Page 131 of Ivory's Ruin Romance

No, their love had no expiration.

Ivory pulled back and wiped her eyes, smiling radiantly despite her tears. “We should probably go.”

“We should,” he agreed. “After I kiss you one more time.”

Not that one more time would ever be enough. Enough wasn’t in his vocabulary when it came to her, but she indulged him, and the taste of his blood on her lips brought everything back into sharp focus.

“I need to get you home and clean myself up,” he noted, taking her hand. She hummed in agreement and let him lead them to the bike.

“So what happens now?” she asked, turning her eyes to his as she picked up her helmet. “What are you going to do when it's all over?”

“We do whatever we want, sweetheart.” He swung a leg over the seat, then pulled her in for a second kiss. “Come on.”

EPILOGUE

They say time is linear, but it never feels like a straight course. Years can bleed together, one after the other, until an event occurs that becomes the most pivotal moment of your life. A singularity that changes you forever.

And sometimes, that same thing happens at the same time in another person’s life, and the two events connect. A bridge connects the gaps in what feels like an otherwise inconsequential existence, and two people fuse into one.

That’s what happened between him and Ivory. Maybe it wasn’t as scientific—less of a wormhole and more of a miracle—but it felt just as profound.

Over the past few months, their life had become more of an impossible dream-turned-reality. One where laughter came too easy, and his chest burst with feelings he never imagined he’d be capable of. It felt as if Ivory had knit herself into every fiber of his being, like she’d altered his very DNA. Even his apartment had more life in it—not to mention a lot more purple.

Sometimes, all of it made him afraid to blink. But today, that feeling arose with renewed potency.

“Almost ready?” he called from the bedroom, shrugging on a freshly dry-cleaned suit jacket. Formal attire wasn’t his forte, and he’d avoided formal events since his father’s funeral, but he had to admit the tailored black cotton fit perfectly. Without Ivory, he’d be lost.

She’d gone above and beyond to make the most out of tonight, and he was more than proud of all her hard work. Few words could express how he felt about being her date—the one who got to stand at her side and call her his, to show her off and take her home after it was over.

“Um…yes,” his sweet witch answered from the bathroom.

He knew that tone. She wasn’t almost ready.

He grabbed the black tie off his dresser and slipped it around his neck, then went to check on her. Fumbling with the sleeve, he paused in the bathroom doorway. Dammit, why were these cuffs so hard to button?

Ivory set her make-up brush on the counter and turned with an amused smile. “Need help?”

Her eyes took a long sweep over his form in appreciation of her handiwork, lingering on his chest, where he’d left the top buttons undone, and a few dark hairs curled into sight.

To her credit, her outfit captivated him just as much. Modest, but at the same time, begging to be torn off. A pale pink dress flowed around her like loose petals while her hair fell in ombre hues of brown, pastel pink, and purple—his one contribution to her style—and a small string of pearls adorned her neck.

He extended his arm to offer the uncooperative cuff, and Ivory’s face softened into an expression he recognized all too well. “From the look in your eyes, you’d rather I be helping you,” he murmured.

A guilty hum left her lips, painted lashes fanning over a rosy pink blush on her cheekbones. He had to call on every ounce of his self-restraint to stop from mauling her then and there.

“If you do that, we’ll never get to the wedding on time,” she replied after a pause as if it hadn’t been the first response that came to mind.

He held no qualms about taking a detour. Caspian and Nia would understand. “We can be fashionably late, as they say.”

Ivory rolled her eyes and popped the button in place. She reached for his other sleeve, but he grabbed the back of her neck and brought his lips to her ear. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re turning into a little brat.”

A shiver passed through her and went straight into him. She melted at his words, betraying the lingering fatigue despite all her excitement. Her head tilted to expose more of her neck, and she sighed as she reluctantly stated the obvious. “I’m the coordinator. And the Maid of Honor. I can’t be late.”

He brushed his lips over her freshly showered skin, basking in the sweet warmth of her natural scent. “Then don’t tempt me,” he whispered. “I’d more than enjoy smearing all that pretty make-up you put on and turning you into a beautiful mess for me to devour.”

She let out a faint groan but forced herself to pull away and fixed his undone cuff. “The make-up will have to come off sometime…you could always help?” Her lips pressed into a presumptuous smile, and she gazed up at him with a scandalous shine in her green eyes.

“What a generous offer,” he hummed. It might not be their wedding night—yet—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy his bride-to-be as soon as they got back home. Besides, he’d have much more fun if he spent the evening imagining ways to ruin her as soon as it was over.

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