Against all odds and despite our rocky start, we’ve found happiness together.
I’ve fallen in love with my husband completely, and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life by his side.
EPILOGUE
SORA
One Year Later
Outside, the wind rustles the trees. Somewhere down the street, a neighbor’s dog barks once and goes quiet as the sun dips below the horizon.
Inside are the contented sounds of a house filled with love as I recline on the couch, mug in hand, watching as Leo rocks baby Aiko in his arms.
He murmurs to her softly, his voice rich with affection as he lulls her to sleep. But she’s not having it tonight as she squeals delightedly, her pudgy fists waving in the air.
God, he’s beautiful like this.
I sip my tea, half-listening to the familiar domestic symphony that’s become the soundtrack of our evenings.
Outside, fireflies blink lazily in the dusky air, the last breath of summer hanging sweet and thick in the breeze that flutters through the open kitchen window.
In the background, some indie playlist hums on low from the speaker tucked into the corner of the room. Our dog, a golden retriever mutt named Vito—Leo’s idea—sprawls under the coffee table, tail thumping lazily every now and then.
We live in the kind of place I never imagined for myself, a sleepy little cul-de-sac in the suburbs outside Chicago.
We have a white two-story home with navy shutters and a wraparound porch, hydrangeas in the front yard, and a picket fence that needs painting.
It doesn’t have a Zen garden or sprawling acreage or a great room and a ballroom to entertain countless high-profile guests, but I don’t need any of that. I have everything I could ever want right here in this room.
A year ago, Leo and I were drowning in blood and betrayal. Our love was born in fire—cloaked in suspicion, tangled in lies neither of us chose.
We were both forced into a marriage we were certain we didn’t want, convinced there was no reality in which we could find happiness together.
But we clawed our way out of a world few ever escape, and now, every time I look at Leo holding our daughter or making silly faces that draw that infectious giggle from her, I know it was all worth it.
He catches me staring and grins, all charming arrogance as his warm brown eyes glint. “Don’t tell me you’re falling in love with me again,” he teases.
I roll my eyes and toss a throw pillow at him, then laugh because he’s right. “I’m constantly falling in love with you,” I confess, my cheeks warming as I think about just how lucky I am to be his wife.
Leo somehow makes domesticity sexy, and it’s wildly unfair. Then again, I suppose I’m the one who benefits most from it—considering I’m the only one he ever seems interested in taking to his bed.
And when he leans in to steal a kiss, I can’t be mad at him. My lips tingle, my stomach fluttering with excitement as his lips linger just long enough to make my heart skip a beat.
“Why don’t you go put on something comfortable?” he suggests. “And I’ll put the baby to bed.”
I know exactly what he means by ‘something comfortable’ and it’s not an oversized T-shirt and sweats.
It makes me giddy with anticipation, and suddenly, despite the exhaustion of new motherhood, I’m wide awake.
But I also know Aiko, and when she’s loving her father’s attention, there’s no chance she’s going to fall asleep for him without a fight.
“If I leave her to you, she’ll have you reading her nursery rhymes all night,” I tease, and he chuckles with a nod. “Here, I’ll take her. You can join us,” I suggest.
Aiko is still soft and squishy, but at three months old, her eyes are starting to darken from a deep-sea blue to a rich coffee, andthey shine with happiness as she reaches up for my face as I take her in my arms.
“Hello, happy baby,” I whisper, capturing her tiny fist and kissing it as I bounce her.
Aiko smiles her gummy grin and coos again. My heart melts completely.
