Epilogue
MABLE
TWO MONTHS LATER
My cheeks are going to hurt by the end of this day. I haven’t laughed this hard or much in my life. Everyone is here, and everyone is happy. And it’s all to celebrate Wells and me.
The palace is running at full capacity, buzzing with energy and love. We’re getting married today. If Wells were here, he’d be saying it’s about time. As if this wasn’t planned in two months.
I don’t know why I didn’t think that would be possible to pull off, but between my own mother and Eleanor, those women could get just about anything done, and I’m thankful.
I’m not as bossy as them, even when I try.
It’s just not my nature. We all have our own strong suits, which is something I’ve come to accept and understand.
It’s these small things that make up who you are that draw you to certain people. A perfect offset.
I see that with Wells and my best friend Truly. Don’t try to be who you’re not, and don’t allow others to turn you into something you’re not.
With everything that happened with Cordelia, I was kind of happy about the way I handled it all in the end. Even though she turned out to be disingenuous. I gave her a chance, I tried; it was her that made the decisions that she did.
The palace suite smells of gardenias and champagne, and sunlight streams through the windows that overlook the gardens where they are actively preparing for the wedding.
I still can’t believe all of this is real. Most times I have to pinch myself to make sure. I sit in a silk robe, my hand resting on the small curve of my stomach, watching Truly try to pin up Eleanor’s hair while my own mother laughs.
When I told my mom about the wedding and baby, she asked to come out. She’s been here since. It’s been nice, and we even got to have a heart-to-heart. I might not be bossy, but I’m more open to telling people when I have an issue, not worried about what they might think or if it will upset them.
“Stop moving,” Truly scolds Eleanor. I’m not the least bit shocked that she would scold a literal queen. Truly is smiling, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “You’re worse than Mable.”
“I’m not doing anything,” I protest, though I’ve been fidgeting all morning. I can’t help it. I’m excited about everything, not nervous in the least.
My hand goes to my stomach. I’m three months along. We haven’t told anyone yet, except for Truly, obviously. We’re saving it for after the ceremony.
Wells is already making plans for the nursery and has ordered books on fatherhood. He couldn’t help himself. I love how much he wants this too.
My breathtaking dress hangs on its stand by the window—Natalie’s masterpiece.
I told her what I wanted, and she brought it to life.
Rose gold thread catches the light, the bodice designed to drape rather than cinch.
She was excited by the challenge. I knew she would create something magnificent, and she truly outdid herself.
“Your man is going to lose his mind when he sees you,” my mother says, dabbing at her eyes. She’s been rather smitten with Wells. “My baby, a queen.”
“Not yet,” I remind her.
“But soon,” Eleanor corrects, checking her watch. “If he—”
A banging on the door has us all turning toward it. It can’t be a crazy person because sanity is thick around here. The door rattles on its frame, and I know who it is before he speaks. I can’t help but smile. I’m actually a little surprised it took him this long.
“Mable!” Caldwell’s voice is muffled but still articulate. “I know you’re in there. Open this door or I’m taking it off the hinges.”
Eleanor’s eyes go wide. Truly presses her hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking. My mother’s laugh is a wheeze she tries to smother. The three of them exchange glances—conspiratorial, delighted—and I watch them dissolve into silent giggles, the kind women share when they know something men don’t.
“She’s not ready!” Eleanor calls out, her voice steady despite the laughter dying in her throat. “Go away!”
“Never.” Another bang. “I haven’t seen her since yesterday. That’s fourteen hours.” He pauses. “Thirty-two minutes and seven seconds. Unacceptable.”
Oh my God, I love that man. I had a feeling this might happen.
Last night was the first night Wells and I didn’t share a bed since we met.
He wasn’t too excited about that, but Truly was here, and we were having a girls’ night.
Her husband wasn’t too excited about it either.
Not like we were going to have a wild party; we’re both pregnant.
“Tradition,” my mother tells him with a smirk.
“Fuck tradition.”
Truly actually snorts and then claps both hands over her face, her whole body shaking with suppressed laughter. If he knows how funny we think this is, he won’t relent. Who am I kidding? He’s not going to either way.
I bite my lip, my own chest tight with it—the joy of being wanted this much and the absurdity of him.
“Two minutes,” Eleanor calls, and the women move as one, gathering champagne flutes, adjusting already-perfect arrangements, and pretending to be annoyed as they file toward the door.
“He’s impossible,” Eleanor mutters, but she is smiling when she kisses my cheek. “Enjoy him.”
The door opens. Caldwell fills the frame, hair mussed, bow tie already undone, and the women squeeze past him with exaggerated sighs and eye rolls he doesn’t notice. He only sees me.
“Finally.” He slams the door behind him, locks it, and crosses the room in three strides. “They think they’re funny. Keeping us apart. As if I could sleep without you.”
“You managed.”
“Barely.” He pulls me up from the chair, his hands finding my waist, my hips, and the small curve he’s been too polite to comment on but can’t stop touching. “You look breathtaking,” he finishes and kisses me before I can respond.
It is always like this with him—the fall, the rush, the forgetting about everything else. His mouth on mine, his hands sliding under my robe, finding skin. Hours apart, and he touches me like I am the only thing that matters.
“Missed you,” he breathes against my neck, walking me backward toward the bed. “Missed this. Missed waking up with you.”
“Wells.” My hands are in his hair, pulling him closer. “The dress. The wedding—” The words die on my lips, needing this too.
“Can wait,” he says as he lays me out on the bed. His hand is gentle despite being across my stomach. “Ten minutes. Give me ten minutes.”
How can I say no to that, when his eyes are pleading and I have the power to give him what he needs... me.
His mouth finds my neck, my fingers undoing the belt and then the buttons to his slacks.
Wells groans against my collarbone, my weak spot. I love the effect I have on this man. “You always smell like home.” He nips my neck. “Like me.”
Wells pushes my robe open, spreading it wide. His eyes track down my body, lingering on the small swell of my stomach, and something fierce and tender crosses his handsome face. “My wife.”
“Not yet,” I breathe out, arching into his touch.
“Are you trying to make me lose control?” He kisses the curve of my hip, my ribs, and the underside of my breast.
I can’t respond, his mouth finding my nipple, his tongue swirling around it. I gasp, my fingers tangling in his hair. He sucks harder in response, like he needs the sound of me being responsive and desperate for him too. I am. Always.
“Wells, please.” I tug at his slacks, freeing his cock, needing him inside of me.
His hand slides between my thighs, finding me wet and ready, and he groans again, his forehead dropping to my shoulder.
“Always ready for me,” he whispers, “even when I’m impossible. Even when I bang down doors.”
“Especially then.” I lift my hips, urging him on. I love how crazy he can be for me. How badly he wants and desires me.
Wells doesn’t make me wait. He positions himself and pushes inside in one smooth stroke. I gasp, the fullness and pleasure almost too much to take.
“Move,” I demand, wrapping my legs around his waist. Okay, I guess I can be a little bossy when I need to.
He does as I command. Slow and controlled at first, but I can feel the tension in his shoulders, the way his hips jerk like he can’t help himself.
“Missed this,” he chants, his voice breaking. “Missed you.”
I come fast, Wells knowing my body. I cling to him, my release triggering his own. He buries his face in my neck, groaning long and low, spilling inside me with a shudder that goes on and on.
We stay there, him still inside me, pressing kisses to my jaw, my eyelids, anywhere he can reach. “Love you,” he whispers. “Love you so much.”
“I know.” I stroke my fingers through his hair. The words are nice to hear but not necessary. His actions prove it every single day in everything he does. “I love you too.”
All that’s left is to make our Royal Vows.