it. She came over and showed me.”
He lifts a shoulder. “She bought it for herself. Or borrowed it from a friend. I don't really know, but I didn’t buy her that ring, and I certainly did not put it on her finger. I didn’t even know what had happened until after you’d left for California.”
I stare at him. “Why would she do that?”
He hesitates. “If I had to guess, I’d say she thought it would get you out of the way, and I’d change my mind. She was half right.”
“Half right?” I ask.
“She did get you out of the way. You fled the state. I, however, did not change my mind.”
“About what?”
“About not being able to marry Rebecca.”
I gasp, but before I can comprehend this, Colin tosses the folder on the dresser and steps closer, his voice a low rasp. “Do you know, when you first moved in, I thought those little pajamas you wore would kill me?”
“You want to talk about my pajamas? Now?”
“Yes, actually I do,” he says softly. “I’ve seen women’s underwear with more material than your pajamas, and I thought nothing could be more torturous.”
Slowly he reaches out and roughly grabs a fistful of my T-shirt, pulling me closer. “I was wrong,” he says on a growl. “Seeing my clothes on you, seeing my wife prance around in my clothes, wanting—needing—to know what was under them. Hating that my clothes could touch her skin in a way I couldn’t … that was the real torture.”
The hand not gripping the shirt finds my waist, sliding around to my back.
Under the shirt.
His palm spreads low against my lower back, and we both exhale at the skin-to-skin contact. I close my eyes, terrified this is the world’s most wonderful dream and that my heart will break into a million pieces if I find out it’s not real.
“You’re really not marrying Rebecca?”
His forehead is still pressed to mine, and I feel him shake his head no, feel his breath near my lips.
“I’m a little confused,” I whisper.
“I get that,” he whispers back, as he gently pulls me all the way against him. “Maybe I can help make it clearer for you.”
Colin’s mouth lowers to mine, pausing for a fraction of a second, as though savoring the moment. The first brush of his lips is heaven. The second is ecstasy. The third feels a lot like forever.
And it seems to last forever, and yet not long enough.
“Clear enough for you?” he asks huskily when he pulls back.
“I think I’m starting to understand,” I say on a smile, going to my toes and leaning in for another kiss. He leans back, staying just out of reach, and I open my eyes, ready to protest his withholding of kisses.
My protest dies at the look on his face, one I’ve never seen before, both tender and sure, as though he’s looking at everything he’s ever wanted. Me.
He lifts a hand and brushes back the hair near my face. “I’m in love with you, Charlotte.”
Tears fill my eyes. “You are?”
He nods.
I glance hopefully at the blue folder. “Does that mean you didn’t sign our divorce papers after all?”
“No, I signed them. And filed them. That there is your official copy.”
“Oh,” I say, my heart deflating. “So we’re officially divorced?”
“We are,” he says, his hands finding either side of my waist.
“Well, I guess that’s practical,” I say, trying to hide my disappointment. “We should probably start at the beginning, date, figure out if we’re suited for the long haul—what are you doing?” I ask, breaking off when I realize he’s digging in his pocket instead of listening to me.
He holds up a familiar navy box. “You forgot this.”
“I told you, it was too extravagant for the circumstances. I couldn’t—what are you doing?”
He’s holding my left hand, the ring poised at the tip of my fourth finger as his gaze searches mine. “Do you love me, Charlotte?”
His accent’s thicker than usual, his expression both adoring and a little unsure.
I nod emphatically, desperate to reassure him. “I thought you knew. I fell in love with you weeks ago. It was highly inconvenient.”
He gives me a cocky, crooked smile, full of relief and joy. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I whisper, brushing my lips over his.
“Marry me?” he whispers back. “Properly, this time? You sort of have to, I have half your money.”
I laugh against his lips and nod as he slides the ring onto my finger. “Yes.”
Finally, Colin kisses me again. And again, and then one more time, until I realize something and pull my mouth from his on a gasp. “Wait. We can’t get married. What if it turns out we’re completely incompatible in bed?”
His lips find the underside of my jaw as he nudges me backward toward the mattress. “Excellent point. We should probably find out sooner rather than later if we can tolerate each other, no?”
Much, much later, I rest my cheek on his bare shoulder, pressing an absent kiss there. “Well, then. I think we’re going to be just fine.”
Epilogue One
My brother offers to help with the prenup. We respectfully decline.
Epilogue Two
My mom finally got to plan her daughter’s big white wedding, which is just fine by me, since I was plenty busy launching my new company, a boutique consulting firm helping female entrepreneurs make their dreams reality.
Because my mother would have it no other way, the wedding goes off without a single hitch. My father walks me down the aisle. Justin starts crying during his best man toast, like a lot, and it’s so sweetly unmanly that we decide to forgive him.
Kurt (now the official CEO of Coco, by the way) manages to hold off his waterworks until after his man-of-honor toast. I, on the other hand, cry through the whole thing.
Colin and I sneak off to make love during the reception. We miss the cake cutting, but we’ve been making up for lost time. And some things are better than cake.
Epilogue Three
We honeymoon in Hudson. There is Champagne. Candles. Madonna.
No separate beds. No rash cream.
Also, Colin drives.
Epilogue Four
We name our first son Danny. He’s nearly two now, and I have yet to not cry when I hear Colin quietly singing “Danny Boy” over the baby monitor.
We name our second son Spencer, as a nod to my maiden name.
Because this time around, we’re Mr. and Mrs. Colin Walsh for real.
THE END