Epilogue
FLYNN
The grand hall of Bennett Estate Winery is alive with the hum of conversation, the clink of crystal, the soft murmur of approval as guests swirl their glasses and savor the first public taste of Evelyn's Reserve. But none of it compares to the sight of Faye in the center of it all.
She's radiant.
Her jet-black hair is swept up in a loose knot, a few rebellious strands framing her face.
The emerald-green dress she wears clings to her curves, the fabric shimmering under the chandeliers like the surface of the vineyard lake at dawn.
Her cerulean eyes sparkle as she laughs, tilting her head back just enough to expose the delicate line of her throat.
She's holding a glass of the wine, but she won't take a sip. She's just talking, gesturing with her free hand, her cheeks flushed with excitement.
I lean against the far wall, my arms crossed, my gaze locked on her. The room is full of industry giants, critics, buyers who could make or break a label with a single review. But none of them matter. Not really.
Faye does.
She turns, her eyes scanning the crowd until they land on me. A slow, private smile curves her lips, one that makes my chest feel like it will burst. She excuses herself from the group she's with, weaving through the guests with effortless grace.
"Enjoying the view?" she teases when she reaches me, her voice low.
I don't answer. Instead, I reach out, my fingers brushing the small swell of her belly beneath the fabric of her dress.
She's nine months pregnant now, our daughter growing stronger every day.
The thought sends a possessive heat through me, a primal satisfaction that she's mine and that she's carrying my child.
Faye's breath hitches at the touch, her lashes fluttering. "Flynn," she whispers, a warning in her tone.
I lean down, my lips grazing the shell of her ear. "You're glowing."
She shivers, her fingers tightening around her glass. "It's the pregnancy."
"No," I murmur. "It's you."
A blush darkens her cheeks, and she glances around, ensuring no one's watching.
But the crowd is too busy celebrating, too busy tasting the wine, the success, the future.
They don't see the way her pulse flutters in her throat.
They don't hear the way her breath catches when I press my palm against the small of her back, guiding her just a little closer.
"You did it," I say, my voice rough. "This is everything you wanted."
Faye looks up at me, her eyes shining. "Not everything," she admits softly.
I know what she means.
The winery. The wine. The legacy.
None of it compares to us. To our future.
"Never thought I'd see the day Flynn Donovan settled down," one of the investors says as he suddenly approaches. He chuckles, his breath reeking of the very wine we're celebrating. "Everything is perfect."
Faye laughs, the sound bright and warm, but I feel the way her grip tightens just a fraction. I glance down at her, my thumb brushing over her knuckles. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted as she catches her breath.
"Thank you," she says, her voice steady. "It's a?—"
She winces. I lean in, my voice low. "You alright?"
She nods, but her smile is strained. "Just tired. And hot."
I don't believe her.
The crowd shifts, another group of well-wishers stepping forward, their voices overlapping in praise. Faye's free hand drifts to her belly, her fingers pressing lightly against the fabric of her dress. A flicker of discomfort crosses her face, there and gone before I can be sure.
Then she gasps.
Not a loud sound. Not even a sound most would notice. But I do.
Her breath hitches, her body stiffening, and her grip on my arm turns almost painful. I follow her gaze downward, and my stomach drops.
A dark stain spreads across the front of her dress, glistening in the moonlight.
Her water just broke.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. The world narrows to the sight of that damp patch, the way her fingers tremble against her belly, the way her breath comes faster now.
Then she laughs.
It's a breathless, disbelieving sound, her eyes wide as she looks up at me. "Oh my God. Flynn. It's happening."
The guests around us don't notice at first. They're still talking, still laughing, still raising their glasses. But I see the way Faye's knees wobble, the way she sways just slightly, and I'm moving before I even realize it.
My arm wraps around her waist, steadying her. "We're leaving," I say, my voice leaving no room for argument.
Faye blinks up at me, her lips parting like she's about to protest, but then another wave of discomfort ripples through her. She bites her lip, her fingers digging into my arm. "Okay," she breathes. "Okay, yeah."
I don't wait. I don't explain.
I scoop her into my arms, her body light against mine despite the swell of her belly. She lets out a startled squeak, her arms flying around my neck as I turn toward the house.
"Flynn!" she hisses, her voice a mix of embarrassment and urgency. "Put me down! People are watching!"
I don't slow. "Let them."
Her fingers clutch at my shirt, her breath warm against my neck. "I can walk."
"Not fast enough."
She huffs, but she doesn't argue. Not really. Not when another contraction tightens her body, her breath catching in her throat. I feel the way she tenses against me, the way her nails bite into my skin, and my grip on her tightens.
The house looms ahead, the warm glow of the windows a beacon. I take the steps two at a time, my boots thudding against the wood. Faye buries her face against my shoulder, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
"I'll drive quickly," I murmur, my voice rough.
She nods, her fingers twisting in my shirt. "Just be careful."
"Of course."
The hospital room is too bright. Too sterile. The kind of place that should feel cold, but doesn't. Not with Faye curled against my side, her breath slow and even, her fingers still tangled with mine even in sleep. And not with her.
Our daughter.
She's tiny. So small I could cradle her in one hand if I dared.
But I don't. I keep her close, my arms a fortress around her fragile warmth.
Her fingers curl around my thumb, her skin so soft it's like touching silk.
A dark fuzz of hair covers her head, the same jet black as Faye's, and when she stirs, her lips purse into a perfect little bow.
Faye shifts beside me, her lashes fluttering open. For a moment, she just blinks at the ceiling, her brow furrowing like she's trying to remember where she is. Then her gaze drifts down, her breath catching as she takes in the sight of me holding our girl.
"Hey," she whispers, her voice rough from sleep and exhaustion.
I don't answer. Not with words. I just shift the baby slightly, angling her so Faye can see.
Her eyes go soft. So soft it's like watching the sunrise over the vineyard after a long, dark winter. She reaches out, her fingers brushing against the baby's cheek, and the little one turns toward the touch, rooting instinctively.
"Oh," Faye breathes. "Oh, Flynn."
I know what she means.
The winery. The wine. The legacy Evelyn left behind—it all matters. But this? This is different. This is ours.
The nurse knocks lightly before stepping inside, her smile warm but professional. "Ready to fill out the birth certificate?" she asks, holding up a clipboard.
Faye looks at me, her eyes searching. Like she's waiting for me to say something. To decide.
I don't.
This isn't my choice alone.
"Eve," Faye says softly, her gaze never leaving our daughter. "After my mom."
The name settles between us, heavy and right. I nod, my throat tight.
The nurse writes it down. "Eve Bennett Donovan," she murmurs, testing the way it sounds.
Faye's fingers tighten around mine.
Evelyn's legacy lives on in the vines, in the wine, in the name of the estate. But this? This is something new. Something we built together.
I look down at Eve, at the way her tiny chest rises and falls with each breath. At the way her lips part in sleep, like she's dreaming of something sweet.
And then I look at Faye.
Her hair is a mess, her face still pale from the hours of labor, but she's never been more beautiful. She catches me staring and raises an eyebrow, a small smirk playing at her lips.
"What?" she murmurs.
I shake my head. "Nothing."
But it's not nothing.
It's everything.
The nurse leaves us alone again, the door clicking shut behind her. The room is quiet except for the soft hum of the machines, the steady rhythm of Faye's breathing, the tiny, perfect sounds of our daughter.
Faye shifts, wincing slightly as she adjusts her position. I reach out without thinking, my hand brushing against her hip. "You okay?"
She rolls her eyes, but there's no real heat in it. "I just pushed a whole human out of me, Flynn. I'm fantastic."
I chuckle, low and rough. "I'm sorry for asking. I just want to be a good husband."
She studies me for a long moment, her gaze softening. "You're gonna be a great dad."
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Not because I don't believe them, but because I do. Because I want to be. Because I will be.
I don't say anything. I just lean down, pressing a kiss to Faye's forehead, then to Eve's.
The winery will always be Evelyn's dream.
But this?
This is ours.