EPILOGUE
Dalla
Three months later…
The summer heat is brutal, even with the air conditioning cranked up to full blast.
I'm sprawled on the couch in the living room of the house we share with Doran and Revna, wearing one of RJ's t-shirts and a pair of shorts that barely fit anymore.
My belly has popped in the last few weeks—no more hiding it under loose clothing, no more "is she pregnant or did she just have a big lunch" speculation.
I am visibly, obviously, gloriously pregnant.
And I've never been happier.
The last three months have been a whirlwind.
The New York runway show was a massive success—my collection received rave reviews, orders poured in, and suddenly I was the "designer to watch" according to every fashion publication that mattered.
Greer has been fielding calls from retailers and stylists and even a few celebrities who want custom pieces.
My little dream of making clothes that matter has turned into something real.
Something lasting.
And through it all, RJ has been right beside me.
We eloped three weeks after the proposal.
No big ceremony, no hundreds of guests, no drama—just us, my parents, and a justice of the peace in the backyard of my childhood home.
I wore a simple white dress that Revna helped me pick out.
RJ wore a suit that made him look like a GQ model.
We said our vows under the same oak tree where he proposed, with fireflies blinking in the twilight and my mother crying happy tears.
It was perfect.
The house is quiet now.
Doran and Revna are at the compound for some club business, which means RJ and I have the place to ourselves for the afternoon.
A rare occurrence these days.
Between my career taking off and his new consulting work with the Mackenzies—training, strategy, the kind of work he can do remotely or on his own schedule—we're both busier than we expected to be.
But not too busy for this.
Never too busy for each other.
RJ emerges from the kitchen with two glasses—lemonade for me, iced tea for him.
He's barefoot, wearing jeans and nothing else, his tattoos on full display.
The Irish Brotherhood symbols on his arms, the newer piece on his ribs that he got last month—a small Viking compass, a tribute to my heritage, to the family he married into.
Even after three months of marriage, the sight of him still makes my heart skip.
