The doorbell rang, and Liza opened it to see a stranger in a tux. Blinking at the man, she felt horribly scruffy in comparison—hair in a wad on top of her head, hole in her tank top, scruffy pajama pants and bare feet—but she was even more surprised when he handed her a large bouquet of long stem red roses. “I’m sorry,” she explained to Mr. Penguin Suit, “I think you have the wrong apartment.”

“Liza Dirkwood?” the man asked.

She blinked at him, stunned into silence. She hadn’t told anyone about her hasty marriage—hell, the ring was in the candy dish on her coffee table—and she surely didn’t tell them about the new last name. “Yes?” she said after a moment, since she technically was a Dirkwood now…at least until she managed to divorce Paul.

“Would you allow me to escort you downstairs?”

One part of her said, hell no. Whatever this was, it was clearly planned by Paul. Did she want to see him again, after the way he’d basically claimed she was his and then dumped her like yesterday’s garbage when things went a little sideways?

Truthfully…yes, she wanted to see him again.

Lifting her chin, she silently reminded herself that she wanted to see him again to give him a piece of her mind, not a piece of her ass, before nodding to the stranger. “Yeah, you can totally escort me.”

The man glanced at her attire and lifted a brow in askance. “I can give you a moment to change, if you’d like, Mrs. Dirkwood.”

“Liza,” she informed him. Damned if she’d go by his name, not even for a moment. “It’s Liza and no thank you. I’m good as is.”

Following him, she kept her head high. A few rubbernecking neighbors glanced out to see her parading after the man in the tux—no doubt they made an interesting procession, with her in her pajamas, him in a suit, and with her carrying roses like a queen. She ignored them. Let Paul have his great moment—his grand gesture. Let’s just see how romantic he can be when I’m barefoot and scruffy, she thought with a smirk.

Inside the limo—did he go all stereotypical with his idea of romance or what?—there were champagne and strawberries, which she munched and sipped as was appropriate. Hell, she wasn’t the kinda gal to waste bubbly, and it didn’t soften her up. Not one iota.

But when they arrived at their destination and the driver held the door for her, she did stop.

Shocked. Dammit, she even misted up a little.

Her bare foot landed on soft green grass, and before her was a replica of their old tree house. Down to the sign he’d painted on the side, reading No Girlz Allowed, the little structure was perfect. She blinked fast in the dappled sunshine, and considered the house for a long moment before finally lowering her gaze to the man sitting cross-legged on a checkered picnic blanket below the tree.

“This is sweet, but you can save the romantic gestures for your second wife,” she snarked, rubbing her nose furiously to keep from sniffling.

“I’m not going to have a second wife,” he said. “I rather like the first.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she pointed out.

He rose slowly, twiddling something in his fingertips. “I was the fool, my Liza. I was scared, and I spoke out of turn. I’m going to ask you to forgive me, but before I do, I want to give you this.”

She opened her hand to take whatever it was, still sure she’d tell him off before she’d accept his apology. He didn’t love her—he’d fucked her. They had a good sexual relationship, that was it, and she’d deluded herself into thinking it was more.

But what he handed her was a faded and tattered friendship bracelet. Rubbing her fingers across it, she looked at him, confused.

“You made this for me,” he said. “I wore it and read your letters over and over. Here’s the letters.” He handed her a shoebox. “I kept every one, even though they’re worn in places from me reading them so many times. When we were together, it was like life was worth living—in full color and surround sound. When you’re gone, everything is gray. I wore the bracelet for years, until it fell apart so many times that I was afraid of losing it, then I stuck it in my wallet and carried it with me. You’ve always been my heart, and you’ll always be my heart.”

Tears flowed down her cheeks, and she choked on a sob, but she managed to ask him, “How would this even work? I’m your stepsister, Paul. People will…”

He caught her shoulders, pulling her into his arms. She was surrounded by his scent, by his warmth, by Paul. It felt like coming home. When his voice rumbled up from his chest, she could hear and feel his words. “We live states away from our parents. No one will know unless we tell them, but do we care? I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks, at least, anyone beyond you. Stay with me. Marry me. Be my forever.”

“I already married you,” she pointed out, kissing his throat. “And you’re crazy.”

He dropped to one knee, looking up at her. “You deserved the perfect proposal and your own wedding day. I’ll give you them and a whole life of happiness. Please, just…be mine, Liza.”

She shook her head, more tears falling. “I don’t need perfect, and I don’t need all those things. I just need you.”

When his mouth closed on hers, she knew they’d make it work somehow.

Forever, she was his.

And he was hers.