I correct, but I'm grinning.
"My brilliant, stubborn, absolutely perfect wife."
The reception flows seamlessly from ceremony to celebration, and it's exactly what we wanted—a party that feels more like a family reunion than a formal event.
Jamie's best man speech includes at least fourteen inappropriate stories about Dax's bachelor habits, while Cole's toast focuses on how obviously in love we've been since day one.
"Seriously," Cole says, raising his champagne glass, "these two thought they were being subtle, but watching them try not to stare at each other during team meetings was like watching a really sexy nature documentary."
"The sexual tension was so thick you could cut it with a skate blade," Jamie adds. "We all had bets on how long it would take them to crack."
"How long?" I call out, curious despite myself.
"Torres said three weeks. I said one. Chen said they were already sleeping together and just hiding it really badly."
"Chen was right," Dax admits, pulling me closer. "We were terrible at hiding it."
"The worst," I agree. "Remember when you started timing your showers with my practice observations?"
"Or when you began wearing that perfume that made me want to follow you around like a lovesick puppy?"
"I still wear that perfume."
"I know. It's why I can barely concentrate during board meetings."
The dancing is even better—Dax spinning me around the floor while our entire community celebrates around us.
When they play our song—the same jazz standard that was playing in the elevator the night we first kissed as married people—he pulls me close and whispers all the filthy things he plans to do to me later.
"Mrs. Kingston," he murmurs against my neck, "I hope you're prepared for a very thorough wedding night celebration."
"How thorough are we talking, Captain Kingston?""The kind that requires a 'Do Not Disturb' sign and possibly room service breakfast tomorrow."
"Promise?"
"Cross my heart and hope to score."
Later that night, in our hotel suite overlooking the lake, we're finally alone. Dax carries me over the threshold like something out of an old movie, then sets me down gently and just stares.
"What?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious in my elaborate dress and perfectly styled hair.
"I'm just thinking about how far we've come from that disaster in Vegas," he says, reaching out to trace the line of my jaw. "From drunk strangers to... this."
"Legally married strangers," I correct. "Very important distinction."
"The most important distinction." He starts working on the buttons at the back of my dress, his fingers sure and gentle. "Though I have to say, I prefer this version of our wedding night."
"Why's that?"
"Because this time, I'm going to remember every second of making love to my wife."
The dress pools at my feet, revealing the white lace lingerie I chose specifically for this moment. Dax's breath catches audibly.
"Fuck, Tessa. You're so beautiful it hurts to look at you."
"Then don't just look," I whisper, reaching for his tie. "Touch me. Make love to me. Show me what forever feels like."
What follows is everything our Vegas wedding night wasn't—slow, intentional, full of whispered promises and the kind of connection that comes from truly knowing someone. When he finally moves inside me, we're both crying from the overwhelming emotion of it all.
"I love you," he breathes against my lips as we move together. "I love you, I love you, I love you."
"Forever," I gasp, my body arching against his. "No matter what comes next."
"What comes next is the rest of our lives," he promises, and when we climax together, it feels like sealing a vow that goes deeper than any ceremony.
Six months after the wedding, we're sitting in our home office—the one we designed together with two desks so we can work side by side—planning our next speaking engagement when Dax looks up from his laptop with a grin.
"What?" I ask, recognizing that expression.
"Harrison's book just got the worst review in publishing history. The Times critic called it 'a bitter fantasy written by a man who doesn't understand that competence and integrity matter more than gender politics.'"
"Ouch. Almost feel sorry for him. Almost."
"Best part? Our book just hit fifteen weeks on the bestseller list, and three more sports organizations just adopted our workplace relationship guidelines."
"We're changing the world, one policy manual at a time."
"Speaking of changing things," Dax sets down his laptop and turns to face me fully. "I've been thinking about our timeline for kids."
"Oh really? And what conclusions has your philosophical brain reached?"
"That I want to start trying soon. Like, really soon. Like, maybe we should start practicing right now."
"Dax Kingston, we've been practicing for over a year. I think we've got the technique down."
"Practice makes perfect, Dr. Bennett. Besides, I have it on good authority that pregnant women are incredibly sexy."
"Is that so?"
"Absolutely. Something about that glow, the way their bodies change to create life... very arousing from a biological standpoint."
"You're such a nerd."
"Your nerd. Forever and always."
Later that night, as we're falling asleep in our king-size bed—the one that's big enough for both of us and all our championship dreams—I look at the nightstand where our Vegas wedding photo sits next to Dax's Stanley Cup ring and my Director of the Year award.
"What are you thinking about?" he asks, his arm tightening around me.
"Just... all of this. A year ago, our biggest problem was keeping a secret. Now our biggest problem is choosing which opportunities to accept."
"Good problems to have."
"The best problems. As long as we solve them together."
"Always together," he agrees, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "Besides, I like our track record. Drunk Vegas marriage turned into the love story of the century. I'd say we're pretty good at turning disasters into dreams."
As I drift off to sleep, wrapped in the arms of the man who chose me over everything else, I can't help but smile.
Sometimes the best decisions feel impossible at the time.
Sometimes the worst wedding photos become the foundation of the most beautiful love story.
And sometimes, if you're very lucky, you get to marry your book boyfriend twice.
Thanks for reading Pucking My Grumpy Accidental Husband
If you want more steamy chaos in the Pucking Pros world, don’t miss Pucking My Grumpy Roommate !
Meet Austin Callahan. A broody defenseman with a filthy mouth and a soft heart he’d rather die than admit to. One wrong-number sext changes everything… and suddenly he’s living with the woman who knows all his dirtiest secrets.
This spicy hockey romance has:
Wrong number sexting
Forced proximity roommates
A chaotic scientist heroine
A growly defenseman who falls hard
Off-the-charts chemistry
And a love story that will leave you breathless
Click here to meet your new favorite grump ?
I accidentally sexted a stranger.
Now he’s my grumpy, hockey god roommate.
The texts were supposed to be anonymous.
Fun. Filthy. Harmless.
Then I found out the stranger on the other end was Austin Callahan.
Hockey royalty. World-class brooder. And thanks to a housing disaster, the guy I’m living with.
Austin’s a control freak with a six-pack. I’m a chaotic, caffeine-fueled scientist.
But those messages? They weren’t just hot—they were real .
They cracked something open in me I didn’t even realize was locked.
When his eyes find mine, it’s not just lust that wrecks me—it’s how safe I feel with him.
What started as a temporary arrangement has turned into quiet moments, late-night laughter, and the kind of connection I thought only existed in theory.
I’ve fallen for him .
But a trade deal could send Austin across the country—derailing everything we’ve built.
And if he walks away now, I’ll be left wondering…was it ever really real?
Grab Pucking My Grumpy Roommate now and fall hard ?