Page 98 of Pucking Secret

Owen raises an eyebrow, playing along. “Oh? And why’s that?”

Millie nods like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “For my brothers and sisters, of course.”

I gasp, my mouth dropping open. “Millie!”

Owen just throws his head back and laughs, the sound deep and genuine.

“I like the way you think,” he says, ruffling her hair.

Millie beams, clearly pleased with herself, while I stand there, torn between laughter and sheer disbelief.

“Don’t encourage her,” I mutter, though I can’t hide the smile tugging at my lips.

Owen looks at me over Millie’s shoulder, his eyes warm and full of something that makes my knees weak. “Why not? She’s got great ideas.”

I shake my head, but my heart feels lighter than it has in years. This — this moment right here — is everything I’ve ever wanted. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of. A family, a future… with Owen. In the end, we were always meant to be together, and no one and nothing can keep us apart.

EPILOGUE: MIAMI WEDDING

STACEY

The hotel suiteis nothing short of luxurious. Floor-to-ceiling windows dominate one side of the space, letting in a flood of natural light and offering a breathtaking view of Miami's glittering skyline and the turquoise ocean beyond. The sunlight catches on the polished surfaces of the room—mirrored tables, sleek countertops, and gold accents that gleam with a quiet opulence.

Millie is perched on the chaise lounge in the sitting area, her tiny flower girl dress spread out around her like a little cloud of cream-colored tulle. She’s swinging her legs back and forth, humming to herself. She’s completely oblivious to the whirlwind of activity around us.

In the bathroom, where I’ve been fussing over my hair for the last twenty minutes, the countertops are marble—cool under my fingers—and the mirrors are framed with soft lighting that makes everyone look like they’ve just stepped off a runway. My makeup bag is sprawled out across the double vanity, brushes and compacts scattered amidst the chaos.

Millie calls out to me, holding up her little sparkly shoes. “Mommy, do you think these are too shiny?”

I laugh, my tension easing for a moment as I poke my head out of the bathroom door. “You can never have too much sparkle, baby. You’re perfect.”

She grins and hops off the chaise, running over to the full-length mirror near the closet to admire herself.

“Do you think Auntie Grace will cry when she sees Uncle Jensen?”

“I bet she will,” I say, smoothing the skirt of my dress as I step out of the bathroom completely. “And I think Uncle Jensen will cry when he sees her, too.”

Millie grins, satisfied with this answer, and grabs her little basket of petals. “I’m ready!”

Owen’s mother appears at my side, offering a patient smile as she adjusts Millie’s basket strap.

“She’s got this,” she says, her voice full of encouragement.

“Thanks again for everything, Margaret. We couldn’t have made this trip without you.”

Strange as it might sound, back before I asked Margaret to come, I contemplated inviting my mom to come along in order to watch Millie for us, but I decided it was too much too soon. We’re back in contact with each other, but it’s only been a couple of months, and while she’s become much more accepting of Owen after his public declaration that he’s totally dedicated to Millie and me, there’s a lot to be mended between us. Still, we’re making progress, slow and steady as it is, and I’m happy about that. A babysitting trip like this will have to wait for another time. I do want to heal that wound, as much as I know it won’t be easy. For now, though, I’m really glad Margaret is here.

Margaret waves me off. “Of course! I wouldn’t miss seeing Millie being the best flower girl in the whole world.”

Millie giggles and takes Margaret’s hand. “Let’s go!”

The three of us make our way out of the hotel room and head down to the lobby. Just as we’re stepping out of the elevator, a loud voice greets us from the hotel’s entrance.

“I cannot believe that man! Who does he think he is?”

I see Rylee storming in, her oversized sunglasses perched on her head, and a suitcase rolling behind her with a brand-new luggage tag still attached.

“Rylee!” I call her name as she draws near. “Thank God! We were starting to worry you wouldn’t make it when your flight was canceled yesterday.” I pause and look her up and down. She’s flushed and mussed, her eyes flashing with annoyance. “Rough trip?”

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