The silver lining to losing my job and cancelling the tour early comes in lavender floral bouquets, tuxes, a hundred closest friends, family, and a garden gazebo today.

Spring flowers bloom, and I sit in the front row next to my siblings. Beneath the gazebo, my mom looks effervescent in a lilac dress, beaming at my dad, who wears a black-on-red tux. Both radiate with pure, blissful happiness.

I was at their wedding. Just a little kid, and unlike Farrow, my memories have faded and fogged over time. But this, right here, I immortalize.

My mom and dad renew their vows in front of all of us, and sure, press and cameramen are here too. But the world seems to still.

I swear to everything in this fucking universe—you can actually feel their love. It’s in the air and the silence between their words.

The first thing I think is…I love them.

The second thing pauses me cold.

I want that.

It aches in me. To be able to stand up and declare my love in front of millions of people.

Proudly.

I turn my head and spot the line of security. All dressed in well-fitted, expensive suits. No ties. I find Farrow no problem.

Standing between Akara and Oscar, he cups his hands in front of him, his black hair swept-back. His winged neck tattoo and inked swords on his throat visible from his button-down. His earpiece fit in, the cord runs to the mic on his collar.

And in a split-fucking-second, he catches me staring. I have trouble looking away. I glance at my parents, then back to him, to my parents, then him.

His lips gradually stretch into a smile. So slow it looks like an epic shot in a movie.

I’m gone.

Completely fucking in love with him.

* * *

After the short ceremony ends, the garden is transformed into a sparkling after-party. Light bulbs are strung across oak posts, and wooden circular tables landscape the greenest grass. A taco bar and five different kinds of cake line the overflowing food table, but I’m not near the tacos or even sitting.

I’m on the makeshift dance floor, facing a DJ stand, and every single one of my cousins and siblings surrounds me.

Press isn’t invited, but a few drones have flown across the starry night sky.

We jump to house music, the bass pumping, and Jane clutches her little sister’s hand. Audrey’s red hair flies as they bounce together. And I spot my little brother.

Xander stands still in the pit. I jump to him, and he cringes like this sucks. I’m not fucking deterred. I clutch his shoulders and shake them to the rhythm.

All my sisters and my brother can dance goddamn well. Jesus, I’ve seen him break-dance in our living room a thousand times before.

His smile wants to peek. I lift his arms and clap his hands, then I let go and clap mine.

Xander continues with the beat, more heartily.

I mess his brown hair and shout so he can hear, “Looking good, Summers!”

Xander laughs and nods to the song.

Eliot Cobalt jumps past me in a black masquerade mask, and he sticks out his tongue. I smile, and not long after, the song switches to a Fleetwood Mac playlist.

“Meadows!” everyone howls since my family listens more to house music.

Sulli and I do the sprinkler dance. Jane sidles up and joins the easy motion, and then Sulli shouts, “Shopping cart!” We all change movements, and our siblings one-by-one begin the shopping cart dance with us.

Now onto the lawnmower, then the running man.

Luna is the best. By far.

When the song shifts to a slower ballad, everyone belts out the words. Beckett twirls a not-very-rhythmic Sulli, and Charlie flings an arm over Jane’s shoulder, swaying to the beat.

I think about how four months on the road brought my family together. How the five of us can dance in a close circle and not feel light-years apart.

I don’t know what my future holds with the state of H.M.C. Philanthropies, but Charlie, Jane, Beckett, and Sulli said they’d do anything to help save the charity.

I thought I’d want to protest and tell them I got it handled. Maybe I will at some point, but right then, I just nodded. This time, their helping-hands don’t feel so much like failure on my part. I don’t overthink or read into the deeper meaning. I’m grateful that they love me. I love them, and it’s as simple as that.

I think about Lao Tzu, a Chinese philosopher who said, “Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.”

My head turns, and I think about the someone who I love deeply. Moments fly past my mind in Technicolor, every second I’ve spent with Farrow. Vivid. And overwhelming.

My chest swells, and I glance at Janie.

She smiles bright, knowing who I’m thinking about. “Go get him, old chap.”

So I leave the dance floor in search of a colossal know-it-all. My shoes sink into grass, and I wave briskly at my grandparents who call my name.

I undo my bowtie, passing wooden tables and wicker chairs.

Easily, I see him. Farrow chats with Oscar at the garden entrance. Where tall hedges form an opening, and cedar stools and barrel tabletops scatter the area.

As soon as I approach, their conversation still continues, but their attention zeroes in on me.

Farrow’s eyes descend my body in a hot once-over.

My brain sputters like a fourth-grader. Whatever I fucking planned to say just evacuates. Great.

Before I find any words, Oscar flashes a circular pin at me. Black with rainbow block letters that spell out: Rainbow Brigade.

“Your sister recruited us into her little club.” Oscar attaches his pin to his button-down.

“Officially,” Farrow adds with the raise of his brows.

“And she called me a troll,” Oscar tells me.

My lips almost lift. Kinney already gave Tom and me a pin this morning. “She does that,” I say and watch his gaze drift to the taco bar and cake.

“Extra security is here,” Farrow reminds him.

“Then I’m out for a cake break.” Oscar puts a hand on Farrow’s shoulder. “See you, Redford.” Then mine. “Hale.”

Farrow balances his boot on the rung of a stool, his piercings glinting in the warm light. I rest my forearm on the barrel tabletop. Trying to be casual, nonchalant.

He notices, and his smile keeps expanding. “Man, if you have something to say—”

“I heard that you retook the Hogwarts House sorting quiz.” Jesus Christ. I couldn’t have made a stranger digression from what I actually want to say. I end up crossing my arms.

Farrow tilts his head, eyeing me up and down. “Luna wanted me to. She didn’t think I was Gryffindor.”

Apparently, he got Ravenclaw this time around. My mom freaked, and she’s been ordering him some Ravenclaw scarves to add to the Gryffindor paraphernalia she bought him years ago.

I nod. “Cool.” I pop a button at my collar, my bowtie already undone.

Farrow looks at me like I’ve rocketed to Mars and built a colony of one. “Cool?” he repeats, then he checks me out again, which scorches my body. “You look good in a tux, wolf scout.”

“Better than you,” I say, even though he’s only wearing a black button-down, tucked into black pants that fit him too damn perfectly.

Farrow rolls his eyes into a short laugh. “You love your fan fiction.”

I shake my head and seriousness slams hard into my chest. “I like my reality.”

His chest rises, and he steps closer. But a drone buzzes overhead. Causing him to pause and check over his shoulder. “I think you mean,” he says, his gaze returning to me, “that you love your reality.”

“Almost,” I tell him strongly, and words pour out of me. “You know what I was thinking while my parents recited their vows today?”

Farrow shifts his weight like he’s bracing for impact. “What?”

“I was thinking that I want a love like theirs, the in-your-face, overjoyed kind of love that knocks you backwards—and what the fuck is stopping me?” I pause. “And I realized the answer is me.”

Farrow takes a tight breath. “What are you saying?”

“I’ve been fucking stubborn, but I’d rather be stubborn with you than without you.” I’m more assured than I’ve ever been. “I’m not standing in my own way anymore. You’ve given me the courage to move.”

His eyes push through me. Into me. Excavating parts of my soul that belong to him.

He’s wanted more, and I said no out of a moral obligation to protect his privacy. I’m finally ready to let go. I don’t want to drag us down when a greater happiness is in reach. All I need to do is move towards it.

So I say, “I know your life will drastically change if we go public. I know the media will hound you. I know your job will be harder. I know there’s a chance it could fuck everything up, but I’m willing to take that giant risk with you and only you.”

Farrow rubs his mouth, and his overcome smile lights my core. “Damn.”

My pulse is racing. “So that’s a yes?” I need to make sure he hasn’t changed his mind.

He doesn’t look away from me. “It’s always been a yes.” We draw towards one another, no longer stopping, and I take out my phone.

He notices the cell, understanding what we’re about to do.

And Farrow cups my face with one hand. I grip the back of his neck. Our mouths a breath apart, he whispers, “Ready, wolf scout?”

Unequivocally, fucking wholeheartedly, yes. I commit a thousand-and-one percent, and our mouths meet, the sweltering kiss zipping through my veins and scorching me. I clutch his hair and remember to click a photo.

He nips my lip, fuck me. God, it takes all my energy to lean back, to part for a second. My pulse thumps hard, breath knotted and wanting for more. Deeper and longer. Farrow holds my waist, and we both train our eyes on my phone.

In the picture, his tattooed hand clasps my sharp jaw and my hand grips his black hair. Chest against chest, our eyes stay closed and our lips are pressed together in a cinematic-worthy embrace.

It’s too affectionate to be called fake.

I already know what to type in the Instagram box. When I finish, I angle the phone to Farrow. Making sure he’s alright with this before we upload.

His smile stretches, and with one more glance at me, he presses post.

Instantly, our photo pops up in the feed. Only three words beneath the picture. Three words that announce we’re a couple. Three words that I’ll never forget. Three words that’ll change everything.

Lovers Like Us.

His hand returns to my jaw, mine to his neck, and we fucking kiss again. And again. My muscles pull taut, burning for more, and his smile rises against my lips. My back digs into the barrel, and I’m holding him in a strong grip that pulls his firm body against my hard chest. Our breath hot and shallow.

The garden explodes with buzzing. Pinging notifications. Texts and calls.

People realize what’s happened, but I’m not looking. I’m not watching them.

We’re in our own world.

Our own universe.

No one can have it. No one can break it.

This moment belongs to us.