Epilogue

EPILOGUE

NINA

Six months later

I toss my toiletries unceremoniously into a cardboard box, glancing over at Rowena hunched miserably over the toilet. The pungent smell of vomit mingles with the floral scent of air freshener.

I open the window to let in a bit of fresh air and turn to Hunter, who’s helping us pack. “Are you sure you’ll be fine living with my gross brother?” I ask her.

She frowns, her dark brows knitting together as she keeps folding towels perched on the bathtub. “What’s gross about him?”

“He’s a man,” I state matter-of-factly.

Hunter snorts. “You’re moving in with an equally gross man and you don’t seem too chafed.”

A sly grin spreads across my face. “No, but contrary to you, I’ll be getting a lot of sex out of the new arrangement.”

Hunter’s cheeks flush scarlet, and she quickly looks away, busying herself with refolding the same towel. That’s an interesting reaction, I wonder where her mind just went.

Shaking her head, Hunter changes the subject. “Anyway, you should worry about Pukerella over there who’s agreed to marry a perfect stranger and move in with him.”

Rowena wipes her mouth on the back of her hand, her face pale and glistening with sweat. Looking up, she pushes a strand of chestnut hair from her forehead with a slight tremor.

“I lost my job, I’m pregnant with my douchebag ex’s baby, and I can’t make rent anymore. I don’t have a choice,” she says wearily. “But it’s strictly a business arrangement with this guy. Nothing more.”

I exchange a worried glance with Hunter. Marrying a total stranger, even if it’s just on paper, seems like an enormously bad idea. Especially while pregnant and vulnerable.

“Are you sure about this, Winnie?” I ask gently. “What if he turns out to be a creep? Or worse?”

Rowena shrugs and leans back over the toilet bowl as another wave of nausea hits. Her voice is muffled as she replies, “He comes… highly recommended. It’ll be fine.”

I’m not convinced, but arguing with her now while she’s puking her guts out seems pointless. I just hope this marriage of convenience doesn’t turn into a nightmare for my friend. She’s been through enough already. But the least I could do is let her know she has a choice if she wants a different road.

I crouch down on the cold tile floor beside Rowena, gently massaging her lower back as she hugs the toilet bowl. “Hey, if you want to blow off this whole fake marriage thing, just say the word. Hunter and I are here for you, no matter what.”

Rowena lifts her head, grimacing, her glasses slightly askew. “Thanks, Neens. I appreciate you guys being here for me.” She takes a shaky breath. “I don’t know what I’d do without—” Her words are cut off by another violent heave. She accidentally knocks over the towel rack that goes down with a crash.

I straighten it and keep rubbing her back, exchanging a concerned look with Hunter over Rowena’s head. Just then, Tristan and Dylan burst into the bathroom, their faces etched with worry.

“Everything okay in here?” Dylan asks, his brow furrowed.

Rowena waves them off. “Just morning sickness, give a puking lady her privacy, please?”

I stand up, shooing everyone away.

Hunter grabs one of the boxes scattered on the floor. Dylan offers to take it from her. In response, she drops it, sending a flurry of packing peanuts scattering across the tiles. Her face turns beet red as she scrambles to clean up the mess, pointedly avoiding Dylan’s gaze. I narrow my eyes, a sneaking suspicion forming in my mind. Could Hunter have a crush on my brother?

Before I can elaborate, Tristan is at my side, his strong arm wrapping around my waist and pulling me close as we exit the bathroom. The heat of his body seeps through my thin T-shirt, and I can’t help but melt into his embrace. Our eyes meet, and he smirks, flicking my nose. “In a little while it could be you puking your guts out with a mini-me inside you.”

“Yeah, right,” I scoff. “After seeing what pregnancy does to a woman, I’ve bought a jumbo pack of condoms.”

At the mention of condoms, Dylan clears his throat awkwardly. I catch him averting his eyes, still not quite comfortable seeing his best friend and little sister all over each other.

Hunter crashes out of the bathroom next, colliding with Dylan and turning even more beetroot red. Something is definitely going on there.

But to spare her the awkwardness, I disentangle myself from Tristan and clap my hands. “Okay, I think we could all use a break.”

We spread in the living room, Tristan’s arm slipping easily over my shoulders as Hunter bustles around the kitchen, setting the kettle on the stove. Rowena joins us minutes later, sagging on the floor and still looking ashen.

As the kettle whistles, Hunter emerges from the kitchen carrying two steaming mugs. “Ginger tea for Winnie,” she says gently, handing my pale-faced friend a cup. “Should help with the nausea.”

“Thanks,” Rowena murmurs, mustering a weak smile. She cradles the mug in her hands but doesn’t drink, probably wanting to be sure she can handle the liquids without prompting more nausea.

I help Hunt carry the rest of the mugs—regular tea for us. And we all settle once again.

“So,” Tristan says, his blue eyes sparkling as he looks at me. “Who’s most excited about the new roommate situation?” He grins like a fool.

I elbow him playfully. “You’re such a dork.”

Dylan gives a small cough. “It’ll be nice to have a house office.” He’s taking over Rowena’s room as well as mine, paying two-thirds of the rent here so nothing will change for Hunter. “And of course living with a woman will be better than having to deal with your pre-dawn blender smoothie rituals.” He winks at Hunter.

And my friend promptly chokes on her tea, flushing scarlet. Oh yeah, she definitely has it bad for my brother. Poor thing. How did I never notice? Maybe the fact that they’re going to live together has put her on edge, and she’s less able to hide it.

I glance at Rowena, who is staring listlessly into her mug, complexion ashen. A lump lodges in my throat. I wish I could do more for her. Just then, her phone buzzes. She checks the screen and sighs.

“It’s him,” she says flatly. “Asking if I need help with the move. He offered to send ‘his people’ over.”

“Ooh, ‘his people,’” Dylan echoes with exaggerated awe. “Exactly how loaded is this guy, huh?”

“Very,” Rowena replies, tight-lipped.

I scoot closer and put an arm around her thin shoulders. “Hey, at least he’s nice. He’s offering to help.”

“He’d be nicer if he offered to help in person,” Hunter tuts.

I stare daggers at her, can’t she see Rowena is barely keeping it together?

“He must be busy.” Turning again to my pregnant friend, I add, “You know we’re here for you, right? No matter what you decide. Marriage, baby, all of it—if you change your mind at any point, we’ll support you.”

Rowena’s eyes fill with tears. She sets down her mug and hugs me fiercely.

I stroke her silky hair, wishing I could take some of her pain away and help her carry it.

I try to lighten the mood with a joke. “Hey, and if the guy is so loaded, you should tell him to have ‘his people’ over and pack my stuff too.”

Rowena’s chest starts shaking with laughter instead of sobs. “I’m sorry,” she says, pulling back. “Pregnancy hormones have turned me into a mess. I’ll be fine, really. The guy works so much I’ll barely see him, and there are worse destinies than having a penthouse all to myself.”

At least she hasn’t lost her sense of humor.

We finish our teas and return to packing, with a different energy. A new vibe. I glance over at Hunter meticulously dividing our mugs collection, Rowena carefully boxing her books, and Dylan hefting stacks of boxes marked “Kitchen.” Beneath the bustle of activity, there’s an unspoken current of love and support binding us together.

“I never thought I’d say this, but I might actually miss your snoring, Hunt,” I tease her, taping up a box of bedding.

She tosses a balled-up piece of wrapping paper at me. “Hey, I do not snore!”

“I heard that!” Dylan calls from the hall. “Should I buy earplugs before moving in?”

Hunter stares daggers at me. “I don’t snore,” she hisses again.

I bump her hip with mine. “I’m sure Dylan won’t mind.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I give her a teasing grin. “Nothing.”

As I drop yet another box by the door, I catch Rowena as she sighs over a framed photo of her and Liam, her ex, the father of the baby. Choosing to leave a toxic relationship is never easy, but she’s showing such courage and strength. I’m in awe of her. I just hope that by marrying a rando she isn’t rolling out of the frying pan into the fire.

But even if she does, we’ll be here to catch her— them , her baby is already part of the family. I stare at the people beside me who, apart from Dylan, who I’m actually related to, are like a second family. And bask in the certainty that no matter where life brings us, we’ll always be there for each other.

Later, Tristan and I are alone in my room, packing the last few items. He picks up the snow globe from my nightstand, the one with the selfie we took in New Haven last Christmas. I feel a rush of affection at the memory.

“Remember when I had to sneak this into your room at the crack of dawn?” he muses, shaking the globe.

“Mmm, it feels like a lifetime ago,” I agree, moving to slip my arms around him from behind. “All the hiding and sneaking around.”

He sets the snow globe in a box and turns to face me, hands settling on my hips. “No more of that. From now on, it’s you and me against the world. Think you can handle having me around twenty-four-seven?”

I loop my arms behind his neck. “My dear prince, I’ve been handling you for months. It’s you who might not survive me,” I quip, poking his chest with a finger. I lower my hand over his heart, fisting the soft fabric of his T-shirt and pulling him toward me. “I’m very high maintenance, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

He beams, eyes crinkling. “Oh, I know just how high maintenance you can be. But trust me”—he flicks my nose before his arm circles my waist—“you’re not nearly as high maintenance when you love me as when you hate me.”

He kisses me then, tender and full of unspoken promises. I melt into him, awash in giddy anticipation to wake next to him every morning.

Once we break apart and Tristan disappears down the hall with the last of my boxes, I take one last look around the empty room—once my safe haven, now a blank canvas for someone else’s story. The girl who moved in here, guarded and unsure about her looks, is not the same woman who’s leaving. With a deep breath, I close the door on who I was and step forward into who I’m meant to become.