I stared down at the page as words and numbers swam before my eyes.
“You’re going to cry again, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not, assface. God, why do you have to give such thoughtful gifts? You’re such a jerk,” I sniffled.
“Suck it up, or I’ll be forced to unleash Tiffany.”
Blinking back tears, I crossed the room to my nightstand and found the wrapped package I’d tucked into the drawer.
“This is for you,” I said, thrusting it at him.
While he carefully undid the wrapping, I resumed the fanning of my eyes.
“What is it?” he asked, flipping over the frame.
He went statue still, looking like he’d been carved from marble by a besotted sculptor.
It was a picture from this summer of me, Maeve, Mom, and Chloe on the front porch. Lucian was grinning in the middle, his arms around us protectively. Beneath the photo was a slip of paper. The last text my dad had sent him.
If I could have chosen a son in this lifetime, it would have been you. Take care of my girls.
Lucian swallowed hard. He opened his mouth, but no words came. And when he covered his eyes with his free hand, I knew I’d hit the mark.
“This is…” His voice was raspy. And when he looked up at me, those gray eyes were red-rimmed and filled with so much love it took my breath away.
I waved a hand between us. “Don’t you dare. You need to get your shit together, Lucifer, because if you break, I break.”
He reached for me and hauled me into his chest.
“He’d be so proud of you, Lucian,” I said on a broken whisper. “I can feel it. He’d be bursting with pride, and he’d be so happy for us.”
A silent shudder rolled through the man I loved, the man who’d taken a bullet for me, the man who’d rebuilt my dreams for me.
“I love you so damn much, Lucian. I always have.”
He pulled back and peered down at me, holding my wrists in his strong hands. “Everything I did was for you, Sloane. Because it was always you.”
“This is everything I’ve ever wanted, Lucian,” I confessed. “You’re everything I ever wanted.”
“You saying that, in my arms, wearing my ring, is everything I’ve ever wanted.”
The ceremony was performed by Emry, who needed to pause several times to blow his nose noisily into a billowy handkerchief.
Sloane didn’t walk down the aisle. She ran and jumped into Lucian’s arms. They said their vows locked in an embrace.
When the officiant asked “Who gives this woman to this man?” Karen Walton stood and said, “Her father and I do.” There wasn’t a dry eye for the rest of the ceremony.
Nolan cried and wrapped Lucian in a bear hug. Nolan’s wife documented the hug with her camera, and Petula framed it for the office.
Sloane and Lucian danced their first dance as man and wife to Shania Twain’s “From This Moment On.”
Lina took Sloane and Naomi aside to whisper the word “twins” to them on the dance floor.
Knox, Nash, and their father shared a hug on the dance floor.
The family was surprised to find the front porch Christmas tree sporting a new angel that bore a striking resemblance to Simon Walton. No one knows where it came from, but everyone agrees that it looks like he’s winking.
Bonus
Epilogue
Happily Ever After
Lucian
A decade or so later
Christmas Eve was always chaos in our house. It was tradition that our family gathered here every year for an over-the-top holiday/anniversary dinner. Over the years, our family had grown considerably.
In the immediate family, we had two dogs, the now elderly and still judgmental Meow Meow, and a very expensive saltwater aquarium with one bad-tempered fish that had proceeded to eat every other fish until a pretty little clown fish kicked his ass. Sloane named him Lucian.
Despite my annual offering to hire a caterer, the women—and Stef—commandeered the kitchen, drinking wine, laughing, and cooking for hours while the men ran herd on the younger kids.
There were so many traditions and so many people observing them. It should have been overwhelming, but every time the front door opened and a familiar face wandered in carrying gifts, bundled up against the cold, another broken piece inside me knit itself back together.
Not that I’d ever admit it. I was, after all, Lucian Fucking Rollins. And even though I’d gone part-time in my own company, I was still a scary motherfucker.
Except to my family, of course.
I wandered into the kitchen, holding my first grandbaby. Amara was a tiny, bald little peanut in a too-big Christmas onesie. I hadn’t put her down since she got here. Sloane swooped by and delivered a kiss to Amara’s cheek and then mine.