Epilogue - Ben
I follow the sound, leaning casually in the doorway of her flat. She’s perched on the counter, tea in one hand, video call propped up in front of her, talking to Olivia, who currently looks like she’s been personally victimised by the sun.
“Olivia, are you okay? You look like you’ve just stepped out of a sauna,” Lila says, half-laughing as Olivia aggressively fans herself with a laminated brochure.
“It’s not a sauna,” Olivia groans. “It’s Texas. There is no air. There is only heat and dust and the overwhelming stench of livestock.”
“You said it was a boutique wellness retreat,” Lila teases.
“I WAS LIED TO,” Olivia practically shrieks, sweat-slicked hair sticking to her forehead. “There’s a goat outside my window. A goat, Lila.”
I chuckle under my breath, arms folded. Olivia’s trip was meant to be soul-searching. So far, it’s looking more like accidental farm work.
Olivia adjusts the camera and accidentally pans across the ranch behind her.
Lila’s eyes narrow, her head tilting slightly. “Wait… who is that?”
The camera lingers for a split second on a man walking across the courtyard. Tall, broad shoulders, cowboy hat low over his eyes, sleeves rolled up over solid forearms that glint in the sun. He looks like he stepped off a damn romance novel cover.
Before I can blink, Olivia yanks the phone back toward her face. “No one!”
Lila’s grin widens instantly. “That was not no one. That was someone. And holy hell, he’s hot.”
My brows lift.
Hot?
I step further into the kitchen, reaching around her to steal her tea. “I’m sorry—hot?”
Lila smirks over her shoulder at me. “Relax, caveman.”
“That little mouth’s gonna get you into trouble, sweetheart,” I murmur low in her ear.
Olivia makes a gagging sound from the phone speaker. “Urgh! Seriously, I did not sign up for this audio erotica.”
Lila bursts out laughing, swatting at me while I just grin and kiss the top of her head.
“He’s the owner,” Olivia mutters. “Colt Lawson. The ranch’s been in his family for generations or some sentimental crap.
Why he ever thought hospitality was his calling is beyond me, he’s got the people skills of a cactus.
Lila smirks. “If it’s that bad, why don’t you go to another hotel?”
There’s a pause.
Then Olivia coughs. “His mum makes the best food I’ve ever tasted.”
Lila arches a brow. “Ah. So you’re suffering in silence for the lasagna.”
“I’m suffering for her peach cobbler, actually,” Olivia huffs. “Woman’s a culinary saint. It’s a damn emotional hostage situation. I’d sleep in a goat pen if it meant getting another plate of her cornbread.”
Lila’s eyes sparkle with mischief. “Nothing to do with the hot, brooding cowboy riding past your window every morning?”
“Goodbye!” Olivia hangs up dramatically, and Lila’s still giggling as she sets her phone aside.
The laughter lingers for a moment… then fades, softening into something quieter, gentler.
She glances over at me, her smile dimming slightly, not in sadness, but in understanding. Her eyes meet mine, warm and steady.
“You ready?” she asks softly.
I pause.
The question isn’t about dinner. Or bed. Or anything light.
For a moment, something catches in my chest, tight and unfamiliar.
But then I nod.
Not big. Not bold. Just enough.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I think I am.”
She steps closer, slipping her hand into mine.
***
The scent of burning incense drifts through the crisp morning air, curling in soft, lazy ribbons. The cemetery is quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves, the distant murmur of families speaking in hushed voices, the rhythmic brush of a broom against stone.
I kneel beside Lila, my fingers tight around the bundle of incense sticks I haven’t yet lit. I exhale slowly, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye. She’s calm, practiced, focused, arranging the offerings with careful hands.
I’m out of my element. Completely.
Qingming Festival. Tomb-Sweeping Day. A tradition that’s not mine, not something I grew up with. But Lila had explained it to me—a day for honouring the dead, for tending graves, for remembering.
Today, we’re here for my mother.
I swallow, staring at the headstone in front of me. Katherine Ashcroft etched into the stone feels both familiar and foreign, like I’ve spent years trying not to look at it too closely.
I set down the bouquet of sweet peas I brought, but I feel so out of place.
Lila notices, she always does.
She doesn’t say anything at first, just reaches over and takes the incense from my hands, her fingers brushing over mine. She lights them, then passes them back to me, her eyes soft, knowing.
“You don’t have to say anything out loud” she murmurs, her voice soft, steady. “Just… say whatever you need to in here.” She presses a gentle hand over my chest, right above my heart.
I hesitate. What the hell do I even say?
I’m sorry, I should have been there. I should have done better.
The words stick in my throat, heavy, tangled.
So I do the only thing I can. I bow my head and let the silence speak for me. The incense smoke curls upward, disappearing into the sky, carrying whatever unspoken words I can’t seem to say aloud.
I exhale slowly, gripping the incense just a little tighter.
“Mum. I lost everything after you, but somehow… I found her.”
Lila stills beside me, her fingers grazing my knee.
“Thank you for helping me find my way back. I’m sorry it took so long.”
My chest tightens, but for the first time in a long time, it doesn’t feel suffocating—it feels right.
I swallow hard, my gaze fixed on the name carved into stone.
“I love her.”
I set the incense in its holder, watching the embers flicker before I let Lila pull me up, her fingers twining with mine. She doesn’t say anything.
She just leans into me, presses her forehead against my shoulder and holds on.
For the first time in years, I don’t feel like I’m walking away from my past.
I feel like I’m bringing it with me.
***
I unlock the door and step inside, holding it open with a grin. “After you.”
Lila raises a brow, but she walks in ahead of me, her eyes sweeping over the space we’ve spent months creating together, our home.
A blend of her vision and my hands. She might have a knack for picking paint swatches and knowing exactly which lights make a room feel like a warm hug, but it was my tools, my sweat, my late nights that turned those sketches into reality.
I could’ve paid someone to do it—hell, I’ve got teams who’ve built half my damn empire. But this? This needed to be me. Every beam, every floorboard, every inch of this place had to come from my hands. Because this isn’t just another project. It’s ours.
She moves through the open-plan living room, her fingers brushing over the rich textures, her gaze flicking over the archway we argued about for weeks and that she was, of course, completely right about.
Her smile is soft, proud. She pauses near the window seat she designed, the one I built with reclaimed timber, just the way she wanted.
“You did good,” she murmurs, turning to me.
I shrug, trying for nonchalance. “You’re the boss, sweetheart. I just follow orders.”
She gives me a look that says she knows damn well how many late nights I spent making her vision come to life. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you sneak in those brass fixtures I said were too expensive.”
I smirk. “Couldn’t resist. You’ve got good taste.”
She shakes her head, laughing softly. “It’s perfect.”
But I’m not done. I bend, wrapping an arm under her legs, lifting her clean off the floor.
A startled laugh bursts from her lips. “Ben!”
I grin, carrying her deeper into the house. “Tradition, sweetheart.”
She shakes her head, laughing, but doesn’t let go.
I don’t put her down until we reach the bedroom.
The moment I push open the door, she sucks in a breath.
Candles flicker everywhere, soft, golden light dancing over the room.
The bed is done up with crisp sheets, a deep navy throw, and a ridiculous amount of pillows that I will not be taking responsibility for.
Lila’s face lights up. “You brought my book?”
I smirk. “Thought I’d brush up on what the girls in Books That Bang are into lately. Regency smut seems to be trending.”
She laughs softly, biting her lip in that way that always ruins me. “And? What did you learn, Mr. Ashcroft?”
I close the space between us, my fingers trailing down her arms, over her waist, slow, deliberate. “Apparently, libraries are one of the most popular places to fuck.” Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t miss a beat. “Is that so?” She tilts her head towards me. “Wanna see what the hype is about?”
I groan, pressing my forehead to hers, smirking despite the burn low in my gut. “Sweetheart, as much as I’d love to bend you over a bookshelf right now…” I brush my lips over hers, slow and hot. “I want the first time in our home to be you, flat on that brand-new bed, screaming my name.”
She shivers, her fingers curling into my shirt.
“Let me fuck you properly,” I rasp, voice thick. “Slow. Deep. The way you deserve. Let me christen our goddamn bed.”
I slide my hands to her hips, pulling her flush against me, my mouth brushing hers.
“And then tomorrow, every room, every surface. Kitchen counter, window seat, library desk…” I bite her bottom lip gently, tugging it between my teeth before letting it go.
“I’ll make you come against every wall in this house, until you can’t walk past a single spot without remembering what it felt like to fall apart underneath me. ”
Her breath catches, her lashes fluttering. “That’s a lot of surfaces,” she whispers, teasing.
I grin, dark and wicked. “Then you better start stretching, sweetheart.”
And then I kiss her, deep, slow, consuming, like I’m already halfway there.
Because I am.
***
I take my time.
Tonight isn’t about rushing, it’s about knowing. About learning every inch of her, every sound she makes, every way she likes to be touched.
I start with the buttons of her dress, my fingers slow and deliberate, slipping them free one by one. The fabric loosens, parts, revealing more of her, inch by inch.
I brush my knuckles down her bare shoulder, watching as goosebumps rise in my wake.
She shifts under me, already restless, but I don’t let her rush this.
I drag my mouth along her jaw, my voice low, steady. “Slow down, sweetheart.” My lips trail lower, grazing the delicate skin of her collarbone. “Want to take my time with you.”
Her hands tighten on my shoulders, her fingers curling into my shirt like she’s considering tearing it off.
I move lower, my mouth following the path of my hands, my tongue flicking over the soft dip between her ribs, the sensitive spot just beneath her navel.
Her breath stutters, her hips shifting up, searching.
I grin against her skin, pressing a kiss right over her fluttering stomach.
“Something you like, baby?”
She glares down at me, her pupils blown wide, her chest rising and falling unevenly.
“If you stop now, I will smother you with that stupid book.”
I laugh, nipping at her hip. “Noted.”
But I don’t stop.
I explore.
I memorise.
I find out that she loves it when I suck on the inside of her thigh, just enough to leave a mark but she loves it even more when I drag my teeth there first.
That when I brush my lips just behind her knee, she shivers, gripping the sheets like she’s barely holding on.
That if I tease her too much, she’ll yank me up by my hair and tell me to quit acting like a damn tease and do something about it.
I do exactly that.
She’s so responsive, her moans turning into soft, breathy curses, then my name, then just wordless sounds that go straight to my dick.
I drag my mouth back up her body, relishing every damn second of it.
Her fingers slide into my hair, tugging hard.
“Ben.”
My name isn’t a plea. It’s a command.
Her nails dig into my shoulders. “More.”
Who the hell am I to deny her?
I finally slide into her, slow and deep, her legs wrapped around my hips and her eyes locked on mine, it’s not just sex anymore.
It’s everything.
The years we lost. The pain. The fight. The love that never really died.
I thrust deeper, holding her hips steady, watching the way she unravels under me, like I’m rewriting every story she’s ever read, every fantasy she’s ever had.
And I think of a future.
Of filling this house with laughter.
Of her curled on the couch, reading, her belly round with our child.
Of tiny feet padding across the floor, bedtime stories whispered under blankets, a life so full it spills out of the walls we built together.
Lila clings to me, her nails biting into my shoulders, her breath catching with every movement.
“Don’t stop,” she gasps, eyes wide, wild, desperate.
“Never,” I promise, my voice rough as I drive into her again and again, until we’re both shuddering, panting, tangled in sheets and sweat and love.
She falls apart beneath me, gasping my name, body arching like it’s too much. I follow her over the edge, spilling into her with a groan so guttural it feels like it’s been building for years.
We collapse in a tangle of limbs and heartbeats, our bodies still tangled like neither of us wants to let go. I roll us onto our sides, pulling her against me, our legs tangled, my hand smoothing up and down her spine.
She lets out a sleepy sigh, her fingers trailing along my chest.
My chest tightens, but in the best way. Like something inside me finally, finally slots into place.
So I hold her tighter, anchoring her to me, burying my face in her hair and letting the peace settle deep in my bones.
Because I know now, I’m not just home.
I’m hers.
Always.