“I’m here,” I murmur. “I’m never leaving you.”
She looks up at me, eyes wet but fierce. “You better not.”
I smile, “Okay, Mrs. Cross.”
She snorts through tears. “Don’t push it.”
I kiss her, and she sighs as she sinks into my embrace.
The coffee shop erupts in cheers.
Iris breaks the kiss. “Shut up,” she says, but they ignore her.
I pull her close and kiss her again. My love, the keeper of my heart.
My wife.
Epilogue
IRIS
One Year Later
San Isidro smells like jasmine and salt and rain-warmed stone, and of course, the earthy fragrance from the surrounding jungle.
It reaches me through the open window, from which I look down onto the terrace where the ceremony is being held. There are white flowers woven through the wooden arches under which we’ll say our vows. Dusk has just fallen, and hung lanterns emit a warm, golden light around the perimeter of the terrace and the house. Lush greenery surrounds the lawn extending from the terrace, where chairs are placed in two columns of rows for the guests. The air hums with the familiar jungle sounds, with life, with promise as the guests mill around, choosing their seats with welcome drinks held in their hands.
A year ago, this place was chaos.
A year ago, I ran for my life with a broken heart.
Now I’m here to get married, again, sort of, but this time, on purpose.
Julian and I are renewing our vows, verbally this time.
April is circling me like a general preparing for battle, hands busy with my gown, smoothing fabric, adjusting straps that don’t need adjusting. She’s vibrating with excitement.
“You are not allowed to cry before the ceremony,” she warns me, pointing a finger. “I did not spend forty-five minutes on your eyeliner for you to ruin it.”
“I’ll try,” I say, my voice already a little thick.
Charlotte, Nick’s wife, laughs softly as she fastens the last row of buttons down my back. She’s calm where April is energy incarnate. Her touch steady and affectionate.
“You look perfect,” she says. “He’s going to lose his mind.”
I smile.
Julian already lost his mind for me once. He found it again somewhere between groveling in Fir Hollows and learning how to make waffles without setting off the smoke alarm. This version of him, the one waiting who will soon wait for me at the end of the aisle, is softer. Happier. Still dangerous, but grounded.
Loved.
I glance at my reflection in the tall mirror on the wall.
The gown is simple and elegant, ivory silk that moves when I breathe. No corset. No armor. Just me.
A woman who survived a coup, an accidental marriage, a heartbreak that nearly hollowed her out, and chose love anyway. I’m so happy I was brave enough to give Julian a second chance.
“You okay?” April asks quietly, suddenly all softness.
