Epilogue #2
When her eyes find mine, the entire world collapses down into that one line of sight.
She smiles, and I feel my heart suddenly start racing.
Behind her, I see her parents. Jessica and Anthony Easton.
They begin the walk together, each holding one of her arms. She’s always somehow looked like both of them.
Her mother has the same heart-shaped face, but with gentle green eyes.
Her father has eyes so achingly familiar.
Emma’s eyes. Both of them have lighter brown hair, now contrasting with Emma’s dark brown.
She still hasn’t bothered to dye it back since Adela changed it.
Together, they guide her forward down the aisle.
Micah gives me a small, grounding touch on my shoulder, then quietly begins to drift back toward the guests, leaving me standing alone as everyone settles into place in the wooden chairs just off to the side on the dock.
Each step Emma takes down the dock feels like every dream I once had about our future when we were younger. By the time she reaches me, my pulse is still racing. I refrain from pressing my hand against my chest.
“Hi,” she whispers, looking up at me with those beautiful, honey-brown eyes.
“Hi,” I manage, softer than I intend.
For a moment, neither of us moves. Then Emma reaches for my hand, and the second her fingers close around mine, I feel every bit of angst settle. She’s always been the calmest thing in my life.
The officiant speaks somewhere nearby, but the words blur for me.
Emma exhales, a small, shaky breath that she tries to hide and fails beautifully at, and I realize I am doing the exact same thing.
And when it’s my turn to speak, I don’t aim for perfect. I don’t even come close. Because I’m standing in front of the woman I’ve loved since I was seventeen.
“Emma,” I start quietly, my voice rough in a way that surprises even me. “I’ve loved you…and only you…for the past ten years.”
Her fingers tighten around mine.
“Through every version of myself that didn’t deserve you,” I continue, slower now, “through every bad day, every moment I thought I wouldn’t make it to the next morning…your memory was there. Keeping me here.”
Emma’s eyes shine. She looks down, like she’s trying to steady herself, but she doesn’t let go.
“Everyone here knows our story,” I say, and my breath catches slightly on the next words.
“How long we were apart. How badly things broke before they ever healed.” A faint exhale slips through me.
“But what they might not fully understand is that even when we were separated…we were never actually separate. Not really. Somehow, we were always…finding our way back. I vow to be the man that I always should have been for you. I love you endlessly, Em.”
Her smile trembles through tears now. And then it’s her turn.
“Jude,” she says, and her voice already sounds like it’s trembling. “I never got over you. Heather can absolutely confirm that,” she adds, flicking a watery smile toward her best friend, who makes a dramatic face through her tears.
A soft laugh breaks through Emma’s emotion before she continues.
“No one ever compared to you. Not your kindness. Not your gentleness. You’ve always loved me in a way that feels…
” she pauses, breath catching. “Like it was never going to change. Like, even when we’re old and gray, we’d still find each other the same way we did when we were teenagers.
Completely, hopelessly, and wildly in love. ”
My throat tightens so hard it hurts.
She swallows, shaking slightly. “Looking at you now, I know you’re my soulmate. Through time, and pain, and everything we survived…our love always found a way back to the light. I love you. I will love you for the rest of my life. Until my very last breath.”
A beat of silence.
And then I say it before I can overthink it. “And even after that.”
It lands between us like a promise neither of us needs explained.
Emma breaks into a teary smile, breath shaking as she laughs softly, and the world around us suddenly feels too distant to matter.
When we finally say yes, it doesn’t feel like an ending. It feels like the most incredible and beautiful beginning as I cup her face in my hands and kiss her with everything I have. This woman owns my heart and soul. Her cheeks are wet, and my thumb lightly caresses her jaw as I’ve always done.
***
Our oceanfront home sits just ahead on our left.
A few months ago, we sold Emma’s cottage, and I bought this three-bedroom, two-bathroom house.
When we walked through it, her face was bright the entire time.
So with a quick stroke of a pen, it was ours.
It didn’t even put a dent in the money I’ve accrued over the years.
But even with endless money, Emma is still working at the studio because her instinct to help people has never waned.
Emma is still laughing as she kicks off her heels near the heavy wooden door, and I realize somewhere between the sound of her voice and the way Nova barrels past us into the living room that I’ve stopped expecting anything to fall apart.
I no longer wake up thinking that some cruel man will tighten his leash around my throat. I feel…free.
Nova claims the couch, stretching out with a dramatic sigh that makes Emma laugh harder.
I watch her for a second too long, as usual.
And as she makes her way toward our bedroom, I look up at the painting she finished after we moved in.
Before, it was only a dock with a guitar resting on it beneath a moon.
I remember my heart breaking when I realized that she’d somehow painted my absence.
Now it’s complete. Because Emma painted herself into it, with her head on my shoulder, and Nova on her other side.
All of us at the end of that same dock, under that same moon.
My throat tightens in a way I don’t try to hide.
Emma follows my gaze and doesn’t say anything at first, just steps closer until her arms wrap around my neck. “Hey,” she says suddenly.
I look at her.
“I’m…I’m Emma Graves, now.”
Hearing her say our names together like that makes my heart do a little flip. “Yeah, you are.” I kiss her sweetly before leading her up the stairs.
I flick on the golden lamp as we step into our bedroom. I watch Emma open the French balcony doors, letting in cool summer air. For a moment, I just stare at her. My strong and beautiful girl.
My phone clatters onto the nightstand and connects to the Bluetooth speakers. Then “Outro” by M83 swells through the bedroom.
She stands there, looking out at the vast, dark ocean. My wife.
Just the word makes me want to drop to my knees before her. She turns toward me with that cute, excited look she gets for me, and I’m already moving. The distance between us closes in three strides because there is nothing in me tonight that wants distance.
My hand finds the curve of her jaw, and I kiss her like I’m relearning her mouth for the first time. It’s slow and careful, pulling a tiny whimper from her throat. Her hands rise to my shoulders, then flatten against my chest, fingers spreading over the fabric of my shirt.
I could kiss her forever, but I break away and spin her around gently.
My fingers find the first knot at the back of her dress.
I undo it, letting the silk slip loose. Another knot.
Another. She exhales when my knuckle grazes her spine, a sound so soft it barely registers, but I feel it travel through my hand and settle deep in my fucking heart.
The final binding gives, and the dress slides down her hips, pooling at her feet. I press my lips to the slope of her shoulder, and for a moment, her entire body relaxes in my grasp.
I turn her back toward me and kiss her again, deeper this time, one hand sliding into her hair while the other spans the small of her back.
She moans into my mouth, and suddenly I’m walking her backward until her calves meet the bedframe.
I lower her onto the mattress, her dark hair fanning across the forest green duvet, and I have to stop for a moment.
Just look at her. Matching white lace bra and panties, chest rising and falling, eyes fixed right on me.
As much as I love seeing her in this, I love seeing her naked even more.
My jacket hits the floor. Then my tie. The buttons of my shirt resist for a second before I work them free, and I don’t miss the way her gaze drops to the ink on my arms, then back to my eyes.
I lean over her, hands planted on either side of her ribs, and drag my mouth along the column of her throat.
She arches up, the lace of her bra brushing my chest, and while I taste the salt and warmth of her skin, one hand works my belt free.
Pants. Boxers. I kick them aside without lifting my head from her neck.
Her bra unclips with a pinch of my thumb and forefinger. I tug the straps down her arms, and then the panties—lace catching on her hips before sliding down her thighs, her knees, her calves. She’s bare beneath me now, and the sight of her makes my jaw clench.
“Come here,” I murmur, and I turn her.
She rolls onto her stomach without resistance or hesitation.
Ugh, I love that. She trusts me to do what I want with her.
I kiss the back of her neck as I guide her hips up, positioning her at the edge of the bed.
My teeth graze the curve of her shoulder with just enough pressure to make her gasp.
Then my fingers find her, and I sink two inside from behind.
She whimpers. That adorable, breathy little sound that makes me grit my teeth because of how perfect she feels. Tight. Wet. Mine. I pump into her slowly, opening her up, while my mouth traces a path across her shoulders, the nape of her neck, the delicate ridge of her spine.