I enter her with a single, deep thrust that makes us both cry out. I watch her face, her eyes fixed on mine, her expression raw and beautiful.
"Look at me," I say, my voice rough.
Every stroke is a promise, every touch a revelation.
"I love you," she gasps, her fingers digging into my shoulders. "I love you, Brooks."
The world narrows to us, this.
Later, as we lie tangled in the massive bed, Ivy traces the line of my jaw with her fingertip. The moonlight catches the diamond on her finger.
"We're going to be a scandal, you know," she murmurs. "The billionaire and the girl from River Bend. Your mother is going to clutch her pearls."
"Let her," I say, pulling her closer. "I don't care what anyone thinks. I've got everything I need right here."
"When should we start planning? The wedding, I mean."
"Tomorrow," I say. "We'll figure it out together. Everything. The wedding, the logistics, all of it. We're a team now."
Ivy smiles against my skin. "A team. I like that."
"Get used to it," I say, kissing the top of her head. "You're stuck with me."
"Good," she whispers. "Because I'm not going anywhere."
I close my eyes, holding her close. No clauses. No exit strategy. No expiration date. Just us.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
IVY
There is a specific kind of silence that exists in the moments before a high-society wedding begins. It isn’t the peaceful silence of a library or the empty silence of a desert. It is a pressurized, expensive hush, the sound of three hundred people holding their breath while sitting on gold-leafed chairs, waiting for a performance to commence.
One year ago, I was a professional at navigating that hush. I knew how to blend into the shadows, how to fix a sagging floral arch without being seen, and how to stand in for a missing bridesmaid without anyone noticing the difference. I was the girl in the background. I was the “Stand-In.”
But today, as I stand in the private bridal suite of the St. Regis, staring at my reflection in a floor-to-ceiling gilded mirror, the only person I am standing in for is myself.
The St. Regis wasn't my first choice. I'd imagined walking down the aisle in the barn at Ever After, surrounded by the chaos and love we built there. But when the guest list hit three hundred—half of them Brooks's business associates and board members who couldn't be excluded without causing a scandal—even Brooks had to admit the barn wouldn't hold them all. So here we are: the gilded ballroom of Manhattan's most exclusive hotel, but with my flowers, my colors, my rules.
“Ivy, if you breathe any harder, you’re going to pop a seam in that lace, and I am too drunk on morning mimosas to sew you back together,” Savvy says, appearing behind me in the mirror’s reflection.
She looks breathtaking in a structured, floor-length gown of deep plum, a color we chose specifically because it was a defiant middle finger to the pastel “Hamptons” world. She holds a glass of champagne in one hand and a rogue piece of double-sided tape in the other, her sharp eyes scanning me for imperfections.
“I’m not nervous about the seams, Sav,” I whisper, my hand trembling slightly as I reach up to touch the heavy, intricate lace at my throat.
The dress is a masterpiece of French design, a cloud of ivory silk and delicate embroidery that makes me look like something out of a dream I’ve never been allowed to have. It is bold, it is elegant, and it is entirely mine.
I look down at my hands. On my left is the five-carat diamond, the ring Brooks chose when he thought he’d lost me. It is the only anchor I need. I left the family heirloom in its velvet box at the penthouse. That ring belongs to a history of ghosts; this stone belongs to me.
“You’re nervous about the fact that you don’t have a crisis to manage,” Maddy says, walking over to join us. She looks soft and radiant in the same plum silk, her eyes already shimmering with the tears she’s been holding back since the hair and makeup team arrived. “You don’t have to fix anything today, Ivy. You just have to be.”
“It’s a terrifying concept,” I admit. “Being the center of the room without a checklist in my hand.”
"That's because you aren't the consultant today, honey," Savvy says, setting her glass down and turning me around to face her. "You're the bride. The girl who tackled a billionaire into a marble cherub, sent him to the hospital, and somehow ended up with it all. We've built Ever After into the top firm in New York. That's amazing for three girls from River Bend, and now I get to watch my best friend marry the man she loves. Today is a victory lap."
I look at the women who had my back when I was wearing a ruined bridesmaid dress in a hospital room, and who have been my partners through every crazy moment since. We built this empire together.
"We did it," I say, my voice breaking.
