Epilogue One Year Later
Shane
Iadjust my tie in the reflection of the hallway mirror.
It’s the same mirror as last year. The same expensive silk tie. The house still smells like lilies and imported pastries. But this time, the knot at my throat doesn’t feel like a choking hazard.
I step out onto the terrace. The air is crisp, carrying the scent of early spring, but I don’t care about the weather. I scan the crowd, ignoring my cousins and business associates, looking for the only person who matters.
I find her near the railing.
Dove.
She is laughing at something Cordia said, her head thrown back, the sunlight catching the gold in her brown hair. She’s wearing yellow today—bright, unapologetic yellow. She looks like sunlight. She looks like everything I almost threw away.
For a moment, I just watch her. I let the possessive pride roll over me. Last year, I stood in this spot and told myself I wasn’t allowed to touch her. Today, the ring in my pocket burns against my thigh.
I’m done waiting.
I push through the crowd. I don’t weave politely; I cut a straight path. The second I reach her, I don’t ask for permission. I step into her space, sliding my arm around her waist, pulling her flush against my side.
Dove looks up, her hazel eyes lighting up with a smile that hits me in the chest.
“Hi,” she says, leaning into me.
“Hi.” I press a kiss to her temple, ignoring my sister’s gagging noise. “You look beautiful.”
“You look decent,” Cordia quips, sipping her mimosa. “For a guy who’s been staring at his girlfriend across the lawn for ten minutes like a stalker.”
“I wasn’t staring,” I lie smoothly. “I was supervising.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” Cordia grins. “Come on. Mother is threatening to start without us.”
We move to the table. It’s the same mahogany table, set with the same crystal, but the atmosphere is unrecognizable. There is no tension. There is no Emily.
I pull Dove’s chair out for her. As she sits, I slide my hand down her arm, my thumb grazing the soft skin of her inner wrist. It’s a grounding touch. A reminder. I’m here. You’re here. We made it.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I take the seat beside her. Throughout the meal, my focus remains entirely on her. I fill her water glass before it’s empty. When a waiter gets too close with a precarious tray of champagne, my hand shoots out, catching the edge of the tray before it can tip toward Dove’s dress.
The waiter freezes, terrified. “S-sorry, Mr. Archer.”
“Watch your spacing,” I say calmly, guiding the tray away.
Dove doesn’t even notice. She’s too busy laughing at something my father is saying.
“You’re hovering,” Cordia whispers, leaning across the table. “You’ve got that ‘security detail’ look in your eye.”
I pick up my fork, unbothered. “I’m protecting the woman I love.” No one will ever hurt her again. Especially not me.
Cordia rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. She knows. It’s not about control anymore. It’s about cherishing.
The meal winds down. Dessert is served—fruit tarts that look exactly like the ones I told Dove to eat last year right before everything fell apart. And plenty of pie for Theo.
I look at her. She’s scraping the last bit of cream from her fork, looking happy and relaxed and entirely at home.
It’s time.
My heart gives a hard, singular kick against my ribs. I wipe my mouth with my napkin and stand up.
The chatter at the table dies down. My father looks up, an eyebrow raised.
“Shane?” he asks.
“I have something to say,” I announce. My voice is steady, but my palms are sweating.
I turn to Dove. She’s looking up at me, confusion knitting her brow.
“Shane?” she asks softly. “Is everything okay?”
“Better than okay,” I say. I reach into my pocket and pull out the velvet box.
The room goes silent. I hear a sharp intake of breath from Cordia.
I don’t do this for the audience. I don’t do it for my parents. I drop to one knee on the hardwood floor, ignoring the creak of my knee, ignoring the gasp from my mother. I focus only on Dove.
“Last year,” I say, my voice rough with emotion, “I sat at this table and made the biggest mistake of my life. I tried to push you away because I thought I was protecting you.”
Dove’s hands fly to her mouth. Her eyes fill with tears.
“I was an idiot,” I continue. “I was a coward. But this year... this year I know exactly what I want.”
I flip the box open. The diamond glitters under the chandelier, simple and flawless.
“I want to protect you,” I say. “I want to support you. But mostly, I just want to be with you. I promise to never hide my heart from you again.”
I take a breath. “Dove Mercer, will you marry me?”
A tear slips down her cheek. She nods, frantic and fast. “Yes.” Her voice is a choked whisper. “Yes, Shane. Yes.”
I slide the ring onto her finger. It fits perfectly.
The room explodes. Cordia is screaming. My mother is clapping. My father is booming a toast. But I don’t hear any of it.
I stand up and pull Dove into my arms, burying my face in her neck, breathing in the scent of vanilla and rain.
“I love you,” she whispers against my collar.
“I love you.”
Later, as the sun begins to set, I pull her out onto the terrace. The party is still raging inside, but out here, it’s quiet. The sky is streaked with violet and gold.
I wrap my arms around her from behind, resting my chin on top of her head. She leans back against me, her hand resting over mine on her waist, the diamond catching the dying light.
“You know,” she says softly, “last year, I left this terrace thinking I’d never see you again.”
“I know.” I tighten my hold on her. “I almost let you go.”
I turn her in my arms so I can look down into her face.
“Never again,” I promise.
I kiss her, slow and deep, sealing the vow as the sun goes down over the estate, finally, finally at peace.