Epilogue
AURORA || SIX MONTHS LATER
“She’s the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen. In the whole world. Like…ever.”
Juliet barely gets these words out properly, and as it is, they’re punctuated by little sniffles.
“Don’t cry,” I tell her quickly, even though I’m feeling a little tremulous myself. “You’ll ruin your makeup.”
“It’s waterproof,” she says, her glowing eyes trained on India—who, yes, is absolutely gorgeous. She’s radiant and bright and so completely lit up inside that it shines through everywhere.
The dress she ended up buying is perfect, both for her and on its own—I’m so glad she went with the lace overlay even though it wasn’t something she thought she’d like at first. Her hair is down, flowing over her shoulders, and she’s wearing a simple flower crown.
She adjusts it now as she stands in front of the mirror, straightening it and meeting our eyes.
“I look good?”
“Of course you do,” Poppy says with a smile that’s nearly as emotional as Juliet’s.
“Yes,” Juliet practically wails, and I nudge her.
“Waterproof makeup is not equipped for your level of crying,” I tell her, but I almost feel bad saying it.
Because the truth is, even though I’m not a cryer, I will be today.
Have been a lot over the past year, in fact.
But my heart is so full of beauty and love and precious moments, and those feelings keep trying to spill out of me.
“You look perfect,” I reassure India, beaming at her.
“Felix will die,” Jules says.
“Because you’re so radiant,” I add. “And if he does anything else, we will kill him.”
Poppy nods fervently at this. “Murder. Premeditated. First-degree.”
“So either way…” I go on.
India laughs, and then she turns to face us. Her dress doesn’t require extra hands to maneuver; she simply lifts the skirt and then lets it settle in place again.
The door to the dressing room opens, and in steps Stella Piorra, India’s fourth bridesmaid. She used to live in Lucky, close to our family, and she and India were best friends growing up. She’s since moved, but she and her husband, Jack, came back for the wedding.
“I think everything is ready,” she says, sweeping her blonde hair over her shoulder as her dress swishes.
It’s the same dress we’re all wearing—a forest green gown with sleeves that hit just past our elbows and brush our knees.
She looks at Jules, Poppy, and I and adds, “You know, I accidentally went to an Alcoholics’ Anonymous meeting in this building one time. I thought I was going to book club.”
I snort with laughter as India grins; Juliet’s jaw has dropped, her eyes popping wide.
But Stella just nods. “It was not great.”
“Those were Stella’s Dark Ages,” India says. “You’ve begun a new chapter.”
We all head for the door of the little room, opening it wide for India. She slips through, her steps light. Our mom appears just as we reach the hallway, wearing a green dress the same color as ours and sporting a red face.
“I was just coming for you,” she says, a little out of breath.
Her eyes go wide and bright just like Juliet’s did earlier, her lip trembling.
“I see you’re already ready, though—oh, Indy.
” She steps forward and hugs India, her arms all-enveloping as she squeezes her.
“My beautiful girl.” Then she steps back and strokes India’s hair.
“You’re feeling all right? No cold feet? ”
India’s smile couldn’t grow any wider. “No cold feet. None at all.”
She means every word, I see—not that I’m surprised.
“I always told myself I’d offer you all a way out up until the moment you say ‘I do,’” our mom says, her eyes jumping between us.
“A mother worries about her children marrying the wrong person, and if you feel any concern or hesitation, that’s something to pay attention to.
But—oh, your father and I do love Felix. ” She beams at India again.
“If Felix could be best friends with Cyrus for so long, there’s clearly a level of sainthood involved,” I say.
All of us grin—except my mom.
“Don’t say that about your brother,” she says, shooting me a disapproving expression. “Speaking of which—where is he?”
And, as though she’s conjured him out of thin air, Cyrus appears—he strides around the corner, clearly confident in navigating the maze of hallways in the basement of this church. By his side is none other than Felix.
“Felix!” Juliet says. “You’re not supposed to see the bride before the wedding!”
But Felix doesn’t even hear her. I know he doesn’t. His eyes are on India, his steps faltering as his gaze finds her.
He approaches her slowly, wearing an expression I’ve never seen. India seems familiar with it, though, as she radiates the kind of joy I’m only just beginning to understand. She moves toward him until they’ve reached each other, clasping hands and staring into each others’ eyes.
It is, on the whole, either very sweet or very disgusting. I can’t tell which.
“Tell me truthfully,” Cyrus says abruptly, and the two of them startle out of their haze. But he directs his words at India. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Felix’s jaw drops as he whirls toward Cyrus. “What are you doing?” he hisses. “Don’t you dare try to talk her out of marrying me. I’ve managed to convince her that I’m a decent person”—India grins—“and she’s been putting up with me flawlessly for years.”
Cyrus grunts, but his gaze on India is gentle, his smile genuine as it touches his lips. It’s rare to see him so emotive, but as he steps toward her, he pulls her into a hug. She wraps her arms around him and squeezes, and he releases a huff of laughter.
“You’re beautiful,” he says gruffly. “Congratulations, Indy.” Then he looks at the rest of us—his gaze lingering a few seconds on Poppy, I notice, whose cheeks redden—and then he nods. “Shall we?”
Although the basement of the church is cramped and warm and confusing to navigate, the actual chapel where India and Felix get married is lovely.
It’s a short ceremony, simple at their request, and attended by only the closest people in their lives.
Felix’s groomsmen stand in a row next to him, and we do the same with India, holding our bouquets of wildflowers.
My date is sitting in the front row, with my parents.
I have to say, Roman has charmed them thoroughly and quickly—not that they’re difficult to win over.
Luca is tucked on their other side, his eyes on Juliet as per usual, and my mom and dad are both smiling and dabbing their eyes, patting the knees of the men in our lives.
Roman is next to my mom, and where she’s patting his knee emotionally, his hand is over hers, a reassuring gesture.
A smile tugs at my lips, and for a split second I try to stop it—an instinct born long ago and for reasons I don’t fully understand.
I catch myself, though, and let the smile free.
I let the happiness grow inside of me as I watch the man who, on some level, used to terrify me.
When his gaze meets mine, Roman winks. My subtle eye roll isn’t very convincing, and he grins, the devil-may-care tug of his lips I’m so used to.
Thanks to his insistence on hiring my ex, we were able to get the remaining balance of the loan paid off. That debt hanging over my head was a guillotine ready to drop, and while Roman admits he maybe should have told me what he was doing, he still says he doesn’t regret actually hiring Tyler.
I can’t blame him. I would have done the same, and I would have done it in a heartbeat if it would have helped someone I love.
When the ceremony is over, we all head to the lot behind the church, where twinkling lights are hung and tables are set up.
I did a lot of the planning and setting up for the reception, and I have to admit, it looks great.
Since India and Felix like being outdoors, we leaned into more natural decor—flowers and vines and tree stumps.
The whole effect is dreamy, like a woodland paradise you’ve just stumbled into.
“How are the feet holding up, little vandal?” comes a smooth voice from behind me, and I turn to look up at Roman.
“Fine, so far,” I say, glancing at my matte gold heels—which, yes, are very high and slightly uncomfortable. But they were perfect with my bridesmaid’s dress, and they didn’t cost too much, either.
Roman’s arms snake around my waist, tugging me closer. “I quite like you tall,” he says as his eyes take on a wicked glint. “It makes it much easier to—”
“Roman!” I slap him on the chest, gaping, and he grins.
“Such a filthy mind,” he says. “I was going to say it makes it easier to kiss you.”
“Mm-hmm,” I say, and though I try to make the sound disapproving, I’m also trying not to laugh. Soft music has turned on over the speakers, and I smile as Roman tugs me toward the dance floor.
“Are we going to do this at some point?” he says in my ear as he pulls me close.
“What—get married?” I say, winding my arms around his neck.
He hums, a sound I feel with his lips against my cheek. “My boring nine-to-five would be much more palatable if I came home to you every day.”
A regular old banker—that’s his nine-to-five. He doesn’t love it, but he doesn’t hate it either, and at some point we may be able afford a revamp of the cleaning and organization business I loved so much.
Smiling, I answer his question. “We might get married. Maybe.” I pause. “Probably,” I admit. Heat creeps up my neck, but I go on. “I mean—don’t you think?” We haven’t talked about it before, or at least not explicitly.
“Yeah,” he says in my ear. “I do think.”
My shoulders ease with relief. “Me too.”
Because I can picture married life with Roman—and I do. I imagine lazy mornings and heated arguments and whispered love. I see all of it, and it fits—it works.
It brings me joy.
“Where would we live?” I lean back and narrow my eyes at him. “In the house you inherited, or in the house you bought without telling me?”
And he could not look less ashamed. “I had all this money sitting around, and I wanted to do something with it,” he says blithely. “A rental property seemed like a solid investment. And everything worked out in the end, didn’t it?”
I do not answer this question. Technically he’s correct. The house I was renting with Jules and India—just Jules, as of this week—is now a rent-to-own property, where eventually I’ll be able to take ownership.
“I don’t really care either way,” Roman says with a shrug. “I love you more than my grandparents’ old house.”
I’m not surprised. Walls and roof aside, their story turned out to be more bitter than sweet.
“Do you love me more than your Rubik’s cube?” I say.
“I love you,” he murmurs as we spin slowly on the dance floor, “more than Nessa.”
My smile is soft but quick, because I know what it means for him to love anyone more than his niece.
The first time he told me he loved me, I panicked, and he could tell immediately. He grinned and backed off.
The second time, I was the one who said it. It came out easily, naturally, like the sun from behind the clouds; I didn’t think or contemplate before hand.
But those words are safe with Roman. I’m safe with Roman—all of me. The good and the bad, the sweet and the ugly. He wants everything, and I want to give him everything. I don’t want to keep anything back.
Not anymore.
“Should we hit up the snack table?” he says now, and the question pulls me from my thoughts. My smile grows.
“There’s good stuff. And look—Police Chief Billingsley is there, too.” Bert’s mustache twitches as he hovers by one of the long banquet tables, eyeing the tray of sweet pork, his dress shirt stretched dangerously tight over his large paunched belly.
“Well, that settles it,” Roman says with a grin as he lets go of my waist and wraps his hand around mine instead. “We never thanked him, did we? For his part in bringing us together?”
“We didn’t,” I agree. “And speaking of that—if we’re going to get married and have kids at some point, we should agree on a story ahead of time.”
Roman quirks one brow at me.
I shrug. “No way am I telling our impressionable future children that I met their father in a holding cell.”
He just laughs, and I do, too. Because I can see my future in that sound.
And Roman and I? We’ll make the best of every second.