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“Only because of you,” I murmur, giving her a wink. Then I open Instagram.

She instantly stops laughing. “Nick…”

That’s all she manages to say before she watches me go into her account settings and, without even hesitating, I update her profile name.

From Sierra Thomas to Sierra Hardy.

I glance down at her, pretending to be deeply focused.

“Perfect,” I say, smug as hell.

Her mouth drops open, eyes wide.

“Nickolas. Oh my God.”

She looks equal parts scandalized and flattered, which only makes me grin wider.

I don’t stop there.

Next is Facebook.

Then TikTok.

Then X.

Then her contact name in my phone—My Serendipity.

In two minutes flat, there’s not a single trace left of Sierra Thomas anywhere.

Only Sierra Hardy.

My wife. My woman.

She shakes her head in disbelief, covering her face with both hands.

“You’re out of control.’

“I know.” I lean in, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “And still not even sorry.”

She peeks at me from between her fingers, eyes soft with something I can only call forever.

“You’re lucky I love you.”

“I know that too,” I whisper, kissing her again—this time right over her wedding ring.

“Okay,” she says suddenly, her voice light but determined. “Then I guess it’s my turn to do something.”

I look at her, amused and curious, as she snatches her phone back from my hands like it’s some sacred artifact I’ve been misusing.

She taps quickly into Instagram, and I watch her scroll through her gallery with that mischievous little smile I’ve come to adore.

Then she picks a photo.

It’s from the aisle—taken just seconds after we were pronounced husband and wife.

Her veil still floats behind her, and in the photo, we’re kissing. Slow, tender, lips barely touching—like we couldn’t believe we were finally allowed to.

My hand is cradling her jaw. Her fingers are clutching the lapel of my jacket. The world blurs around us, but we’re still. Anchored in that moment.