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I simply want to love the woman in my arms.

Epilogue One

WREN

Three Months Later

There are certain disadvantages to falling in love with the God of Wrath.

He’s stubborn, ridiculously overprotective, and possesses the customer service skills of a particularly aggressive prison guard.

But the biggest problem?

The man has absolutely no concept of moderation.

Especially when it comes to flowers.

I discover this when I return to the shop after running errands and find the front windows completely obscured by roses.

Not a few roses.

Not even a few dozen.

Hundreds.

“Oh, for the love of…”

I push open the door.

And stop dead.

My flower shop has apparently been transformed into the Garden of Eden.

Pink peonies spill from enormous crystal vases. White hydrangeas crowd the windowsills. Garlands of jasmine drape from the ceiling, and candles flicker between arrangements of ranunculus and eucalyptus.

There are roses everywhere.

Red roses.

White roses.

Blush-pink roses.

Enough roses to supply every wedding in Louisiana for the next decade.

And standing behind the counter, looking entirely too pleased with himself, is my enormous, devastatingly handsome husband.

Wearing an apron.

A pink apron.

With three words printed across his broad chest.

KISS THE GOD.

I stare.

He smiles.