"Would you have seen me differently?"
"Maybe. At first."
"That's why." He strokes my cheek. "I wanted you to know me as I am now, not as I was then."
My phone chimes with another notification. I check it automatically.
"Three more hockey equipment companies want to re-up your endorsements. With significant increases."
He doesn't even glance at the phone. "Good."
"Don't you want to know the details?"
"Later." He takes the phone and sets it aside. "Right now, I'd rather focus on you."
"Kyle's career is over … if he had one to begin with," I say. "Every outlet that ran his story is publishing retractions. Your reputation is completely restored."
"I don't care about my reputation. I told you that already." He slides me closer to him. "I care about this. Us."
"The PR crisis is officially over. We could..." I hesitate. "We could start discussing what happens next. The original agreement."
"The divorce?" He shakes his head. "Not happening."
"I'm just saying, contractually?—"
"Fuck the contract." His voice drops, sending shivers across my skin. "You're my wife. For real. If you want, we can get married again. No pretensions, no contracts, no PR stunts this time."
The conviction in his voice erases any lingering doubts. This isn't the marriage we planned—the strategic alliance, the temporary solution. This is something neither of us expected but both of us want.
"I love you, Sebastian."
"I know." He smiles, that rare genuine smile that transforms his face. "But I've loved you longer."
"This is not a competition."
"I'm sorry. Did you forget who you married? I'm competitive by nature."
"You know what, I take that back."
"Nope."
The word is barely out of his mouth before he captures mine with a kiss that makes my toes curl. Just like that, everything fades into the background, and all I see, hear, and feel is him. My husband.
The love of my life.
EPILOGUE
Sebastian
Our midcentury modern home sits on three acres outside the city. Floor-to-ceiling windows, open concept living spaces, and enough yard for Sockrates to run himself to exhaustion. The bedroom windows face east, catching the morning sun that streams across our California king. It's the perfect house to raise our family in.
We moved here two years ago, after I signed my new contract.
Sockrates stopped stealing socks about a month after the move, like he finally had enough space to stop being a klepto. Though he still occasionally hoards one of my game-day socks, as if maintaining tradition.
Mad finds it funny. I find it annoying.
These three years of marriage have been everything I never knew I wanted. Even through the heartbreak of failed pregnancies and fertility treatments, we grew stronger. Each loss pulled us closer instead of driving us apart. Mad's strength throughit all humbled me. She endured medical procedures, needles, hormones, disappointment—all while supporting my career and growing her own.
