Ivy is wearing her jeans and one of my white dress shirts, knotted at the waist. The sleeves are rolled up. Her boots are still on. She hasn’t touched her hair. It is wild. She looks like a woman who is done pretending.
“Brooks,” my mother says, her voice like a chime of glass. “I see our guest has decided to rejoin us. A rather… dramatic entrance last night, wouldn’t you say?”
“It was effective, Mother,” I say, pulling out a chair for Ivy. “Which is what Ivy does best.”
My father finally lowers his paper. He looks at me, his eyes sharp and calculating, then he looks at Ivy. To my surprise, there is a faint, almost imperceptible glimmer of respect in his gaze.
"The paperwork finalized at 4:00 AM," my father says, his voice a low rumble. "The board is ecstatic. They're calling it the 'Taylor Triumph.'"
I take a breath. "Before we go any further, there's something you both need to know."
For the next half hour, I lay it all out. The fake engagement. The contract with Ever After. The concussion that started it all. Penelope's blackmail attempt. Ivy's sacrifice. Every detail I've been hiding for eight weeks comes spilling out across the breakfast table like a deposition.
My mother's face remains unreadable throughout. My father sets down his paper and listens the way he does in board meetings when someone's about to lose their job.
When I finish, the silence holds long enough that I can hear the ocean through the open windows.
Finally, my mother speaks. "I see." She pauses, her spoon hovering over her grapefruit. "So she was a... consultant. In the truest sense."
"She's my partner," I say, reaching for Ivy's hand under the table and lacing our fingers together. "In every sense of the word. And while we're on the subject, I've decided to make a change to the family's protocols. Moving forward, anyone who attempts to use internal family information for extortion, like Penelope Vanderbilt did this weekend, will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law."
The silence that follows is absolute. My mother's spoon clicks against the china, the only sound in the room. She looks at me, really looks at me, and I know she sees the change. The "stability" she's been grooming me for has finally arrived, but it doesn't look like the cold, obedient version she imagined. It looks like a man who finally knows what he is fighting for.
"I see," Betty says, her voice softer now. She looks at Ivy, her gaze lingering on the lack of a ring on Ivy's finger. "And what does the future hold for Ever After, Inc.? I imagine after such a... high-profile success, the phone won't stop ringing."
"Ever After is expanding," Ivy says, her voice clear and confident. She doesn't look at me for help; she doesn't need it. "We're no longer 'managing' crises. We're building legacies. And as for my role here... well, I've decided to take on one more very high-maintenance client on a permanent basis."
My father lets out a short, sharp bark of a laugh. He folds his paper and sets it on the table. "Good. God knows this familyneeds a little 'aggressive floral' in the mix. The place was getting dusty."
He looks at me and nods, a silent acknowledgment of a man to a man. "Congratulations, Brooks," he says. "On the deal. And on the... acquisition."
"It's not an acquisition, Dad," I say, looking at Ivy, her presence filling every corner of my vision. "It's a partnership. And it's the only one I ever intend to sign."
As we walk out onto the veranda after breakfast, the salty breeze catches Ivy's hair, blowing it across her face. I reach out, tucking a strand behind her ear, my thumb lingering on her cheek.
"That went better than expected," she whispers, her eyes shining with relief.
"They know they can't beat you, Ivy," I say, pulling her into the shadow of a stone pillar. "And they know they can't have me without you. That's a powerful combination."
"We're a liability, Taylor," she teases, her hands finding the lapels of my blazer. "A big, messy, expensive liability."
"No," I say, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a small velvet box. "We're an investment. And I'm ready to double down."
I don't get down on one knee. That isn't us. I open the box, revealing a ring that isn't a family heirloom. It is a stunning, radiant-cut diamond, surrounded by a halo of smaller diamonds. It is bright, bold, and entirely unique.
"I bought this the morning I left your apartment," I admit, my voice low. I take a step closer, leaving no space between us. "I didn't care about any of it. The business, the family ties, the fallout. I wanted the girl from River Bend."
Ivy stares at the ring, her breath catching in her throat. "Brooks..."
"I don't want a stand-in, Ivy. I don't want a contract. I want the real thing. I want the woman who tackles me in gardens and spends thousands of dollars on helicopters. Will you stay, Ivy? Not for the eight weeks. Not for the payout. But for me?"
Ivy looks at the ring, then back at me, her eyes shimmering with tears. She reaches out and takes my hand.
"On one condition, Taylor," she says, her voice tight with emotion.
"Anything."
"You never, ever tell my mother how much I spent on that helicopter. She'd kill me for not using a coupon."
