Willow beat Summer to La Lucha by ten minutes, just long enough for her to slurp down half a margarita alone, feeling oddly nervous about telling Summer what had happened. For most of her life, Summer had been the one with the stories: telling her about the chaotic dates she’d been on, the heartbreaks, the romantic nights beneath the stars.

Now, Willow was prepared to tell Summer an entire lifetime’s worth of stories, all of which she’d experienced in the past few weeks. She felt skittish, almost as if this reality she’d crafted with the Sheikh wasn’t actually true. As if, when Summer walked in, the bubble would burst and she’d fall back into her old life. The call center would call her and inform her that she hadn’t actually quit a week ago—they needed her at work as soon as possible.

This was her fear. It was silly and irrational. But it still existed.

Seconds later, Summer appeared at the side of the taco truck. Her dark hair fell in longer curls around her shoulders, and her tan had deepened since the last time they’d met up. Willow grabbed her friend tightly and hugged her, familiarizing herself with her smell, her laugh. Suddenly, she felt like she hadn’t seen her in years.

“I see you’re already halfway through a margarita. Couldn’t wait for me?” Summer said, chuckling. She winked, lifting a finger toward the chef. “I’ll take one. Trying to catch up!”

“I know. I’m sorry,” Willow said. Unable to sit, she began to pace back and forth, feeling the Houston sun blasting across her shoulders. “A lot has happened, and I’m not quite sure where to start…”

The server arrived with the margarita, handing it to Summer. He gestured toward Willow, an eyebrow raised. “I’ve never seen the two of you so anxious.”

Willow grabbed her margarita and sucked down the rest of it, pointing toward the glass. “I’m going to need one more, please, Jorge. My life is pure and lovely chaos right now. I can barely keep up with it!”

“Wait. What’s that on your finger?” Summer asked suddenly. She leaped up from the plastic table and gripped Willow’s left hand, staring down at the diamond. The ring was a family heirloom, much like the tiara. Amira had given it to her as a replacement for the ‘fake’ engagement ring, telling Willow that it had belonged to her husband’s great-great grandmother.

“It’s absolutely stunning,” Summer continued, wide-eyed. “But I figured you’d have taken it off when you got back?”

“That’s the thing, Summer,” Willow said, toying with the ring. “When I arrived in Rebai, I fell in love with the city. The culture. The food. And, most importantly, I fell in love with the Sheikh himself.”

Summer’s lips parted in shock. Her eyes glittered, taking in this information.

“As in…you fell for his charms?”

“It’s not like that,” Willow said, knowing that Ibrahim’s reputation as the “Playboy Sheikh” would make it difficult for her to explain. “He’s really misunderstood, I think. He didn’t think he wanted to settle down. But he just hadn’t met the right person.”

“And that person is…you?” Summer asked, her smile widening.

“Apparently so. You should see the way we are together. It’s like, I don’t know where I end and he begins. I know how sappy that sounds, but it’s true.”

“Well, well. I never thought I’d see the day that Willow Hart fell in love,” Summer said. “But this—I’m going to have to see this for myself.”

“Just wait.” Willow leaned in closer, staring into her best friend’s eyes.

Between them were years of stories, of memories. Willow could see the past stretched out behind them, while being fully aware that Summer had a big place in her future. No matter how much time she and Ibrahim spent in Houston—or in Rebai, with Amira.

“Be my maid of honor, Summer,” she said suddenly, clinging to her hand. “I can’t imagine anyone else being up there with me.”

Summer jumped up from her seat, clapping her hand over her mouth. After a long moment, she wrapped her arms around Willow and hugged her close, whispering, “I couldn’t imagine not being your maid of honor. Thinking I was missing out on your sham marriage, all this time, nearly destroyed me!”

“You wanted to be in on the lie, too?” Willow asked, teasing her.

“I just want to be a part of your life, no matter what,” Summer squeaked. Her voice was edged with emotion, showing how close her happy tears were.

After a pause, Summer waved over Jorge, ordering them a plate of their favorite tacos, along with chips and guacamole and two more margaritas. “Extra cheese on everything,” she instructed. “We’re celebrating.”

To this, Willow giggled, feeling her heart soar with joy. It’s said that your heart just grows bigger with the number of people you love. She had the space for Paul and his memory, for her parents, and for Summer. And now, she’d built new rooms for Ibrahim and Amira: her new family, without whom she couldn’t imagine her life.

Mid-way through the girls’ feast, Ibrahim appeared at the taco truck, still wearing an expensive suit from his meeting, his hair swept back. He looked devilishly handsome, though he’d looked just as good when he’d rolled out of bed that morning, groaning about his commitments and his desire to remain beneath the sheets with Willow.

Stepping forward, he kissed Willow on the lips, then shook Summer’s hand. After a long pause, he said, “This is far too formal for family,” and wrapped her in a hug.

Summer squealed, her eyes widening toward Willow as this famous, gorgeous man hugged her. In Willow’s eyes, it was just two of her favorite humans getting acquainted.

All felt right, as if the world was finally centered. Centered, and perfect.

“Has she asked you yet?” Ibrahim asked, breaking the hug.

“She said she’d do it,” Willow said, beaming toward Summer.

“Just tell me what to wear, and I’ll do it. Heck, I’ll do whatever you say,” Summer said, laughing.

Ibrahim ordered himself a margarita and clinked their glasses, proposing a toast.

“To the two most beautiful women in the world: my future wife, and her maid of honor. To October twenty-fifth—the day of our wedding.”

“It can’t come quickly enough!” Summer cried.

But Willow was happy waiting. She wanted to savor each and every second, leading up to the wedding with the man of her dreams. She could have sat at that picnic table with the two of them for days: exchanging jokes and anecdotes, with Summer telling Ibrahim the deepest, darkest, and most embarrassing secrets of Willow’s life.

She didn’t care. All she wanted was to live fully in this fairy-tale reality.