Page 20 of Curvy Girl and the Ex-Military Cowboy

Without thinking, I reach out and take his hand, lacing our fingers together in a gesture of solidarity. His gaze drops to our joined hands, then lifts to my face. Something passes between us—trust, understanding, support.

He takes a deep breath and turns back to his waiting brothers. "Elena isn't just a friend," he begins, his voice growing steadier with each word. "She came here because... because I arranged it. We've been corresponding for months. She's here as..." He hesitates on the traditional term, then continues, "She's here as my potential wife."

The kitchen falls silent. Jackson's coffee cup freezes halfway to his mouth. Cole's eyes widen. Vincent exchanges a glance with Charlotte, who doesn't look nearly as surprised as the others.

"We agreed to a three-month trial period," Aaron continues, seeming determined to get it all out now. "To see if we're compatible for marriage. It's an arrangement we both entered into willingly and with clear expectations."

Lily, who has been quietly munching on pancakes, pipes up. "Like Cinderella? You're going to marry a princess?"

A ripple of tension-breaking laughter runs through the room.

"Not exactly like Cinderella, sweetie," Vincent tells his daughter gently.

Aaron's grip on my hand tightens slightly. "I know it's unconventional. I know you all probably have questions and concerns. But this is my choice—our choice—and I'd appreciate your support."

I watch his brothers' faces, trying to gauge their reactions. Jackson looks thoughtful, Cole skeptical, Ethan amused, and Vincent... Vincent seems understanding, almost as if he'd suspected something like this all along.

"Well," Ethan finally says, breaking the silence, "that explains why you were wearing your good shirt yesterday."

The tension in the room cracks, and suddenly everyone is speaking at once.

"I knew something was up," Cole says, shaking his head with a bemused smile. "No way Aaron just 'had a friend visiting' out of nowhere."

Vincent catches my eye and gives me a small nod of acceptance. "Makes sense now. Welcome to the family, officially."

Charlotte reaches across the table to squeeze my free hand. "I told you it gets easier," she says quietly, so only I can hear.

But it's Jackson who surprises me most. The eldest Covington brother rises from his chair, his expression unreadable as he approaches us. Aaron's posture stiffens slightly beside me, as if preparing for confrontation.

"I don't understand why you'd do something like this," Jackson says finally, his voice low and serious. "And I'm sorry, Aaron."

Aaron frowns. "Sorry for what?"

"For not realizing how lonely you must have been." Jackson's words are simple but land with emotional weight. "This is your decision, and I support it. We all do."

He looks around at his brothers, who nod in agreement, then turns his gaze to me. "Love isn't foreign to me, you know. Although I lost the love of my life—"

"Not this again," Ethan groans, rolling his eyes.

"Shut it," Jackson snaps, but there's no real heat in it. He continues, "Elena, you might not know this, but I once met the perfect woman. She left town, and I didn't fight hard enough for her. How could I stop any of you from taking your chance at happiness, however unconventional it may be?”

The revelation of this personal pain from the stoic eldest brother touches me deeply. I see Aaron's surprise too—perhaps this is a vulnerability Jackson rarely shows.

"I wish you both the best," Jackson concludes, then gestures to the empty chairs at the table. "Elena, please sit. You're part of the family now."

The simple declaration brings unexpected tears to my eyes—part of the family. I've crossed an ocean for an arrangement, a practical agreement with a man I barely knew, and somehow found myself welcomed into this circle of strong, complicated men who fiercely protect their own.

Aaron guides me to a chair, his hand warm on my hip. As I sit among the Covingtons, accepting a cup of coffee from Charlotteand a sticky-fingered high-five from Lily, I feel something I haven't experienced in years—perhaps ever.

I feel like I've come home.

Aaron takes the seat beside me, his leg pressing against mine beneath the table. When I glance at him, the smile he gives me is private, intimate—a reminder of our night under the stars and a promise of more to come.

As the conversation resumes around us—questions about our arrangement mixing with the typical breakfast chatter—Aaron's hand finds mine again under the table. And I know with sudden certainty that this unconventional path I've chosen might lead precisely where I’ve always wanted to go.

Epilogue - Aaron

Eighteen Monts Later

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