Page 135 of Knocked Up By the Silver Foxes

“Everything okay in here?”

“Yes,” I say. “Are we ready?”

He nods, and Harper appears at his shoulder in the doorway, and I watch Evelyn turn to leave and register the moment she sees Harper, and I watch Harper register Evelyn, and there’s a half-second where I genuinely don’t know what’s going to happen.

Evelyn gives Harper a small nod. Soft. Not a performance, just a gesture, the kind that means something without requiring a speech around it.

Harper returns it, exactly the same, and Evelyn walks out.

I come around the desk and reach for Harper and she steps into me without hesitating, and I hold her face in my hands and kiss her the way I’ve wanted to since I sat through thirty minutes of Evelyn being more honest than I’ve heard her be in thirty years.

“I love you,” I tell her, against her mouth.

She smiles up at me and her eyes are warm and she doesn’t make me wait for it.

“I love you too,” she says.

From behind us Maddox says, “Very touching. We’re going to be late.”

Harper laughs, and I take her hand, and we go.

52

HARPER

The air hums with late afternoon sun and the scent of roasted figs, honeyed grapes, and the faintest trace of woodsmoke curling up from the brazier pits near the orchard. Outside, the vineyard spills toward the hills in ribbons of deep green and gold, the vines heavy-laden, ready to surrender their fruit. The Harvest Festival is in full bloom—laughter rings from the courtyard, live strings drift between the tents, and every path is strung with lanterns that haven’t yet burned.

Inside the dressing room tucked behind the event hall’s grand entrance, the light is softer, golden and hushed. The walls are lined in vintage brocade, the floor padded with Persian rugs, and a gilded mirror framed in rosewood reflects back at me—me, in this deep red gown, the color of ripe pomegranate juice, hugging my waist before flaring at the hips. The gold embroidery along the neckline catches the sun like threads of fire. I press both hands to the soft curve beneath the fabric, the swell of my belly a quiet, steady truth I still can’t believe is real.

Sophia is beside me, laughing at her own reflection, one hand fluttering over her mouth. “Do I look like a cupcake or a bride?”

I turn, grinning. “A little of both. But mostly a bride. A very freaked out bride.”

She lets out a snort, tugging at her sleeves. Ivory lace, blush embroidery, tulle sweeping down her back like spun sugar. Her veil is pinned loosely, falling in loose curls behind her. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this. Right here. Right now.”

“You’ve been planning this for months,” I remind her, stepping closer, adjusting the sash at her waist. “You even made the vows rhyme.”

She groans, but her eyes sparkle. “I was emotionally compromised. Enzo said something about stars and roots and okay, yes, I wrote rhymes. But only because you told me to stop overthinking it.”

“I just said, say what you mean.” My voice drops, warm. “You did.”

We stand there for a breath, quiet. Then Sophia grabs my hand. Her fingers are ice-cold. “Harper. You’re glowing. Like, literally. Are you eating enough? Did Asher make you eat before the ceremony?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes. He brought me a plate at nine this morning. Eggs, figs, a croissant, and a shot of espresso. Told me to ‘sustain the miracle.’”

She giggles. “He’s such a dad already.”

My chest tightens, just for a second.

Outside, the chimes ring—soft, three notes, echoing through the garden. The private ceremony is about to begin.

“Ready?” I ask.

She inhales, shaky. “Yes. No. Yes.”

I squeeze her hand one last time and step back as the door opens. Killian appears, dark-suited, his hair combed back, eyes flickering over Sophia like she’s just stepped out of a dream. He doesn’t say anything. Just reaches for her. And she takes his hand like she’s been waiting her whole life to do it.

The procession is small. No marches, no pomp. Just the string quartet picking up a folk tune, birdsong threading through the notes. I follow Sophia, my heels silent on the crushed gravel path lined with lanterns. The air is thick with the scent of chamomile and wine barrels warming in the sun.