Page 211 of The Faking Game

“In a good way?”

She nods and carefully folds the dress back into the box it came in. And maybe this is the moment. Here, at home.

“I was going to do this later. At dinner. But you know I don’t like big public spectacles.” I go down on a knee in front of her and hold up the velvet box.

I open the lid.

Nora’s green eyes widen, and I never thought I’d do this. Would never have done this if it wasn’t her. “West,” she breathes.

“Will you marry me, trouble?”

She blinks quickly, and a tear slips down her cheek. “Yes. Please.”

“Please,” I say, and reach for her left hand. My grandmother’s diamond slides on perfectly. I had it resized, measured her finger while she slept in my arms. “I’m the one who should say please.”

She shakes her head. “No. I love you. I think… I want…”

Her words die off, and I get up to pull her close. “What do you want, trouble? Tell me, and I’ll give it to you. Whatever it is.”

A laugh escapes her. She kisses me, her mouth still in a smile. “Oh, West. I think I’ve gotten everything I want now.”

“That’s what you were going to say?”

“Yes.” She kisses me again, pushes up and against me. “You don’t have to give me anything else. You’ve already given me everything.”

EPILOGUE

NORA

The best part about getting married at your own house is not having to go anywhere afterward. Most of the guests have left, sleeping up in Fairhaven’s guest rooms or over in a nearby hotel.

Only our closest friends are still here. Sitting on the terrace with us, surrounded by the remnants of the party.

Of our wedding party.

Ernest and I chose some of the late-blooming August roses from the garden for my bouquet. The August heat was tempered by cool winds from the ocean, and down by the water’s edge, West and I said our vows.

It wasn’t a giant wedding.

It wasn’t a small one either.

It was the perfect size. Our friends and family, both biological and chosen. A wonderful band and caterers that were, like West’s mother assured me, truly the best.

My mother and West’s were seated near each other for the dinner. Over the past months, they’ve found a tentative kind of friendship; one is tightly controlled, and one is not controlled at all. But they both enjoy the finer things in life and meddling in their children’s lives, and maybe that’s something to bond over.

The day is over, and the new one hasn’t quite begun yet. West’s beside me on the sectional, the bow tie of his tux undone. He has an arm around me and a lazy smile on his lips.

My husband.

And somehow, he has a plate with his second serving of wedding cake. I have no idea where he found the space. Or the cake.

Across from us are the few brave souls still awake. Amber and Rafe. Alex and James. There’s a half-empty bottle of champagne on the table, and Amber’s slipped out of her heels. She hides a yawn with her hand.

It’s been a long day. A long week.

“Nora, tell the others,” Alex says, “what you did.”

He won the spot for best man. James did too, and Rafe. They all stood up there as groomsmen, with West insisting that he had no favorites.

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