Page 111 of Untroubled Heart

“Oh shit!” I say, hurrying to unlock my phone.

“What?” Callie gasps.

“The private investigator just emailed me.”

Callie had already filled her mum in on the letters over the last few weeks that they’ve been reconnecting. Everyone we know is invested in the story at this point.

I take a deep breath before I start reading aloud. “Dear Mr Heart, I’m happy to report that both identities of the subjects in question, Florence Hill and Greyson Williams, surname formerly unknown, have now been confirmed. Please find attached a detailed report of their histories and current living relatives, should you wish to return the found artifacts to their family.” I stop to catch Callie’s wide eyes. “Their living relatives …”

Callie waves her hands, urging me to continue, so I download the report, eyes scanning the highlighted tables, so I can give them both the cliffnotes.

“Florence Mary Hill was married to Greyson Edward Williams in 1899.” They got their happily ever after. “They had three children. Two sons, Otto Eugene Williams and George Edward Williams, and a daughter, Alice Lillian Williams.” Callie leans into me as my eyes trail through the report, taking in each name and relationship listed. The list goes from a great-grandson, to three great-great-grandchildren, and six more of the next generation of kids around mine and Callie’s age.

“They got their happily ever after,” Callie says on a choked breath, tears streaming down her cheeks.

I take her hand in mine, kissing her knuckles. “We both did.”

Eight Months Later

“T-minus thirty minutes until the photographer wants us downstairs for the next photos,” Beth says, making a mark in the notebook she’s been attached to from the moment Mason and I got engaged.

She’s been the best maid of honour, and in a few hours, I’ll officially be able to call her my sister.

In the reflection of the mirror, I watch where Mum stands behind me, bouncing Navie in her arms. She looks so adorable in her baby blue flower girl dress. Someone will need to take her to Mason soon to get the matching bow on. She still refuses to wear them unless he puts them on.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Mum asks when she catches my eyes on her.

“Excited.” I smile. “I just want to see him already.”

“Not until you’re walking down that aisle,” Beth says, pointing a finger. “I need to double-check with the photographer that someone has eyes on Mason the entire time. I can’t wait for his reaction when he first sees you.”

“You know, if interior design doesn’t work out, you could be a wedding planner.” Maevyn chuckles as she finishes applying highlighter to Liv’s cheeks.

Beth’s face contorts with a grimace. “People are far more receptive to suggestions when it comes to their house. I don’t think I could handle a bridezilla insisting on bad floral decisions.” She gasps. “Or even worse—fashion.”

I’d never spent any of my life before Mason imagining what a wedding would look like in my future. The longer we were together, the more I daydreamed about what it could be. I knew I wanted something relaxing that included all my favourite people.

Mason surprised Navie and me with a trip to Queens Coast for Valentine’s Day. One night, we were walking along the beach, Mason taking us on a wild goose chase to find a roaming doughnut stall, when we stumbled across a gorgeous little corner restaurant. The outside was painted blue, with antique brass lanterns mounted on the walls. Planter boxes filled with white and red geraniums bordered the alfresco dining area that led around to an atrium-style hall. The tinted glass revealed a long table, with string lights covering the pitched roof. From the street, we could see a newlywed couple, the faint hum of the string quartet just reaching our ears as we watched them sway happily in each other’s arms. Then we noticed the name of the restaurant: Florence Hall. I think the same future played out in our heads at that moment.

Mason dropped down on one knee, pulling a box from his pocket, which he later told me he’d been carrying around for two weeks, waiting for the perfect moment, but that’s every moment when it comes to him.

Two quick knocks on the door have Beth sprinting in her four-inch heels.

“Who is it?” she calls, gripping the handle.

“Your salvation.” Beth rolls her eyes at Tristan’s muffled voice. “Mason has something to give Callie.”

“He can’t come in! He’s not allowed to see her dress.”

“Cover her with a blanket,” Mason calls. My heart leaps when I hear his voice. I wonder if my reaction to him will ever simmer, but I also hope it never does.

Navie squeals, her eyes searching the room for her daddy. I chuckle, walking to the end of the bed in our honeymoon suite and grab a blanket folded over the end.

“You can open the door, Beth.” I drape it over my shoulders, clutching the ends so the bodice and most of my skirt are hidden. There’s too much tulle to hide it all.

Beth pins me with an appalled glare as I stand behind her. “He has to keep his eyes off you, though.”

“Unlikely,” Tristan scoffs. “Just open the door, Luci.”