“Marry me.”

“Shut up.”

“Ev, I’m being serious.”

“No, you’re not.”

Dylan flipped us so he was on top, the sheets tangled between us. It was early morning, the day after Christmas, and we’d hardly gotten a wink of sleep. I was fairly sure we woke half the house during the night, in spite of our efforts to stay quiet.

“You’re overtired and not thinking clearly. Give it a few hours,” I said, pulse thrumming.

On the inside, I felt manic, because there was a small part of me—okay, a big part—that wanted him to be serious. I was head over heels in love with him and his proposal made me feel a little crazy.

Like I might do something spontaneous.

Like actually say yes.

He looked deep into my eyes, cupped my cheeks and spoke with a quiet passion that sent my nerve endings tingling.

“I’ve spent so many years without you. I missed you every single day. I don’t want to spend a single second longer without you. Please, Ev, be my wife.”

My throat ran dry as I swallowed, emotion catching right in my epiglottis. “Okay,” I whispered.

He stared at me like he couldn’t believe he heard me right. “Okay?”

I smiled so wide my face hurt. “Okay, Dylan. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“Yes? Did you just say yes?” He looked like he didn’t know what to do with himself. I nodded and smiled so wide my face hurt. “I’m going to make you the happiest woman in the world,” he declared. “I promise.”

“You better,” I said, still smiling as I pulled his mouth to mine for a kiss.

The next thing I knew he was pulling me out of bed. “Now let’s go buy you a dress.”

“I have lots of time to find a wedding dress, Dylan—”

“Not if we get married today, you don’t.”

I grabbed him by the shoulder. “Hold up. Today?”

“Yes. We can go to City Hall and—”

“Dylan, we’re not getting married today. It’s the day after Christmas. They’re probably not even open. Plus, I’m pretty sure you can’t get a marriage licence that quickly so . . .” I paused, saddened by the disappointment in his eyes. He really wanted to do this. Did I? Was it too soon or had we spent months preparing for this moment? Or was that years? He had become my best friend and when I thought about it, I didn’t want to spend another day without him either. Even before last night, I’d felt somewhat bereft as I’d lain in bed night after night. And that was when it clicked, when I realised I wanted to marry him today, too.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said. “Come on. It’ll be spontaneous and wonderful and romantic. Our family is already here surrounding us. Marry me today, Ev. You’ll break my heart if you say no.”

I let out a long breath, but something deep inside told me this was the right decision. It was true when Dylan said we’d lost too many years, and I wasn’t willing to lose another second.

“All right,” I said and smiled. “Let’s go buy a wedding dress.”

* * *

My dress wasn’t white, but pale pink. We found it in a small independent boutique not far from Dylan’s house and I fell in love. I knew as soon as I saw it that it was the one. It was sleeveless, with a sweetheart neckline—perfect for the necklace Dylan gave me—and calf-length skirt. I adored its uniqueness and how it wasn’t your typical white gown.

We didn’t have time to buy rings, so instead improvised with one Gran left me in her will, and another Yvonne had at the apartment that supposedly belonged to Granddad. He died before I was born, so I had no memories of him. I only knew what he looked like from old photographs.

Dylan promised we’d go shopping for proper rings as soon as we got the chance. Yvonne thought we were being rash and impulsive, but the romantic in her couldn’t help getting caught in the whirlwind. Dylan’s dad welled up when we told him the news, and he was just happy he’d be there to see the ceremony.

“I always hoped you two would find each other again,” he said and wiped a tear from under his eye.

Our wedding party consisted of Yvonne, Conor, Conor’s parents, Bethany, Tommy and Bridget. I did my own hair and make-up, and Yvonne loaned me her nude Louboutin’s to wear with my dress.

“I promise not to scuff them,” I said when she handed them over. She was looking a little misty eyed when she took in the sight of me all gussied up.

“No, keep them. Consider them a wedding gift.”

“But, Yvonne, I couldn’t possibly—”

She held up a hand. “Don’t bother protesting. They’re yours now.”

I decided to give her the honour of being our official witness. After we applied for our marriage licence, we hustled across the street from City Hall to get a waiver from the judge. This was so we didn’t have to wait twenty-fours before getting married.

The ceremony took less than two minutes.

The whole thing was insane, but I had no regrets. I was on cloud nine, no intention of ever coming back down. It was moments like these that I really felt like Sam was watching, grumping about not being able to take part in the excitement and spontaneity.

“Evelyn O’Dea, I like the sound of that,” Dylan purred as we slow-danced in some random bar on the lower east side.

Yvonne and Conor were cosying it up at a table, deep in conversation, while everyone else enjoyed bar food and drinks. It was completely unconventional and that’s why it felt so perfect.

“Me, too,” I said, catching his lips in a quick kiss.

“If someone told me I’d be married to you before the year was through, I never would’ve believed them.”

“You’ve got to believe in the power of the universe,” I said. “It pulled us back together.” Damn, I was on such a high I almost sounded like my teenage self.

He ran a hand down my hair and gazed at me with such love. “Better thank the universe then.”

“Yep,” I whispered just as a loud pop sounded from behind us. Conor and Yvonne had ordered several bottles of champagne. Dylan chuckled and took my hand to lead me over. My aunt was in fine form, pouring glasses for everyone.

“Here you go, Ev,” she said and handed one to me. “Happy wedding day.”

“To Dylan and Evelyn. May they have many years of happiness and romantic bliss ahead of them,” Conor declared, lifting his glass.

“Here, here,” everyone agreed and we all took a drink.

I didn’t remember much after that, only that a lot of alcohol was consumed, and much dancing and merriment was had. The next morning, I woke in Dylan’s bed, completely naked, our bodies entwined.

We called in sick to work.

We made love all day and through the next night.

We ordered pizza. Lots of pizza. It was the best honeymoon a girl could ask for.

When the following morning arrived, we sadly said goodbye to our mini-vacation.

I lay on top of Dylan, drawing circles on his chest with my finger. “I still can’t believe we just decided to get hitched like a pair of whack jobs.”

“Not like pair of whack jobs, like a pair of geniuses,” he corrected.

My smile transformed into a grin. “Oh, is that what we are?”

“Yes,” he said and rolled me over. “Now go get dressed. We have rings to shop for.”

Less than an hour later, I stood in the middle of a jewellery shop on Fifth Avenue, an array of diamonds before me. It was surreal to say the least.

“This is weird. A lady shouldn’t have to shop for her own engagement ring. And certainly not after the fact of getting married,” I said, playful and trying to annoy Dylan.

The rings viewed so far had prices in the five-figure category. I was trying to finagle him down to four.

“I just wouldn’t feel comfortable walking around with over ten grand on my finger,” I said. “That’s the sort of thing that gets your hand chopped off in the supermarket.”

He gave me a funny look. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Haven’t you heard the story of the woman whose hand was chopped off while she was shopping for groceries? The guy who did it was after her engagement ring.”

He stared at me, looking dubious. “And where exactly did this happen?”

“Germany, I think. Or was it South Africa?”

He arched a wry brow. “Smacks of an urban legend, Ev.”

“Either way, I don’t want any of these overpriced rings. They’re too ostentatious.”

He let out a sigh and slid his hand into mine, steering me to another glass cabinet. “Fine. What about one of these?”

I studied the collection. “Still expensive, but acceptable.”

“I like this one,” Dylan said, pointing out a white gold ring with a teardrop shaped diamond.

“It’s very pretty,” I commented. And it was. It was beautiful, all sparkly under the fluorescent lights.

“Do you like it?”

“Of course.”

“Then we’ll buy it,” he said and waved the sales clerk over.

I grabbed his arm. “Hold up. We can’t buy it just like that. We should wait a few days. Shop around to see if there’s a better deal somewhere else—”

“Ev, I’m buying it, so build a bridge.”

I poked him in the side. “You build a bridge.”

The sales clerk arrived. “How may I help you, sir?”

“I’d like to buy this ring.”

“Very well, sir.”

And that was how I found myself walking around with a brand-new diamond on my finger. It felt bizarre. When Dylan left to go to work, I decided it was time I went to the apartment to pack. During our ‘honeymoon’, Dylan convinced me to move in with him. Albeit, it didn’t take too much convincing. Now that we were married, why would I have even considered spending a single night alone?

I walked into the apartment, making plans for how I was going to pack and move all my stuff, and came face to face with Conor stepping out of the bathroom.

I repeat, Conor Abrahams just stepped out of my bathroom. Steam billowed behind him. He wore a towel and nothing else, stopping short as soon as he saw me.

And it suddenly dawned on me. I hadn’t seen him since his family left.

He’d been here.

With Yvonne.

Oh. My. God.

A sense of pure delight filled me. My aunt was going to get some serious ribbing for this. And I had so many questions. Like, how had this come about? Did it happen on the night of the wedding, or afterwards, while Dylan and I were wrapped in our own little sex bubble?

“Conor, what time are you—” Yvonne’s voice trailed off when she saw me standing there.

“Ev,” she exclaimed. It was almost a shriek. “I thought you’d be with Dylan.”

“He had to go to work.”

“As do I,” Conor cut in. “I’ll just, uh, go get dressed.”

He disappeared inside Yvonne’s bedroom, while I folded my arms and shot my aunt a smug look. “Well,” I chirped.

She pursed her lips. “Well, what?”

I shook my head. “Just, well.”

Walking past her, I went to hang my things. I could practically feel her embarrassment and anxiety simmering to a high heat. “Listen, Ev—”

“No need to explain, Yvonne. If I were you, I’d have hit that on the first night.”

“Evelyn.”

I smirked. “What? It’s true. You go, girlfriend.”

“Ugh. You’re so pleased with yourself right now,” she huffed.

I cocked a brow. “Aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not. If my mother were alive, I shudder to think what she’d say.”

“If Gran were alive, she’d say exactly the same thing as I just did.”

That got a small smile out of her and then she laughed. “Do you know what, you’re probably right.”

“I’m always right. Now go say goodbye to your lover and wish him a good day at work.”

She let out a shaky breath. “My lover. It sounds weird.”

“It does sound weird,” Conor agreed when he emerged from Yvonne’s bedroom. She jumped a little, realising he’d overheard. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips. “Boyfriend sounds so much better.”

With a pleased wink and a smirk, he hustled out the door. He didn’t just look pleased though. He looked euphoric, smug . . . happy. It wasn’t just that he had been infatuated with Yvonne. In his own way, he’d loved her for a very long time. So, he had every right to be feeling smug, but I thought it was happiness that shone the brightest.

Yvonne’s gaze met mine. “Boyfriend,” she repeated.

“Congratulations, you’re officially a cougar,” I teased, smiling wide.

She scowled playfully and grabbed a cushion from the sofa. She came at me, thumping me on the head and demanding, “I am not a cougar. Take that back.”

“Okay, fine,” I relented. “You’re not a cougar. I take it back. You’re a lion cub, a cute and adorable baby lion with no wrinkles and the most youthful appearance.”

She stopped her attack and threw the cushion back on the couch, a huge grin on her face. “And don’t you forget it.”

After she left for work, I took a moment to reflect on our lives. We were thrown together many years ago, which could have resulted in a very different future. One less hopeful. Yvonne had been there for me through every stage of my life when I thought about it. She’d held me, laughed with me, cried with me, mourned with me, hoped with and for me. Selflessly. Now, with her final acceptance of Conor, it was almost as though knowing I was finally happy, had finally found my home with Dylan, that she had opened her heart for herself.

I wouldn’t forget it. I wouldn’t forget any of our moments together, because they’d made me who I was. And I could step confidently into my future because of her many years of selfless and deep love. And may there be many, many more.