“In short, I’m wondering if, since you have your wedding dress stitched to your own measurements and some flowers I kept alive for you—by the way, they were a real bitch to keep alive—you would maybe want to marry me. Because, Madison”—his eyes twinkled with mischief and excitement and a promise to make my future brighter—“I called you Mad because I was mad about you and didn’t even realize it until you walked away. After you did, I kept thinking of ways and reasons to contact you. For months, I convinced myself it was nothing more than an itch I wanted to scratch, and when Dad got sick, it gave me a bullshit excuse to hunt you down, and all bets were off. I fucking love you, Goldbloom. You soften me,” he said gruffly, looking down at our entwined fingers. “But, you know, not everywhere.”

The room burst into laughter. The adrenaline was running so wild in my bloodstream I was shaking all over. The laughter felt like honey in my throat. So that was why he’d been weird recently.

The assistant with the Madonna mic burst into the room, waving her iPad in her hand hysterically. “There you are! You’re up next. Chop-chop!”

Everyone’s eyes turned to her. Layla began to push the door, closing it in her face. “I will chop-chop your body if you don’t go away. I am witnessing the most romantic thing in the world short of The Bodyguard with Whitney Houston, and you will not ruin it for me,” she said, sulking and glancing in our direction. “And for them, too, I suppose.”

“So what do you say?” Chase peered into my face urgently. He reached for his back pocket to produce a ring. I put my hand on his arm, stopping him.

“Actually . . .” I bit my lower lip, looking sideways at Layla, who widened her eyes, signaling me to say yes. “I never sold your ring. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I knew it wasn’t real—our engagement, I mean—but to me, it felt real. A lot of the time, in fact. So I . . . just kept it.”

“You kept the ring?” he asked, dumbfounded. I nodded. It was embarrassing. But maybe not as embarrassing as proposing to someone in a room full of people you knew when you weren’t even officially together.

“And all those times you deleted your text messages . . .” I trailed off.

“I told you I love you,” he finished. “And all the times you did it?” He cocked his head sideways.

I laughed, wiping more tears away. The hell with the fashion show. “Same.”

The assistant knocked again, sticking her head in. “Croquis should have started eight minutes ago. Just letting you know. Someone’s about to get fired soon.”

“Yeah,” Chase boomed. “And it’ll be your ass, because I own Black & Co., the official sponsor of this event. Now leave!”

There he was. The man I’d fallen in love with, against all odds. And reason. And . . . no point in denying it—logic. We needed to wrap it up, I knew, even though I didn’t want this moment to end.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re giving in to my terms,” I said softly. “We could wait if you want.”

“Give in to your terms?” He frowned, looking positively aghast. “I’m not doing this to please you, Madison. I’m doing this to please us. You bring me joy. Showering you with gifts and love and orgasms makes me happier.”

I heard Ethan groan, Layla squeak, and Sven sigh dreamily. I bit down on my lower lip to suppress a giggle.

“Then yes,” I said. “Yes, I will marry you, Chase Black.”

I was going to throw my arms over his shoulders, the way I’d always imagined I’d do. Like in the movies. But he picked me up honeymoon-style and kicked the door open. The assistant almost flew backward from the impact. He ran the length of the hallway while I giggled, burying my face in his chest, inhaling his singular scent. Minutes later, he burst onto the runway with me in his arms, my legs kicking playfully in my ball gown. Croquis’s sign was behind us, glowing in neon lights.

Projectors pointed at us. Rows upon rows of stern-looking fashion journalists, celebrities, media personalities, and other designers eyeing us. Cameras clicked. People whistled, laughed, and clapped.

And Chase? He grinned at everyone, at everything, with that devil-may-care smile that could melt me into a puddle.

“My name is Chase Black, and I’m the CEO of Black & Co. Want to see my favorite bridal creation for this season?” he asked, putting me down gently. The dress swelled at the bottom, and I felt everyone’s eyes scorching a path down my body as people took in the dress. “She’s it.”

EPILOGUE

CHASE

Six months later

Dear Chase,

When we were in the Hamptons, and you were busy bickering with Julian, and your mother, your sister, Amber, and Clemmy were busy shopping downtown, Maddie approached me in the library. I considered it a bold move, seeing as we were complete strangers, and I was, essentially, her boss.

Madison explained her mother wrote letters to her throughout her journey fighting cancer, to immortalize her feelings toward her daughter long after she herself was gone. Naturally, I was interested. I asked Madison if she could email me copies of those letters. She said she could. I spent many nights reading Iris Goldbloom’s letters to her daughter. She was, I suspect, a fine woman.

I have tried to write many letters to you, Julian, Kate, and Clementine. But in truth, expressing my feelings in words has never been my forte. I suppose I am more of a show-don’t-tell type of man. Until today. I finally found something worth writing to you. Something that wouldn’t feel mundane or utterly dull.

Today, I found out that your relationship with Madison was a sham. That you did it, in part, to pacify me. The fact that you went to such great lengths to ensure my peace of mind touches me.

I love you.

I am proud of you.

And your engagement to Maddie? While I suppose you thought it had everything to do with me and nothing to do with you, I knew, the day I saw your eyes light up in the Hamptons when she showed up for that late dinner, that she was the one.

Treat her well. Take care of your mother. Protect your sister. Help raise your niece.

Oh, and try not to kill your brother.

Love,

Dad

I tucked Dad’s letter into my breast pocket, before tightening my bow tie in front of the mirror in the small-ass bedroom with the dated yellow wallpaper. I looked sharp in a Black & Co. black suit.