Wilder’s words hit me right in the chest, momentarily pushing the air from my lungs.

“What do you mean he doesn’t know?” I ask.

Wilder’s face is tense in the dark, headlights and taillights and street lamps washing over his features.

“I mean I haven’t told him,” he says evenly.

“But your mom must have told him,” I counter. “She must have. I mean, for fuck’s sake, she’s practically already started ordering monogrammed china—”

“She said she hasn’t told him,” Wilder says, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “And I don’t think you monogram china.”

“Not my point.”

He sighs.

“They barely talk,” he admits. “Honestly, I think she mostly stays at the condo and he’s got the big house all to himself. I don’t know what he does there, I don’t know if he has affairs or what. He probably sleeps on the couch in his office most nights. God knows he did when we were growing up.”

Something in Wilder’s voice softens my heart a little, the muscles in my ribcage thawing.

“Gray knows,” Wilder says. “I told him the very next day. Promise. It’s not a secret, Squeaks, literally all he’d have to do is ask my mom how I’m doing—”

“That wasn’t my point at all,” I say. “You just don’t think it’s weird that your dad doesn’t know you’re getting married in six months?”

He sighs, shoves his hair out of his face with one hand.

“Yeah, it’s weird,” he admits. “But there’s a lot that’s weird about our particular relationship, and he’s not exactly the guy I go to when I’m bubbling over with good news.”

I look down at my hands. I’m holding an enormous arrangement of pale-blue-and-white flowers that we just picked up from the florist in Solaris, who was kind enough to stay open fifteen minutes late a couple days before Christmas.

I’ve been more nervous than a basket of squirrels on crack cocaine about this visit for a couple of weeks now. It’s not like I’m particularly good with people, and it’ll be the first time I’m really spending time with Wilder’s family.

Actually, the only time I met his dad I was in seventh grade, and he was giving out a civic award at the middle school. I think he sponsored it or something.

I doubt he remembers me, or at least, I hope he doesn’t. Seventh grade wasn’t my best year.

The rock on my ring finger glimmers gently in the low light, sparkling even now. I told him a thousand times that I didn’t want a big engagement ring, that I wanted something small and understated, maybe not even a diamond.

He didn’t listen. It’s the only time he’s touched his trust fund since moving to Seattle.

And, even though I kind of hate to admit it, I like it. I wasn’t sure I would, honestly, but it’s gorgeous. Plus, there’s something about going out with Wilder and the moment that other people see him, see me, then look at the ring.

Something that says yeah, bitches, he’s all mine.

But it’s weird as hell that his own father doesn’t know we’re getting married. I’m really only mostly sure that Marcus Flint — owner of Flint Holdings, Inc., as well as about half of Solaris, hated by my own parents — knows we’re dating.

“He knows we’re coming, right?” I ask, stomach twisting again as Wilder drives us down the dark road.

“That he does,” Wilder says dryly. “I talked to his secretary about what time we’d be having Christmas Eve dinner.”

“And he knows I’m coming?”

Wilder reaches over, puts his hand on my knee, squeezes through my jeans.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell my father we got engaged,” he says, glancing over at me every few seconds, eyes mostly still on the road. “I kind of avoid talking to the man.”

“I get it,” I say, softly.

One more time, I wish we were spending the first night with my parents — my lovely, normal, not-crazy-rich parents — who know all about our engagement. My mom texts me several times a week with suggestions of absolutely hideous wedding dresses, and every single time I have to talk her down.

But a while back, I decided a ‘get it over with’ approach was best, this got scheduled, and now… here we are.

Wilder slows the SUV, puts on his blinker, turns left into a snowy driveway, angled up. There’s a moment where the wheels don’t grip properly, but Wilder just shoves the car into all-wheel drive and gives it more gas.

My knuckles are white on the huge flower arrangement.

It’s fine, I tell myself, over and over again.

You’ve met Brenda a million times, and Grayson was just out in Seattle last month, they’re both very nice…

I breathe deep. I force myself to relax, because new people and new social situations will never be something I’m good at. It’s better now than it used to be, at least when Wilder’s by my side, but I don’t think it’ll ever be easy.

He pulls into a driveway, yanks up the parking brake, puts the car in park.

“They’ll love you,” he says, his hand on my knee again. “I mean, my mom and Gray already do, and if Dad doesn’t, fuck him.”

I put one hand over his, squeeze.

“I know,” I say. “Thanks.”

He leans over, kisses me quickly. Up ahead the huge chalet house is glowing from within, the roof outlined with Christmas lights, the snow making it look like something out of a storybook.

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s do this.”

We get out of the car. It’s freezing out here, and immediately my breath puffs into the cold air, my snow boots biting into the thin layer still on the driveway. It’s the first time I’ve been back to Solaris in the winter since Wilder and I got together, and I’d somehow forgotten what the biting cold is like.

“I’ll come back for the suitcases in a little while,” he says, coming around the front of the car. He takes the heavy flowers from my hands, leans over them, kisses me one more time, and I follow him up the stairs, to the front deck where there’s a fire pit and benches all around.

As he rings the bell, I glance over my shoulder, then gasp.

The view from here is amazing. All of Solaris is spread out below us, and even though it’s nighttime, it looks like a cheesy painting or a photograph or something. It doesn’t even look real, just a beautiful valley of light.

Of course this is their view, I think. This way they can survey all they own every time they leave their house.

Before I can get any further, the front door opens, and I plaster a smile onto my face as my heart hammers in my chest.

“Oh, thank God,” Grayson says, the moment he opens the door. “I was about to start sending up flares. Get in here. Ooh, lilies, my favorite.”

Wilder laughs, and already, I feel better. The first time I met Grayson he was absolutely nothing like I expected — I knew that he was the good son, the one who was being groomed to take over the business, the one who was straight-laced and went to a good college, serious and studious.

Except he’s got the same wicked sense of humor the Wilder does, only more deadpan. He and Wilder could almost be twins, except Grayson’s eyes are an unearthly amber brown, his hair a few shades lighter.

He’s also my second-favorite member of Wilder’s family, and I’m already relieved that he’s here. Even if he’s the only one who’s got some idea of what happened between us in high school, since he was a freshman at the time.

“Mom’s made mulled wine and Dad’s had three glasses already, so he’s telling us his opinions on the latest Range Rover and Mom is looking at her phone instead of paying attention. Welcome to the circus,” he says, and gives us a grin over his shoulder before leading us into the living room.

“They’re here,” he announces.

“Wilder!” Brenda exclaims. “Oh, my gosh, I love them! Lilies, my favorite!”

Standing next to her, Grayson smirks.

“This is just gorgeous,” she gushes. “Here, put it down on the new sideboard, I’ve got just the spot…”

She leads Wilder a few feet away, directing flower placement, and Wilder’s dad steps in to take her spot.

Instantly, my heart ties itself into a knot. Grayson’s wandered off to the mulled wine, so I don’t even have his backup.

“You must be Imogen,” Wilder’s dad says. “Marcus.”

He holds out his hand as if we’re about to make a business deal, and the first thing I notice is that he’s wearing a white button-down shirt and gray slacks, even now, relaxing at home.

The second thing I notice is that he’s got Wilder’s eyes, only where Wilder’s seem like they change from one moment to the next, soft to warm to laughing to cool, Marcus’s eyes are brittle as diamonds in his face.

“Yes, of course,” I say.

Of course what? Of course I’m Imogen? Jesus.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” I say, smiling as much as I can and making sure I’m not slacking on my end of the handshake.

“Likewise,” he says, though I’m pretty sure he’s lying. “Good, firm grip. Be good in the boardroom someday.”

I just keep smiling, because I’ve got no idea what to say to that. I’d be terrible in a boardroom, not to mention I’ve got zero desire to go anywhere near one.

After a moment, the handshake ends, but he keeps looking at me with those eyes like lasers, like he’s adding and dividing and running the numbers about me in his head, calculating something I don’t even know.

Still at a loss for words, I push my glasses up my nose with my left hand.

His eyes alight on the ring, and a split second too late, I realize what just happened.

Shit.

I meant for Wilder to at least tell him, with words, not just find out sort of by accident…

But Marcus just nods once.

“Congratulations,” he says, his tone neither pleased nor dismayed, just perfectly businesslike. “Excuse me, I ought to go help my wife with those flowers.”

And with that, Marcus Flint steps away. I glance over at Grayson, at a loss for words, and he holds up an empty white mug, a question on his face.

I nod. I’m definitely gonna need that wine tonight.

Later that night, after Wilder’s parents have gone to bed, the two of us and Grayson are sitting in their chalet’s upstairs lounge, which is a couple of leather couches, a huge fireplace, and an amazing view. We’ve got the lights out, wrapped in blankets, looking out at Solaris, drinking hot cocoa.

“He really just said congratulations?” Grayson asks.

He’s on the couch opposite us, his feet on a marble-topped coffee table that probably cost more than my monthly rent.

“Yep,” I confirm, leaning back against Wilder’s shoulder. “That’s weird, right?”

“It’s weird for most people,” Wilder says, taking another sip of his cocoa.

“Is he pissed? Upset? Angry? Hurt?”

Wilder and Grayson just look at each other and then shrug in unison.

“It’s a fucking mystery,” Wilder mutters. “Is he man, or machine?”

“It’s not that bad,” Grayson says, but I can already tell the defense is halfhearted.

“No?” Wilder says, looking into the fire. “Not as bad as the time he told me why I nearly died in a plane crash and he had to have his attorney present to make sure he didn’t accidentally admit fault?”

Grayson ignores that and looks at me, his gaze steady. I take another sip.

“Look, Imogen, it’s not you,” he says. “I don’t think he noticed when I got into college or when I graduated. I know for a fact his secretary got those cards and he just signed them, but you should see the man read a positive quarterly report.”

Wilder just snorts.

“He lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree,” Grayson muses, looking into the fire again.

“It doesn’t matter,” Wilder says, kissing my hair. “Everyone else loves you.”

A while later, Grayson goes to bed, and it’s just Wilder and me, on the couch, with the fireplace and the view of Solaris, spread out in the valley below, lights blanketing the soft white of winter.

“You know, I never really thought I’d leave,” Wilder says.

We’re both a little drunk and pretty tired. We should go to bed, but it’s so nice and warm right here, so lovely to sit in the dark with a fire and a view that neither of us wants to move.

“Leave Solaris?”

“Yeah. I mean, I knew I was leaving once I joined the Navy, but I didn’t think it was permanent.”

I snuggle into him, the mulled wine still faintly winding its way through my veins.

“Do you want to come back?”

He laughs softly, his chest like a tiny earthquake.

“No,” he says, his voice steady and sure. “I liked it here because it was easy to be a big fish in a small pond, but that’s all. Turns out there’s way more out there in the world.”

He kisses the side of my head.

“Stuff like weird nerd girls who get very excited about newly-discovered mating behaviors of large shaggy mammals.”

“I was here,” I say, pointing out the obvious.

“You never belonged here,” he says, tilting his head back against the couch. “You needed a bigger pond.”

I laugh.

“That’s one way of putting it,” I say. “If it helps, I never thought I’d find much good in this place.”

“Can’t blame you for that,” he says. “This is pretty good, though.”

“It is,” I agree, snuggling down. “Against all odds, it really is.”

A memory drifts to the surface of my mind suddenly, like garbage floating to the surface of a lake: Melissa, on her couch in her den, casually mentioning that she was having dinner with Wilder’s family.

God, back then I was so jealous I must have turned bright green. But right now, remembering it and sitting next to Wilder myself, the memory suddenly doesn’t hold any power over me.

I don’t attach anything to it. I don’t wonder, even for a split second, whether his parents would rather see him marry her than me. I don’t think how unfair it is that I had to wait almost thirteen years just to hear a totally unexcited congratulations from Marcus Flint.

I’m over it. I really am. Nothing that happened back then has any power over me anymore.

“We should head to bed too,” Wilder says, his voice sleepy.

“I love you,” I say.

“I know.”

I laugh, burying my face into him, wrapping one arm around his waist underneath this blanket.

“Are you ever going to let me forget that?”

“Do you mean I should take it out of my wedding vows?”

“You’re impossible,” I tease.

“That’s why you like me so much,” he says. “If I weren’t, just think of how fast you’d get bored.”

“I would never.”

“Liar. You like a challenge, Squeaks, and you know it.”

He kisses my forehead.

“It’s one of the things I love about you, you know.”

The fire crackles. My eyelids are drooping, warm and comfy under this blanket, and for a few moments I’m back in that hunter’s cabin in the middle of nowhere, the two of us buried under sleeping bags on that cot, Wilder’s body still colder than it should be even after a few hours.

I don’t think I’ve ever cried harder in my life than I did that night. I was terrified of having to go on alone, sure, but I think I’d already fallen back in love with him.

Deep down in my heart, I knew that there was one person for me, and even though he was the last person I was hoping it would be, I couldn’t bear losing him already.

“Bed?” Wilder asks, slowly rubbing my shoulder. “Gray said something about a Christmas Eve snowshoeing expedition tomorrow, and we should get rested up for that.”

“Is that his idea of fun?”

“Yes,” Wilder laughs. “You know all the survival advice he gave me for next time I get stranded after a plane crash.”

I sigh. We get off the couch, toss the blanket back onto it, grab our mugs from the coffee table.

Before I can step away, Wilder takes my face in his hand, brushing his thumb across my cheekbone. He’s highlighted by the fire, orange light flickering across the chiseled lines of his face, casting deep shadows.

“Thank you, Squeaks,” he murmurs, and kisses me.

I don’t even ask for what. It doesn’t matter.

I just kiss him back.