"That’s if you’re ready for that commitment," Hastings finished, his voice rough.
Presley stared at us, her mouth opening and closing without sound. Her hands reached to her neck, to the place where her three alphas had already claimed her spiritually. She was already ours, but we still wanted more.
"We're asking you to marry us," I clarified, in case it wasn't clear. "All of us. A legal pack marriage."
"I know what you're asking," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm just—I'm processing."
"Take your time," Hastings said.
She let out a shaky, half-strangled laugh. She bit her lip, looking between the three of us with that familiar look.
"Well," she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I suppose I should say yes. But don't expect me to start acting like a billionaire's wife..."
"Is that a yes?" Fritz asked, grinning.
"That's a yes."
The relief that flooded through me was almost painful. I surged forward, wrapping my arms around her waist, burying my face in her stomach where our children were growing.
"Thank you," I whispered against her. "Thank you,Princesse."
Fritz and Hastings joined us, their arms wrapping around both of us, creating a cocoon for our pack.
Presley's hands went to my hair, then to Fritz's shoulder, then to Hastings' arm. Like she was trying to touch all of us at once.
"Thank you," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "For finding me. For seeing me when I was invisible. For giving me something I never dared to dream of."
Her hand settled on her belly, right where I'd been resting my face.
"For giving me everything," she whispered.
“You are everything,” I murmured. “You and this pack.”
Epilogue Presley - Three Years Later
The smell of lavenderand baked bread filled the air as I leaned against the railing of the pack’s villa in the Cote d’Azur, while I listened to the birds as they flew from branch to branch. In the distance, vineyards stretched in perfect rows, disappearing into the haze where the earth met the sky. The air was thick with heat and scents, and the sound of my two-year-old twins who were supposed to be napping, laughing.
I smiled as I made my way into the villa. Inside, it hummed with life.
Fritz's mother was in the kitchen, teaching Etienne's grandmother how to make her famous apple strudel. The two women had been arguing in a mix of German and French for the past hour, but their laughter said it was all in good fun.
Hastings' business partner arrived from London with papers to sign, but they sat in the drawing room with a whiskey, regaling about their business mishaps.
I followed the sound of giggling down the hall to the twins’ room. The door was ajar, and I peeked inside.
Max and Sophia were sprawled on Max's bed, tangled together like puppies and pretending to sleep. Their dark hair was damp with sweat, their cheeks flushed from playing in the garden all morning.
And curled between them, taking up more space than both toddlers combined, was Mr. Cheddar. Who knew the grumpy beast would love children?
The cat's orange bulk rose and fell with deep, rumbling purrs. One paw was draped over Sophia's leg. His face was smooshed against Max's stomach. He looked content.
My chest tightened with how much I loved my life.
“You need a nap if we’re to go to the beach later,” I told them.
“Mama. We sleep now,” Sophia said, her voice sleepy.
Three years ago, I'd been scraping frost off caravan windows, wondering if I'd make it through another winter. Now I had this. Children who would never know cold or hunger or fear. A cat who'd become the world's most unlikely nanny. A life so full it sometimes scared me.
