"Are you taking notes for your matchmaking files?" I ask suspiciously.
"Research is research," she says primly, like she's conducting a dissertation on romance instead of being nosy.
Carol Anne drifts over in her flowing purple dress, somehow managing to look ethereal despite having slept in a chair. "The energy convergence is remarkable. Four souls becoming one universal unit."
"Please don't start with the mystical commentary," Emma groans. "It's too early for spiritual observations."
"It's past noon," Rose points out.
"It's too early in my emotional processing timeline for mystical commentary."
Mrs. Lee steps back with the satisfied expression of someone who's just completed a masterpiece. "Finished. You look like a princess."
I turn to the full-length mirror that someone procured from somewhere and actually gasp. The dress is perfect: elegant but not fussy, fitted but comfortable, with delicate beadwork that catches the light like captured stars.
"Holy shit," Emma breathes, then claps a hand over her mouth. "Sorry, Mrs. Lee. Holy... sugar?"
"Language is just noise," Mrs. Lee says, waving dismissively. "Results are what matter. And these results are excellent."
A commotion outside draws our attention back to the window. Three unfamiliar men have emerged from the main building, tall and dark-haired and moving with the kind of predatory grace that screams alpha. They're heading toward a figure in a blue dress: Jessica Hamilton, who's been notably quiet since her breakdown two days ago.
"Who are those guys?" I ask, noting the way they seem to orbit around Jessica like planets around the sun.
Emma presses her nose to the glass. "Oh my God, those are the Castellano brothers. Dax's cousins from Portland. They got stuck in the storm."
"Castellano," Rose repeats thoughtfully. "As in Malik Carter's family."
"Derek, as in Jessica's psycho ex-boyfriend who tried to claim her without consent?"
"The very same." Emma's eyes glitter with the prospect of drama. "This is going to be interesting."
We watch as Jessica disappears into the woods with the three brothers, her body language suggesting this is voluntary and mutually desired.
"Well," Beverly says, making another note, "that's another successful match."
"You didn't match them," I point out.
"The universe did. I just facilitated optimal circumstances."
"Right. Because getting everyone snowed in together was definitely divine intervention and not just questionable weather judgment."
A knock on the door interrupts our speculation. "Ladies? Are we ready?" Father McKenzie's voice carries the kind of patient amusement that comes from forty years of managing wedding chaos.
Emma bounces to her feet, smoothing her dress. "Ready as we'll ever be!"
I take one last look in the mirror at the woman staring back at me: no longer running, no longer afraid, finally ready to fight for what she wants.
"Let's go get married," I say.
The walk downstairs feels like stepping into a fairy tale designed by caffeinated elves. Someone, probably the teenagetask force, has strung lights through the pine boughs, creating a canopy of twinkling stars. Candles flicker on every available surface, filling the room with warm, golden light that makes everything look touched by magic.
The guests who are still snowed in have gathered as witnesses, their faces bright with excitement. The matchmaking committee has claimed the front row, naturally. The Castellano family clusters together, Derek's parents looking pleased and his younger siblings practically bouncing with excitement.
But what steals my breath is the sight of Logan, Griff, and Xavier waiting at the front of the room.
They've managed to find clean suits from somewhere (probably raided someone's luggage) and they look like something out of a magazine. Logan stands solid and steady, his gray eyes finding mine across the room with laser focus. Griff flashes that crooked grin that makes my knees weak. Xavier's dark eyes are soft with wonder, like he can't quite believe this is happening.
They're mine. All of them. Finally, officially, completely mine.
