Epilogue

I can do this. The aisle is only twenty yards long. The altar is not that far.

No reason to panic.

And the ceremony is small, with only family and close friends.

That's easy.

It doesn't matter that one of the close friends will probably be the next president of the United States, or that family means the boss of the boss of my boss is here, right?

"Don't be nervous," the wedding planner whispers next to me. We're standing hidden in a cove of trees, out of sight of the outdoor reception setting, waiting to make our entrance.

"Nervous?" I turn to her, clutching the flower bouquet in my hands for dear life. "I'm not nervous. What makes you say that?"

She pointedly stares at my death grip on the unfortunate floral stems. "Then why are you trying to strangle that poor flower arrangement?"

The flowers are already dead, by any standard, but I force myself to unclench my fingers and give some circulation back to my knuckles. Then I smile like a lunatic, promising the wedding planner that I'm fine.

I concentrate on the soft organ music playing in the background, keeping my gaze trained on the green grass under my fancy new shoes. After six months of dating Thomas, I should be used to the bubble wrap that comes from dating a billionaire. Or to the fact that I work for his father—many levels below him. And I mostly have. Now I can handle family brunches like a pro, but a wedding? That's a different story.

When the chords shift to the song preceding the bridal march, the wedding planner nudges me. "You're first after the flower girl."

As if I didn't know already.

Nora, the maid of honor's stepdaughter, struts out of our hidden cove in her tulle dress, projecting a hundred times more confidence than I can summon.

Then it's my turn.

"Chin high and one foot in front of the other," the wedding planner prompts. "Keep on the white carpet so that your heels won't sink in the ground, and you'll be fine. You can do it."

Of course I can. I've been walking since I was one. I'm very proficient at walking. Well, maybe not in sky-high heels like the ones I'm wearing today. But I practiced my runway walk, I can do it. Deep breaths.

"You're out in three, two, one…"

The wedding planner ushers me out from behind a huge oak trunk, and just like that, I'm standing in the middle of the outdoor wedding setting, all eyes on me. But I only have eyes for the man standing next to the altar, one step down from the groom.

Thomas smiles, and suddenly all worries fly out the window. I no longer care if the people gathered in this garden control half the country's GDP. Or that one or more of them will be president one day.

I float down the aisle, eyes glued to the best man, who can't take his eyes off me—smoldering, indeed.

I reach the flower gazebo, doubling as an altar, without stumbling, but my heart still does a little somersault when Thomas winks at me.

The maid of honor, Marissa, who's sporting a baby bump similar in size to that of the bride, is next. And then the bride.

Blake looks resplendent in a flowing white gown, her long, dark hair cascading down her shoulders in glorious waves. She isn't wearing a veil, just a small crown of white flowers resting delicately on top of her head.

The ceremony flies by. The vows are a little bizarre, but totally romantic. Gabriel promises to love and to cherish his bride and to never lift a finger should she get in business trouble. An inside joke? From Blake's bright smile, the bride seems to appreciate the pledge. And a few people in the know, including Thomas, chuckle along.

Gabriel also promises to never let Blake go to sleep without hearing "I love you" at least once, no matter how tired or grumpy he might be. It's sweet and makes me smile. And to always make sure that she is never without her favorite brand of ice cream in the freezer, which garners a laugh from the crowd.

In return, the bride promises to always be his partner, to constantly keep him on his toes, but also to allow Gabriel the occasional romantic kidnapping. Again, Thomas and the maid of honor chuckle at the inside joke.

Then the rings are exchanged, and the ceremony is over in a flurry of confetti and joyous tears.

Thomas is by my side in seconds. "You look like a dream in that dress," he whispers in my ear. "I can't wait to take it off you."

My toes curl in my pumps and heat rises to my cheeks.

"Don't blush so much," Thomas mock-chides. "Or everyone will know I'm talking dirty to you."

I give him the side-eye. "Then stop talking dirty to me."

He grins. "Impossible."

We make our way to a different area of the resort where the reception is being held. The venue is simply stunning—a lush garden, with fairy lights woven through the trees, and tables adorned with flowers of every color. Soft music floats through the air, and guests are mingling, sipping champagne, and nibbling on delicious canapés.

As we approach the table with our seating arrangement, Marissa and the bride are already sitting there, complaining about the third trimester being the worst, while their men do their best to make sure they're as comfortable as possible.

In my short time dating Thomas, I've gotten to know his brother and sister-in-law a little. I see them every Sunday at brunch, and I've enrolled in one of Blake's ballet for beginners classes at her gym, but I don't know Marissa and her fiancé that well.

I take my seat next to Thomas and smile at the two women. "Did you guys plan to get pregnant at the same time?"

"No." The bride beams back at me. "This is very much an accidental baby."

I didn't know that. For obvious reasons, we never discussed the conception story of the baby while at brunch with Thomas's parents.

The maid of honor caresses her belly. "This baby, on the other hand, was very much planned. It was the paternity that was accidental." She stares up at her fiancé, the other groomsman in the wedding party, John, and they share a look so sizzling I'm afraid the flower arrangement between them might catch fire.

I stare at them, unsure what to say.

Marissa turns to me, explaining, "I was supposed to get pregnant with an anonymous donor, but the IVF clinic I was getting treated at accidentally used John's sample."

"Wow." My eyes bulge. "Is that how you guys met?"

"No." Marissa smiles. "He made me fall for him in high school, then broke my heart, and then disappeared for the next sixteen years, only to get me accidentally knocked up with his baby two weeks after coming back into my life."

John grins, raising his hands. "The knocking up wasn't technically my fault. But I'm not complaining." He glances at me and Thomas. "How did you guys meet?"

Thomas flashes the table a smug smirk. "Her droid invited me in on her having a striptease in her office."

The whole table chuckles, and then Gabriel asks, "This is the same droid you're going to mass produce?"

Thomas nods. "We're going to get both of your babies a prototype as soon as they're born. We should be on the market next year and the pre-sales are already amazing."

My chest swells with the familiar sensation of overwhelming love and pride, and I squeeze Thomas's hand under the table. He's been working relentlessly hard to bring together our toy company. And it's amazing all that he's accomplished in such a short time.

"What about you guys?" I ask the bride and groom. "I don't think I ever heard how you met."

The groom takes a sip of champagne and then unleashes a smile on the table as devastatingly charming as that of his younger brother. "She bad-mouthed me in the press."

Blake scowls. "I gave the press factual statements, and then he thought it appropriate to barge into my office uninvited and mansplain to me all the reasons I was wrong."

I smile. "Uh-huh, I take it the mansplaining went well. What did you do?"

Blake's smirk is feral. "I sent him to have a pizza to cool down and reflect on the error of his ways."

"Best pizza in New York," Gabriel declares, and the whole table laughs.

The rest of the wedding banquet is just as easygoing. All my earlier tension at the start of the ceremony now seems completely unjustified.

After I finish a giant slice of wedding cake, we dance and drink more champagne. I lose the bouquet to one of Thomas's cousins, and console myself with a slow dance in the arms of my gorgeous boyfriend. I don't need to catch a bunch of dead flowers to know we'll get married someday. The music picks up and we dance, and dance, and dance until we collapse back at our table. It's late, some of the guests are already leaving, and my feet hurt. But soon, as much as I don't want to get up again, I have to excuse myself to go to the bathroom.

"Don't forget your bag," Thomas says, handing me my clutch.

"I don't really need it. I'll be back in a sec."

"Take it," he insists. "In case you need to powder your nose or something."

Is he implying my nose needs powdering? Frowning, I take the clutch from him and head to the bathroom.

After a quick visit to the toilet, I stand in front of the wide restroom mirrors to assess my reflection. My nose looks just fine. My lipstick, however, could use a retouch.

I open my clutch, searching for my lip gloss, and find a blue note instead.

My heart rate immediately picks up.

I'm dating a pickpocket.

How does he manage to always sneak notes in my bags without me ever noticing? I find them at the oddest moments, sometimes totally inappropriate instances, but whenever I read one of his messages—be they sweet, funny, or outright indecent—my heart flutters, then I smile like an idiot as thrills zap through my body. And today is no different.

With my fingers itching with anticipation, I unfold the blue note.

Room 873, don't make me wait.

Oh, so today he went for casually indecent.

Without returning to the reception—the party is over anyway—I rush through the hotel lobby and head straight for the elevators.

The ride up is unbearably slow, and when the elevator doors open on the eighth floor, I rush down the hall, my heart pumping.

When I reach the designated door, I find another blue note stuck on the outside.

Knock, then close your eyes.

I raise my fist to the door and close my eyes a heartbeat before knocking. I'm ready for whatever is waiting on the other side, for slipping into this never-ending dream my life has become since Thomas stole my very heart and soul.

And then the door opens…

Strong, warm hands gently grab mine, pulling me into the room.

Thomas leans in to whisper in my ear, "Keep your eyes closed."

The hairs on my arms stand to attention as he sneaks past me to close the door. Then he's hugging me from behind, placing his hands over my eyes and awkwardly prompting me forward. We shuffle-walk, doing our best not to stomp on each other's feet, until Thomas pulls me to a stop.

He drops his hands from my face. "You can open your eyes now."

Flowers fill every surface in the room in all shapes and in every shade of pink. Roses, azaleas, begonias, lilies, hydrangeas, and many others whose names I don't know.

I don't even have time to admire their beauty before a giant blue question mark made of Post-it notes snags my attention to the back wall.

I turn to Thomas. "What is this?"

"Go read," he prompts me with a look on his face that's part adoration, part mischief, and part eagerness. "Start at the center."

I go to the wall and pick up the note that ends the curl on the upper part of the question mark.

I love your scowls

I beam, picking up the next note and reading them one after the other.

Almost as much as I love your smiles

But what I love the most

Is when you can't help smiling at me

Even when you're trying to scowl

Your intelligence challenges me

Your humor delights me

Your body inflames me

My cheeks sure are flaming right now.

Your strength and your resilience astound me

In your arms, I find a rare kind of peace

I love you, despite you saying you prefer the prequel trilogy of Star Wars to the original movies

I chuckle at that.

Really? I mean, Han Solo, Leia? Come on, Campbell

I'm downright laughing now, but my heart rate has also picked up a certain speed.

But you love your villain origin stories, and I can live with that

In fact, I want to live with that

Every day

For the rest of my life

Reese Campbell, you've stolen my breath, my heart, my soul from the very first day I met you

Tears well up in my eyes.

I'm in love with you

I want to grow old together

I pick up the last note.

Turn around

Thomas is behind me, down on one knee, cradling a tiny jewelry box in his hands. Inside, propped on a soft velvet lining, is an engagement ring topped by a giant pink diamond shaped like a football. The gem glints under the overhead lights. But not even the perfect diamond sparkle can compete with the intensity of Thomas's eyes on me now—smoldering more than ever.

"Marry me," he says simply, his voice raw with emotion.

"Yes." I drop to my knees on the soft carpet and hug him, burying my face in his neck. "Yes."

Thomas pulls back slightly, a goofy smile on his face. His hands shake as he takes the ring out of the box.

As Thomas slips the ring onto my finger, I can't help but grin. "You do realize this means you're stuck with my extravagant movie opinions for life, right?"

His laughter rings out, warm and genuine. He pulls me closer and I end up sitting on his lap on the floor. "Oh, so next, you're going to tell me The Hunger Games prequel was better than the original movies?"

"I'm not that extravagant."

"No, you're extraordinary," he says, suddenly serious. He cups my cheeks and brushes wayward locks of hair away from my face. "And I'm the luckiest man alive to have you as my future wife."

I might die if I don't kiss him now, and so I do. And as we embrace, surrounded by a sea of flowers and love notes, I know this is just the beginning of our forever.