Page 232 of Vows We Never Made
Far better hospitality than I deserve.
My right eye socket hurts like hell and I’m sure there’s a nasty bruise coming.
Still, as I climb back in the vehicle and shut the door, I’ve never felt this peaceful in my life.
“Holy crap, your face! What happened?” Hattie grabs my shoulders, all worried eyes as she looks at me.
“Exactly what needed to. Let’s go home and get married, Pages.”
29
ALL HOLY VOWS (HATTIE)
Months Later
We push the wedding back to fall to give us a little more breathing space.
Precious time.
Now that we’re in this for real, the timeline isn’t nearly as important as it was when this was a giant charade.
Getting it over with as soon as possible isn’t what matters.
Now, it’s having the wedding and the honeymoon of our dreams, and then the rest of our lives.
To my relief, once we change our minds about the venue, it’s easy enough to shuffle everything around—especially when Ethan throws his weight (and money) into the equation.
When we broke up, we never got around to canceling the plans. But I left Ethan in charge of that since he paid.
With everything else going on, he just… didn’t.
“I was too busy sulking, trying to chase you away with a damn bottle,” he told me with one of his rare smiles.
At least the press is satisfied with our version of the truth. We spent some time apart before deciding we truly did want holy matrimony.
With the pressure off, life drifts along in that lazy, relaxing way it does when you’re happy.
We say goodbye to summer together, filling our time with long walks, holding hands on the beach, taking Leonidas’ yacht out a few more times, and flying to New York City so he can attack business by day while I make it my personal mission to see every bookstore in the city.
Every day feels precious in a way I never knew it could.
Ethan has even learned to forgive his grandfather’s sins.
No easy lesson, but it’s only right when life isn’t black and white, and being a Blackthorn means living every shade of grey.
And whatever mistakes Leo made when it came to his children, he was right about one thing—Ethan and I are perfect for each other.
“It’s not so horrible, wanting your grandson to fall in love,” I tell him as we lie on a picnic rug, staring at the clouds rippling over the ocean in curling waves.
The August sun paints my skin with warmth.
Ethan rolls so he’s facing me.
“I’ll give the old man that. He couldn’t have picked a better wife for me.” He reaches out, touching my hair. “And he’s right—I might’ve never looked at you twice if it wasn’t for the will forcing us together.”
“Rude!”
“You hated me, remember?” He smiles. “For good reason. I was the asshole bully who ruined your happy times with Margot.”
