The Virgin Replay by Lauren Blakely
Epilogue
Chance
A little later
TJ rakes his gaze over my attire, studying me with intense eyes.
“What? You picked the suit. You damn well better like it,” I say, trying to figure out what’s wrong.
He shakes his head. “It’s so easy to wind you up. Just one look and you’re worried.”
I roll my eyes. “It is my wedding day.”
He pats my shoulder. “I know. I shouldn’t enjoy messing with you so much, yet I do.”
“I can’t wait to mess with you on your wedding day.”
A cough bursts from him. “You’re killing me.”
“Like that’s so implausible?” I ask.
“It’s a little implausible, me getting hitched. Love is not in the cards for this guy. Anyway, you look good,” he says, then pulls me in for a hug. “I’m happy for you, Chance.”
I smile into the embrace. “Me too. Thanks for being here for me. For everything.”
When we separate, he nods solemnly. “Always.”
We leave my place—soon to be mine and Sierra’s—and head to The Spotted Zebra.
As soon as we step inside, I spot my beautiful, brilliant bride. She’s perched on a bar stool, decked out in a simple white wedding dress that hits her knees. Nothing fancy, just those spaghetti straps and, I bet, white lace underneath.
Oh yes.
I can’t wait to undress my wife on our wedding night.
A second time around.
The bar opens in thirty minutes on a mid-January Saturday night. Zoey and the new bartender from Vegas will be serving—both the regular patrons and the private party of the Blackwood-Ashford wedding.
It’s a small affair. Just close friends and close family.
But that’s what matters.
I make my way to the woman I’ve dated for the last couple months. We’ve gone out to dinner, played pool, sang karaoke, and we’ve stayed in watching British comedies, watering plants, and arranging flowers.
I’ve also ripped off countless pairs of panties and dismantled plenty of bras.
And replaced them.
My fiancée-wife has an overstuffed lingerie drawer, and that makes the both of us happy.
But what makes me happier is heading into the game room, where an officiant waits for us.
Everyone gathers around—Grant and Declan, Crosby and Nadia, Holden and Reese, Clementine and Skyler, Trish and Blake, TJ, Frankie, Erin, Harlan and his little daughter Abby, as well as Sierra’s grandparents and my own parents.
The officiant begins, and soon, she’s asking, “And do you, Chance Ashford, take this woman to be your wife, to love and cherish for the rest of your days?”
Easiest answer ever. “I do,” I say, looking into Sierra’s eyes and feeling certainty and love.
“And do you, Sierra Blackwood, take this man to be your husband, to love and cherish for the rest of your days?”
My fiancée grins at me, her eyes already shining with tears. “I do.”
“You may kiss the bride.”
I kiss my bride for the second time around.
It’s a wedding do-over—a replay of sorts.
Yet it feels new and completely meant to be as my wife who became my fiancée becomes my wife once again.
We separate, grinning like the happily married fools we are, then enjoy chocolate-covered strawberries and cake with our close friends and family.
Later that night, we don our Just Married sashes that I saved from Vegas. They are one helluva souvenir of the first wedding to my incredible wife.
I take a picture of my bride and me and post it.
Just married to the love of my life!
That about sums it up.
When we return to her place that night, we find a note under the door from her neighbor.
The cat sitter.
