Page 91 of His Orders

When he finally kisses me again, it’s slow and deep and possessive. Because I am his, every wrecked, trembling, ruined inch.

36

EPILOGUE

IVY

Ayear later

The breeze carries the faintest sweetness from the hydrangeas blooming along the low stone wall, their petals pale as blush, some edging into lavender. I can hear waves crashing faintly below the cliffs, the ocean stretching past the archway of wisteria where we’ll say our vows in less than an hour.

I’m barefoot in the grass, holding my dress up as Sophie toddles toward me with one of her shoes in her hand and the other half on her foot. Her curls are wild already, her cheeks pink with the flush of excitement, her little white dress stained with something that might be frosting or flower pollen. She’s exactly as I dreamed she would be. Perfect.

She’s the reason we waited a year. Ethan and I could’ve been married months ago, but we knew this day had to include her—not just in a carriage or with a crown of petals, but walking, smiling, beaming with all the joy she’s brought into our lives. The flower girl of our hearts. The promise of what we built when everything else fell apart.

I kneel, laughing softly as I clean her up, slipping the shoe back on while she babbles about the ducks she saw earlier in the pond near the house. I kiss her forehead, brushing a curl from her eyes, and glance up as I hear a throat clear behind me.

Drew stands there in his suit, looking far too smug for someone who swore he wasn’t going to cry today. Blair’s beside him, her hand tucked through his arm, her belly just beginning to round beneath the soft silk of her dress. She’s glowing. They both are.

“She stole the show,” Drew says, nodding at Sophie. “No one’s going to notice the bride now.”

I roll my eyes and pick Sophie up, standing slowly. “She’s allowed. She’s the reason there’s a bride at all.”

Blair steps forward and cups my face gently. “You look beautiful. Absolutely radiant.”

“You’re biased,” I say, but my throat’s already tightening.

Blair shakes her head. “No. This is the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”

And it is. I know it is. Not just happiness, but peace. A quiet certainty that this—this garden, this dress, this child in my arms and the man waiting for me at the edge of the cliff—is everything I ever wanted but never believed I deserved.

Cassie appears next, nearly tripping over the grass in her heels as she waves a pair of champagne flutes above her head. “I’m not crying, you’re crying,” she says before even reaching us. “Also, someone needs to tell Ethan to stop pacing or he’s going to wear a hole in the path.”

I laugh through the tears I’m now definitely crying.

Mason’s the last to arrive, holding the wedding bands in a little wooden box, a faint smile tugging at his mouth as he takes in the sight of all of us together.

“Everything’s ready,” he says, and then he glances at Sophie, who’s squirming to get down again. “And the flower girl?”

“Has her own ideas about timing,” I say, setting her back on her feet. “But we’ll follow her lead.”

The music begins faintly down the slope—soft strings drifting up from the quartet nestled beneath the oak trees. People are gathering in rows, quieting as they turn toward the aisle lined with rose petals and woven lanterns.

Sophie toddles forward first, her basket swinging wildly as she flings petals in every direction, giggling as they scatter in the wind. Cassie follows her like a shadow, guiding her gently, whispering encouragement. Drew walks me halfway, placing a kiss to my temple before stepping back with wet eyes and an unspoken promise that he’ll always be near.

And then I see Ethan.

He’s waiting beneath the arch, the wisteria tangled above him like a crown. His eyes find mine, and the rest of the world disappears. He looks at me like he’s still in awe, like I’m something sacred, something rare. I feel it in my bones, the way he loves me. The way he always has.

When I reach him, he takes my hands, holding them like they anchor him.

Neither of us needs to be told what to say. We’ve written our own vows, of course, but even if we hadn’t, I think we could’ve spoken the same truths from memory.

“I never thought love would look like this,” I tell him softly. “A storm that made me brave. A fire that didn’t burn but warmed me when I was at my coldest. I didn’t think I’d survive the year I met you. And now I can’t imagine a world without you in it. You are my home. My compass. My calm. My everything.”

He brings my hands to his lips, his voice thick.

“I thought I knew what love was,” he says. “But I didn’t—not until I watched you fight for yourself. For Sophie. For me. You brought me back to life, Ivy. I promise to protect that life with everything I am. I promise to choose you, every day, for the rest of mine.”

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