Her mouth curves—not into a smile, not exactly—but something more intimate. Something that says we’ve made it.

  She leans in, voice low. “I love the painting so much, Alex. It’s amazing.”

  “You’re amazing.”

  The officiant begins speaking, and I barely register the words. My mind writes its own vows in silence, too sacred for anyone else to hear.

  I promise to wake up every day and choose you––when it’s easy and when it’s not. I promise to protect you. And never stop reaching for you. Never stop wanting you. Never stop becoming the man you saw in me before I could see him for myself. You are my resurrection, Magnolia Elizabeth Steel… Sebring.

  The official vows come next. Simple. Spoken aloud.

  “Do you, Alexander Björn Sebring III, take Magnolia Elizabeth Steel to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

  “I do.” My voice is rough, but it doesn’t shake.

  “Do you, Magnolia Elizabeth Steel, take Alexander Björn Sebring III to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

  Her eyes don’t leave mine. “I do.”

  “We now come to the exchange of rings—a tradition that seals your vows in a circle of unbroken promise.”

  Elias steps forward with the box, and I take it from his hands. The lid lifts with a soft click, and there it is—her ring, waiting for this moment. My fingers are steady as I lift it free and slide it onto hers.

  “With this ring, I give you every part of me—my past, my future, my name, my loyalty. You’ve had my heart since the first night. This just makes it official.”

  She holds my gaze as she lifts my ring—her fingers trembling. She slides the band over my knuckle and speaks, voice soft but certain.

  “With this ring, I choose you again and again—on your good days, on your hard ones, when you’re strong, and when you’re struggling.”

  The officiant announces, “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

  There’s something sacred about being given permission to kiss your wife.

  The moment our mouths meet, the world exhales. And I don’t just kiss her. I claim her.

  I’m kissing an angel I still don’t fully believe I deserve. Her hands rise to my chest. My arm slips around her waist, careful of the dress but not of the urgency.

  There’s a rustle of applause behind us, but I barely hear it.

  I lean in, mouth brushing her ear. “Mine.”

  She exhales. “Always.”

  We’re forehead to forehead, and I don’t open my eyes right away. I want to live in this breath for as long as I can.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Björn Sebring III.”

  The truest vow I’ve ever made hasn’t been spoken aloud. It’s been lived––broken and rebuilt––etched into my skin through every scar that led me here. And now it lives in the way I carry her name with mine. Not just as my wife. But as the woman who brought me back to life.

  She laughs—soft, then brighter—and it pulls me back to earth.

  Still holding her hand, I turn with her to face the crowd. Her fingers stay laced with mine, firm and sure.

  We’re stepping forward together—as husband and wife but more than that. As two people who’ve burned and risen and chosen each other in the ash.

  And I let it hit me because for the first time in years, I’m not afraid to be seen. Not when she’s the one standing beside me.

  We take the first step together down the aisle—slow, deliberate, her bouquet brushing against my jacket sleeve.

  And as the string quartet swells behind us—“Can’t Help Falling in Love” filling the air—I lean in close.

  “Tonight,” I whisper, lips grazing the shell of her ear, “I’m going to find that tattoo.”

  She smiles—a whisper of victory in the curve of her lips. Not because she doubts me. But because she doesn’t.

  “Happy hunting,” she whispers back.

  And I walk into the rest of my life, hand in hand, with the only woman who’s ever made me fearless.

  Chapter 25

  Magnolia Sebring

  The reception is still humming—champagne fizzing, candles flickering, floral fragrance heavy in the warm Sydney night—but it’s winding down.

  A soft landing after the high.

  Alex’s hand finds mine as we make our final rounds, saying goodbye to friends and family. Smiles are brighter with the blur of wine. Hugs linger longer. His mother pulls me in tight and whispers something in Samoan that I don’t catch all the words of, but I don’t need to. The kiss to my face says it all.

  My cheeks are flushed—not from the champagne but from this beautiful emotion. This joy is overwhelming, a reward for surviving all the storms we didn’t think we could.

  Violet catches me by the wrist before we slip away, still holding the bouquet I made sure she caught. Her eyes are dewy, her lipstick faded. “I made sure it’s perfect,” she says, squeezing my hand. “Everything you asked for.”

  Gratitude snags in my throat. “Thank you.”

  She winks. “Now go ruin that lingerie in the best way possible.”

  Outside, our guests form two lines beneath an archway of soft golden lights strung between the courtyard hedges. In their hands: lit sparklers, golden and fizzing, casting warm trails of light into the night.

  Violet wraps her arms around Elias and mouths something into his ear, and his smile spreads.

  The air crackles as we step into the path together, fingers laced. The sparklers hiss and glow, framing us in firelight and joy.

  The photos will be stunning.

  Alex leans in, voice low. “Promise me we’ll still light things up this way when we’re old and gray.”

  I smile. “Only if you promise to still chase me to the bedroom.”

  “Never doubt it.”

  Laughter and cheers swell around us. Someone shouts “Kiss her!”—and he does. Quick but charged, a small preview of what’s to come when we get upstairs.

  We pause at the edge, kiss once for the crowd—quick but full of heat—and break into a soft jog through the glowing, glistening tunnel of sparkles.

  We slip through the side door into the quieter wing of the hotel, where the carpet softens our steps and everything slows to a hush. The private elevator waits. Alex steps in first, turns, and offers me his hand.

  “Mrs. Sebring.”

  “Such a gentleman,” I say, and he tugs me to him before the doors glide shut.

  The elevator hums to life, and I lean into him, voice low, sweetened with memory. “You remember the first time we took this ride?”

  His brow lifts, a slow grin curving. “Seems like only yesterday. But also… a lifetime ago.”

  “The sexual tension was so thick, you couldn’t cut it with a machete.”

  “You stood over there—back against the corner—like I might bite.”

  “You were dangerous.”

  “And you,” he says, voice dipping, “told me you were going to climb me like a tree.”

  I tilt my head, faux-innocent. “I don’t recall saying that.”

  “Maybe I’m confusing what you said with what you did.”

  I smirk. “Well, you’re half right. I climbed you like a tree.”

  He leans in, mouth grazing my ear, breath warm. “I hope you do it again.”

  Heat slides through me. “You trying to rush me out of this dress already?”

  His hand settles at the small of my back. The tension in him is nearly tangible—the restraint, the hunger held barely at bay.

  “I think I’ve been patient all night,” he says. “But the second these elevator doors open, all bets are off.”

  My lips curve. “Good. Because I need help out of this dress.” I rise on my toes, brushing my lips against his jaw. “I have something very special for you.”

  His eyes darken, mouth tugging into a smile. “You’re gonna ruin me tonight, aren’t you?”

  “Planning to,” I whisper.

  I laugh—quiet, breathless—my train pooled around our feet. He cups my jaw, tipping my chin up. We don’t kiss. Not yet. We just look at each other, and it’s heavier than any kiss could be. As if this moment in this elevator––hearts racing and hands roaming and skin buzzing—isn’t foreplay enough.

  The elevator dings. Doors part.

  Daddy’s home.

  Alex’s eyes don’t leave mine. “Ready?”

  I nod, heart tripping in my chest. “Ready.”

  Alex steps forward first and turns to me. Without a word, he bends and sweeps me up into his arms. “Not our house, but I’m keeping with tradition.”

  I loop my arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to the line of his jaw. “You’re setting the bar high, Mr. Sebring.”

  He carries me across the threshold into the suite. Soft candlelight flickers across every surface, and low music drifts through the space.

  The world quiets just for us.

  Dim, golden light spills through the penthouse, humming softly with the music from my wedding night playlist I created months ago—strings, slow and sultry, beneath soulful vocals.

  Romantic, passionate, intimate.

  The scent hits next—gardenia, vanilla, honey, and wine. I inhale it all in one breath, heart tight in my chest.

  Alex lowers me to my feet, and I turn, eyes taking in what Violet and the girls have done for us.

  There are candles everywhere. Flickering on windowsills, scattered across side tables, tucked into glass votives by the bed.

  The bed has been transformed.

  Flowers spill across the duvet in gentle waves. Nestled in the center, laid on display, is my white bridal lingerie, so delicate it looks like it was spun from moonlight. White lace, soft and sheer, with satin ribbons tied in bows that beg to be undone.

  Beside it—oh God.

  At the foot of the bed, nestled on a tray, waits a curated display of indulgence. A black satin blindfold. Two silk restraints wound into soft coils waiting to be wrapped around wrists. A bottle of warming oil.

  Meant for skin and sin.

  Beside it all, the real temptations: a pair of rose-toned butt plugs in graduated sizes, one crowned with a crystal, another shaped like a delicate bloom. A sleek vibrating bullet, its promise silent but sure. And resting in its charger like a weapon of pleasure—a full-sized wand, matte white and built for one thing only.

  Pleasure.

  I exhale, heat blooming low.

  “The girls in my bridal party outdid themselves.”

  Alex steps behind me, his mouth hovering near my ear. “I was already the luckiest bastard alive. Now I’m not even sure I’ll survive the night.”

  He reaches for the zipper of my dress and pulls slowly, every inch of the descent dragging like a promise. The fabric loosens around me, slipping from my shoulders. I catch it in time and press it to my chest.

  “Not yet,” I say, stepping out of reach with a grin. “Waiting is foreplay.”

  He groans deep in his throat. “Is that so?”

  “Among other things.” I grab the lingerie from the bed and head toward the bathroom. “Give me five.”

  Behind me, he calls out, “Take six and I’m coming in after you.”

  I glance over my shoulder. “So impatient.”

  “I’ve married the most beautiful woman on earth. Of course I’m impatient.”

  The bathroom light glows soft and amber. I set the white lace aside and step out of my dress. My fingers shake a little when I slide the lingerie over my skin. It fits with perfection. Barely-there cups. Straps that cross beneath my breasts and curve at my hips, ready for him to remove.

  I pause at the mirror. My cheeks are flushed, and my lips are still kiss-swollen. I have the look of a woman in love. Completely. Undeniably.

  I add a dab of perfume to the inside of my thigh. Something subtle. Something for him to notice later.

  I turn off the light and return to the bedroom for our wedding night.

  The tux is long gone. He’s down to black boxer briefs and that look in his eyes—the one that says he plans to ruin me slowly.

  The black-light flashlight is in his hand.

  “That’s for later.”

  He sets it on the nightstand. “I know, but I want it nearby, handy, when I’m ready for it.”

  His gaze lifts—and stops. His breath leaves him in one stunned rush. “Jesus, Magnolia.”

  I cross the room, moving toward him. “Too much?”

  “Never.”

  He reaches for me, fingertips brushing my waist, his hands gentle but greedy. “You look like an angel. My angel.”

  I smile up at him, heart pounding. “Then make me fly.”

  His skin catches the candlelight, golden and warm, and his eyes… God, his eyes. They’re not teasing anymore. They’re soft. Intense. Worshipful.

  No more jokes. No more playful tension.

  He drinks me in. His gaze travels over the white lace that clings to my body. I am seen in a way that has nothing to do with what I’m wearing and everything to do with how deeply this man knows me.

  “You’re not real,” he whispers, voice thick. “You can’t be.”

  My breath catches. “I’m real. And I’m yours.”

  He moves toward me. His hands rise to frame my face, thumbs brushing over my cheeks. His mouth finds mine—slow, unhurried––and I melt into him.

  His warm hands are sure, sliding down my arms, around my waist, until they settle low on my hips. When he lifts me, I gasp—a sound stolen more from wonder than surprise. He carries me to the bed and lays me down slowly and carefully, like placing a prayer at an altar. And then he kneels.

  His fingers trace the edges of lace along my thighs. “You’re so beautiful, babe. Every inch.”

  I reach for him, threading my hands through his hair. “Come here.”

  He stretches out beside me, his body pressed against mine, and kisses me again. This time it’s deeper. Hungrier. But still tender.

  His mouth moves along my jaw, down the curve of my throat. “My wife. My heart. My breath.”

  When he cups my breast through the lace, his touch is gentle but possessive. I arch into him, silently begging for more.

  “You’re really mine now,” he says, voice rough as his fingers slide under the edge of lace, slipping the strap down my shoulder.

  I meet his eyes, aching and full. “We have the same last name now. I’m definitely yours.”

  “Magnolia Sebring,” he says.

  Something shifts in him—something unspoken. Like hearing it said aloud makes it real in a way it wasn’t before.

  Alex undresses me slowly, peeling the lace from my skin until I’m bare beneath him. He trails his lips along the curve of my waist, my hip, and the soft underside of my thigh. And when he moves back up—when our eyes meet again—I see everything.

  Love. Need. Wonder. Gratitude.

  He doesn’t rush to take.

  He worships.

  Every kiss, every touch, every press of his mouth to my skin is a vow.

  He rises above me, muscles flexing in the candlelight as he crawls up the bed, his body covering mine, shielding me from everything but him. The heat of his skin meets the softness of mine, and the weight of him—solid, grounding—presses me deeper into the mattress. It’s not heavy. It’s home.

  His hand slides along my jaw, thumb stroking the corner of my mouth.

  His voice is thick with emotion. “This is what I’ve been waiting for––being inside you for the first time as your husband… and you as my wife.” He pauses, eyes shining. “I’ll never forget this moment.”

  My chest tightens, my heart climbing into my throat.

  “You’ve always been the only one for me,” I whisper back, threading my fingers through his hair. “And now I’m yours in every way. Always.”

  When he enters me, it’s slow. Deep. Devastating.

  We both inhale—our bodies meeting, molding, memorizing.

  His forehead presses to mine, our breaths mingling in the warm space between us. “You feel like heaven.”

  I cradle his face in my hands, my thumb brushing the edge of his jaw. “You feel like home.”

  He moves inside me with measured care at first. His hands grip my hips, and thread with mine above my head, anchoring us together.

  It builds—steady, rhythmic, rising like a wave that has waited all night to crest.

  The sounds between us are sacred: the hush of breath, the low groans, the whispered words.

  Every time our eyes meet, it’s like falling all over again.

  The rhythm deepens. Quickens. Turns urgent.

  Not rough. Just real.

  Two people chasing the same edge, the same high, the same forever.

  It begins in my lower spine, tightening with each thrust, each whispered “I love you” shared between us.

  When release hits, it’s not just pleasure. It’s everything––years of almosts and never-agains. The relief of survival. The joy of arrival. The ache of being known and loved and needed.

  We fall over the edge together, breath catching, bodies trembling, hearts wide open.

  And when it’s over, when the high fades and our bodies are still, he doesn’t roll away.

  He stays.

  Wrapped around me. Inside me.

  He buries his face in my neck, arms strong and secure. I kiss his temple, fingers brushing the sweat-damp hair at his nape.

  “Forever,” he murmurs against my skin.

  “Forever,” I echo.

  We lie tangled in the center of the bed, still flushed and slick. His arm wraps around my waist, his hand resting flat over my stomach.

  I trail my fingers over his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath my palm. Still fast. Still alive with everything we just gave each other.

  Then his body shifts, a subtle stretch and press of muscle as he props himself on one elbow.

  “I need to see it. I’ve waited long enough.”

  The bedside lamp clicks off, plunging us into a soft, dreamy darkness. And then—click. A small violet beam cuts through the shadows as Alex flicks the black light on.

  He scans the space between us with curiosity, the corners of his mouth twitching into a grin. And then the beam catches on something between my thighs.