Epilogue Star
SIX MONTHS LATER
It’s hard to believe my wedding day is finally here. Here I am standing in the corner bedroom of the Carrington ranch house, wearing my dream wedding dress, and wishing I’d gone a size up in Spanx because I can’t feel my toes.
The bedroom smells like sun-warmed cedar and linen sheets, with just a whiff of anxiety sweat rising from the space between my ribs and the boning of the dress.
Morning light pours through the old lace curtains, painting lacy patterns across the honeyed floorboards and the piles of bags, shoes, and cosmetic debris strewn everywhere.
Outside the window, I hear the soft bellow of cattle, the hush of wind through live oaks, and, somewhere in the distance, the yip of a deranged Chihuahua who cannot believe he’s been left out of this part of the party.
I tug at the dress bodice for the hundredth time.
It’s a little dramatic for a girl who spent her formative years in rainbow tank tops and cutoffs, but Maggie and Saoirse staged a full-blown bridal intervention, and now I’m encased in ivory silk and miles of tulle.
My arms float at my sides because I’m terrified of creasing the fabric, or worse, sweating through it.
“Don’t pick at it,” Maggie says, wrestling with my hair from behind. “The more you fuss, the more nervous you make me. Stop. You look amazing. Hold still.”
I try to hold still. I really do. But my feet keep shifting, heel-toe, heel-toe, like I’m about to launch into a stress tap-dance.
Saoirse, sitting cross-legged on the bed, grins at me over the rim of her mimosa. “You’re going to wear a rut in the floor if you don’t chill. Also, you should know your boobs look phenomenal in that dress. I’m freaking jealous as hell.”
Maggie pauses, hands full of my hair, and shrugs at me in the mirror. “She’s not wrong.”
I glance down, then back at the mirror. The dress is pretty gorgeous.
Sleeveless, with a deep V and subtle netting that keeps things PG-13 but still manages to make my upper half look like an ad for some fancy French perfume.
For the first time in my life, I actually have cleavage, and not even the strategic kind that relies on duct tape and a prayer.
I look back up at Maggie. “Is it too much?”
Maggie’s face softens. “Star, there’s no such thing as ‘too much’ when you’re marrying a Carrington. You could show up in a feather boa and pasties, and no one would blink.”
Saoirse snorts mimosa through her nose. “Actually, that might be a little much. Star looks perfect as she is.”
The nervous energy in my chest collapses into a wild giggle. Maggie gives my hair a final spritz and steps back, proud. She’s done a twisty, romantic thing with my hair that looks Pinterest-worthy but somehow not like I’m pretending to be someone else. I reach up gingerly to touch it.
“Don’t mess!” Maggie hisses.
I freeze. “Sorry. It just… doesn’t feel real yet.”
“Oh, it’s real, baby cakes,” Saoirse says, swinging her feet off the bed. “You want your bouquet now or wait until you’re almost at the back door?”
“Now,” I say, because having something to do with my hands feels crucial.
She crosses the room and hands me a bouquet of bluebonnets, white poppies, tiny yellow wildflowers, and a few sprigs of rosemary. The arrangement is perfect, loose and wild, a hundred percent me. I clutch it in front of my stomach and stare at the mirror.
My skin is almost glowing, partly from the million products Maggie slathered on me, partly from the fact that my insides feel like they’re running on pure adrenaline.
I tilt my head side to side, studying the way the veil catches the light, the way the silk clings and flows, and I know I’m finally ready.
I catch Saoirse’s eye in the mirror. “Do I look like I’m trying too hard?”
Saoirse rolls her eyes. “You look like you, but, you know, extra. Which is exactly what today’s supposed to be.”
Time seems to stand still in the old bedroom, minutes melting together in a haze of nervous jokes and wildflower perfume and Maggie yelling, “NO TOUCHING YOUR FACE!” every sixty seconds.
I watch as Saoirse re-applies her lipstick for the fourth time and Maggie obsessively checks her phone for the group chat updates from the “groom’s suite. ”
“They’re fine,” Maggie mutters, peeking at her phone. “Cole already spilled whiskey on his tie, Silas is making jokes about monkeys in suits, and Hudson’s keeping an eagle eye on the time.”
A soft, dignified knock on the bedroom door nearly scares me out of my skin. For a second, the three of us freeze in place.
Then the door cracks open and Hudson Carrington himself appears, filling the doorway in a black tuxedo and a level of composure that would impress a Secret Service agent. He’s shaved, for once, and his tie is a beautiful pale pink.
He surveys the room, looking like a fish out of water.
“Star,” he says, “they’re ready for you.”
My heart flutters hard as my knees threaten to buckle.
“Oh, boy,” I mutter more to myself than anyone else. “Let’s do this.”
Hudson stands a little straighter and holds out his arm. “You look beautiful.” He smiles down at me. “I’m so happy to have another little sister.” Happiness cuts through me, causing tears to threaten.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Maggie rushes over and steps between Hudson and me. She turns her full Matron of Honor attitude on. “Do not make her cry or you’ll have to deal with me.”
Hudson rolls his eyes and leads me out of the room with Maggie and Saoirse following behind us.
The hallway is lined with old family photos—generations of Carringtons, unsmiling and formal, but I swear I catch a glimmer of rebellion in the eyes of a few.
Over the last six months, I’ve come to realize I’ll fit right in with this family.
At the end of the hall, the early afternoon light is brighter, flooding the space with gold. Just beyond the doors, I know Tanner is waiting. I picture him pacing, probably fighting the urge to wipe sweat off his palms onto the inside of his suit jacket.
Hudson stops just before the threshold. For a second, he glances at the ceiling, like he’s trying to figure something out. Then he looks at me and says, “You make him happy, Star. And you make this whole house feel like home again. Welcome to the family.”
I blink back tears. “Thank you. That means everything.”
“Stop with the gushy shit that’ll make her cry,” Maggie hisses behind us.
“Pain in my ass,” he hisses to his little sister before offering me a rare, crooked smile as he opens the door.
Outside, everything hits me at once—dazzling sunlight pouring through oak branches, rows of white chairs filled with faces all swiveling toward me, the weight of Hudson’s arm keeping me anchored to earth.
My lungs fill with cedar-scented air and the sweet perfume of wildflowers as my heart hammers so hard I feel a little lightheaded.
This is it. The happiest day of my life. I take a deep breath and remind myself to enjoy every moment of it.
I smooth my dress, take one step, then another, and suddenly, I’m not scared anymore.
I’m just… happy.
And so freaking ready to be Mrs. Tanner Carrington.
We turn onto the white-lined aisle, and I glance down it. At the far end, there’s a makeshift altar built of polished cedar branches and bluebonnets. Standing there is a stern-looking judge and Tanner.
He’s in a black suit and a blinding white shirt, no tie.
His hair is swept back, just tamed enough to look grown-up, but wild enough for it to look like him.
He stands tall, but there’s a nervous energy to him, a twitch in his jaw, a slow drag of his thumb over the inside of his wrist. And he’s staring straight at me, all the air gone from the world except the two of us.
Hudson leans in, dropping his voice so only I can hear. “You can still run,” he deadpans. “But you’ll have to outrun Silas. He’s on perimeter duty.”
I choke on a laugh, almost trip, then squeeze Hudson’s arm harder. “Not running,” I whisper back. “I’m in this for life.”
“That’s good to hear.” He snorts, then, as we start down the aisle, says just loud enough for a few heads to turn, “Because there are no returns or exchanges in this family. He’s out of warranty and all yours.”
The people sitting close enough to hear chuckle as we walk by.
I can feel the tension go out of my shoulders.
Somewhere on the left, I spot Maggie dabbing at her eyes and giving me the world’s most enthusiastic thumbs-up.
On the right, Cole is doing a low-key fist pump, and next to him, Saoirse beams like she’s just won the lottery.
We walk, step by step, and I keep my eyes glued to Tanner. He doesn’t move, but I can see him breathing deep, slow, like he’s reining himself in. I wonder if he’s as close to full system failure as I am. My heart’s going triple time, but for once, the rest of my brain is calm.
At the altar, Hudson stops. He turns to face me, and for a second, it’s just us. He doesn’t say anything cheesy. He just looks at me, squeezes my hand, and gives me the tiniest, rarest smile.
Then he lifts my hand and sets it in Tanner’s.
Tanner’s hand is huge and a little sweaty. His thumb brushes over my fingers, and I feel my pulse steady, like he’s got a defibrillator built into his palm.
“You look beautiful,” he says, rough and low, barely moving his lips.
I mouth, “So do you,” because it’s all I can manage without bursting into an ugly cry.
The judge starts the ceremony. I honestly don’t process any of her words. The sunlight on my skin, the smell of bluebonnets, the faint rustle of the crowd all blurs together around us. I try to pay attention, but it’s like being underwater, every sound coming from a thousand miles away.
The judge says a bunch of beautiful things about rings and unions and forever, but I barely hear any of it.
“By the power vested in me by the great state of Texas,” the judge says, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
He doesn’t even wait a second. His hands are on my waist, pulling me in.
The world blurs as his mouth meets mine, warm and hungry and sweet, and every last piece of me settles into place.
There are cheers and actual hooting, but I don’t care.
It’s just Tanner and me, tangled up in each other, right here in the open, in front of everyone.
We pull apart and I start to laugh, relief and joy bubbling over. I don’t care that my lipstick is smeared, and my hair is coming undone already.
“We did it,” I say, and my heart nearly explodes.
“Yes, we fucking did,” he whispers back.
We walk down the aisle together, hand in hand, the crowd rising to their feet. I spot Bruno trotting down the aisle ahead of us, wearing a green velvet bow tie. The little dog keeps looking back and glaring at us, and I’m pretty sure he’s plotting his revenge for not including him in the ceremony.
“We’re going to have to buy extra treats to buy his forgiveness,” I mutter as we make our way to the big white tent.
“I already took care of that,” Tanner reassures me.
“You really are perfect, Mr. Carrington.” I smile up at my husband. God. That sounds good.
“And don’t you forget it, Mrs. Carrington.”
He kisses me, slow and deep, the kind of kiss that says everything words can’t.
And in that moment, I know life doesn’t get any better than this.
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