Epilogue
Royce
Life has a funny way of working out. Five years ago, I thought I needed a publicist. What I actually needed was a blonde goddess with a smart mouth, an independent streak a mile wide, and the patience of a saint.
"How the fuck do you fold this thing?" I growl, meeting her gaze over our oldest daughter's head, my own full of exasperation as I wrestle with the sheet of paper our daughter handed me.
Emelia's laughter rings out around the room, bright and clear. "Like this," she says, plucking a sheet of paper from the table to work her magic. She folds the damn thing so quickly, I don't stand a chance of following.
Our daughter does, though. She watches her mom with her tongue caught between her teeth, soaking up every single line. Within seconds, they've both got fully constructed cootie catchers in front of them.
I've got what resembles a deformed paper airplane wearing a diaper. Don't ask me. I tried.
"We did it, Daddy!" Mira cries, holding hers up for me to inspect. And then her gaze falls on mine, her eyes widening. "Oh. Um, I don't fink you did it right."
"No?" I turn mine around in my hands, examining it. "Was I not making an airplane?"
"Daddy!" Mira giggles. "You're sap-posed to make a fortune teller."
"What if I already know my fortune, baby girl?" I ask, meeting her mom's gaze over her head.
"You do?" Her eyes go wide. "What is it?"
"I live happily-ever-after with the publicist of my dreams in a mansion, with three perfect little girls who look just like their mom," I murmur. "I play hockey for a few more years before I retire, and then I coach. And every single day, I'm happier than I was the day before."
Emelia's expression softens, her eyes so damn green it's unreal.
"Is there a puppy in your future?" Mira asks, not satisfied. She's a girl on a mission. Ask me how much I love that she's folding cootie catchers to see if we're getting her a dog, and not because she has a crush on some little boy at school. The answer is a lot, a whole fucking lot.
"You'll have to play the game to see, baby girl," Emelia murmurs, running her fingers through Mira's curls. "It's the only way to know for sure."
"'Kay, Mommy."
I reach for Emelia's hand, clinging to her fingers as Mira's little tongue peeks from between her teeth again and she starts counting.
"I love you," I mouth to my wife.
She lights up, beaming at me the same way she always does when I say those words. She looks at me like they're a gift, but she's wrong. She's the gift. Our daughters are the gifts. I'm just the motherfucker lucky enough to watch over them.
"I love you," she mouths back to me, making my heart roll in my chest. Goddamn, this future is perfect. It's everything a man could want and then some. And somehow, someway, it's mine.
"Mommy!" Mira squeals, jumping to her feet. "We're getting a puppy!"
"What?" Emelia drops her gaze to the cootie catcher, her eyes wide and startled. "How is that—?"
"It's pate!" Mira cries, dancing all around.
"That's right, baby girl. It's fate."
Emelia narrows her eyes on me, suspicious. "Did fate have a helping hand this time?" she asks, reaching for Mira's cootie catcher.
I scoop it off the table before she can get her hands on it, crinkling it up. "Oops. Guess we'll never know."
"Royce!" Emelia cries, lunging for me.
I grin, gently tackling her to the floor beneath me. "It's fate, babe."
Her expression softens into an amused smile. "You're impossible, you know that?"
"Yeah." I lean down over her, brushing my lips across hers. "It's why you love me so fucking much."
"Yeah," she sighs against my lips. "But I am not potty training a puppy and a two-year-old at the same time, Royce."
"Fuck." I freeze. "I forgot about that."
"Too late now," she murmurs, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. "You chose your fate."
I'm pretty sure my fate chose me, but I'm not arguing. Instead, I kiss her breathless while our daughter dances around us, singing about her new puppy, and our toddler and baby both nap upstairs.