Lyla Monroe (Nova Kingsley)
Epilogue One Year Later
“I swear to God, if you burn off my hair, I will sue,” I hissed as the curling iron sizzled a little too close to my ear.
The stylist gave me an apologetic look. “Sorry! Sorry! Just a little frizz in the back—your hair’s thick!”
“I know,” I muttered, blowing out a breath. “Thick, chaotic, and probably trying to escape right now.”
“Nova,” Delilah warned, stepping into the bridal suite with a bouquet in hand, “your hair looks fine, your dress fits like a dream, and if you don’t stop panicking, I’m going to have to bribe you with garlic bread just to get you to the aisle.”
I groaned, staring at my reflection. My dress did look amazing. It was a soft ivory satin gown with a sweetheart neckline and delicate lace sleeves that slid off my shoulders. The train flowed behind me like a dream, and my veil—oh, the veil was cathedral length and sprinkled with the smallest crystals that shimmered every time I moved.
“You look like a queen,” one of the stylists whispered in awe.
I blinked at my reflection.
I really do.
The door creaked open again, and Delilah peeked in with wide eyes. “Okay. Showtime.”
I clutched my bouquet and nodded, trying to hold myself together. I wasn’t nervous about marrying Luca. No. That part was solid.
It was just… everything else. The crowd, the press, the fact that in five minutes I’d be walking down the aisle toward the man I will marry for the second time and finally get to say “I do” for the second time. Only this time in a way I have always dreamed about.
I stood at the top of the aisle as the soft music played. The wedding was being held outdoors in the back gardens of our California estate, the same estate where I grew up and where my parents were buried. It was spring, so everything was in bloom—cherry blossoms swaying, sunlight trickling through the trees, white chairs lined up under strings of fairy lights.
And there, seated front row, was Luca’s mom.
She was beaming. Dressed in lavender, holding a bouquet of tulips, her hand clasped gently in Delilah’s. Her eyes looked clearer today. Brighter.
She didn’t call him Daniel anymore. She knew he was Luca. And she knew I was Nova—and Lyla.
She looked proud.
The moment I stepped onto the aisle, I felt everything pause. The chatter stopped. The world stopped.
Luca was waiting for me at the altar in a classic black tux, no tie, his dark hair perfectly styled, his eyes—God, those eyes—locked on me like I was the only person who mattered in the universe.
My heartbeat echoed in my ears as I walked toward him. Step by step. Smile trembling.
I had to stop myself from running. That’s how much I wanted to get to him.
When I finally reached him, he took my hands gently in his.
“You’re breathtaking,” he whispered, voice hoarse.
“You clean up pretty well yourself,” I teased, and he laughed under his breath.
The ceremony blurred after that. The vows, the laughter, the soft sniffles from Delilah and his mom. It was all beautiful, but the only part I truly heard was his voice saying:
“I, Luca Steele, take you, Nova Kingsley… in all your versions.”
It nearly shattered me.
The officiant turned to me. “And do you, Nova Kingsley, take Luca Steele to be your husband—again—loving him as fiercely as you’ve worked beside him, danced with him, and yelled at him over the wrong Tacobell order?”
Everyone laughed softly. Including Luca. And I smiled. My heart full. My body warm. I took a breath. One hand still gripping Luca’s, the other gently falling over my stomach.
Still flat. Still a secret. But something was cooking. A new chapter neither of us knew about yet.
And with all the love in the world swelling in my chest, I whispered,
“I do.”
