“But the money—”
“Is just money. This—” I gesture around the gallery, then tip her chin up to meet my eyes, “—this is my life. You are my life.”
“Wyatt.” Her voice breaks on my name.
“I love you, Snow, so damn much. And I wanted everyone in this room to know that you’re the reason I found the courage to become who I really am.”
She stands on her toes and kisses me, right there in front of everyone, and I don’t care who’s watching because this is real, this is ours, this is our truth.
When we break apart, I see Delilah near the exit, her expression sour. She catches my eye and shakes her head as if I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life.
Maybe I have, from a financial standpoint. I’ve just publicly burned bridges with an industry that’s been good to me, turned down future earnings, and chosen uncertainty over security.
But as Snow slides her hand into mine and we walk through the gallery together, stopping to talk with other artists and admire their work, I know I’ve made the right choice.
This is who I am. This is the life I want. And the woman beside me — brilliant, strong, beautiful, real — is worth more than all the modeling contracts in the world.
Later, as we’re driving home, Snow is quieter than usual.
“What are you thinking?” I ask.
“I’m thinking,” she says slowly, “that what you did tonight was either the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen, or the most reckless.”
“Can’t it be both?”
She laughs, a sound of pure joy that fills the truck. “Yes, I think it can be both. And I think…” She pauses, seeming to choose her words carefully. “I think after tonight, I finally believe it. That this is real. That you’re real. That you meant every word you’ve said to me.”
“I did. I do. Always.”
“I know.” She takes a shaky breath. “And I love you too. I’ve said it before, but tonight… tonight I think I finally believe it myself when I say it.”
I reach over and take her hand, lacing our fingers together, my heart so full it might burst. “Say it again.”
“I love you, Wyatt Ford.” Her voice is stronger now, more certain. “I love who you are, who you’re becoming, who you’ve always been.”
It’s not just the words. It’s the way she says them — no hesitation, no walls, no fear. It’s her finally letting me all the way in.
Because Snow Holloway isn’t just worth the wait.
She’s worth everything.
Chapter 26
Snow
Aweek after Wyatt’s gallery show — after he stood in front of a room full of people and publicly declared that I helped him become who he really is, after I finally said “I love you” again — I turn onto the long, gravel driveway of my childhood home, and my heart feels like it might burst.
I’m bringing Wyatt home. Not for a stilted three-hour visit with someone tapping their foot impatiently. Not while carrying shame about where I come from. I’m bringing him home as myself, to the people who’ve always seen the real me, to show them the man who helped me find my way back to being that person.
The moment the tires crunch on the familiar gravel, a wave of emotion washes over me. The farm is a chaotic, beautiful explosion of life — the polar opposite of the manicured Darlington estate. Here, wildflowers grow in unruly patches along the fence line. A rusty old tractor sits under a massive oak tree. A flock of chickens scatters as my car approaches, their indignant clucking familiar and comforting. This place is real, messy, and unapologetically itself.
Just like Wyatt helped me learn to be again.
“You okay?” Wyatt asks from the passenger seat, and I realize I’ve stopped the car in the middle of the driveway, just staring at the house.
“I haven’t been home in so long,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “Not really home. The Darlingtons made me ashamed of this place. Of my parents. Of where I come from.” I turn to look at him. “And now I’m bringing you here, and I’m not ashamed at all. I’m proud. Does that make sense?”
“Perfect sense,” he says softly, taking my hand. “This place is beautiful, Snow. It feels like you.”
