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It's Amanda Perkins stealing the blankets.

It's burned toast and fancy French dinners.

It's Broadway music playing while she dances around the kitchen.

It's waking up every morning beside the woman I love.

It's her.

Always her.

And after everything we've survived—I finally know one thing for sure.

I was made for this woman right here, and now, I'm exactly where I belong.

“You ready?” Amanda asks, and I look down to see my bride grinning up at me, a wicked glint sparkling in her celery green eyes.

“I was born ready, Rusty.”

For this?

For her and me to start our lives together?

That’s the goddamn truth.

Epilogue 2: Jack

Okay.

So I'm on a private island in the middle of nowhere celebrating another fucking wedding.

Which, whatever.

I'm happy for Less.

I guess.

Not that I tell him that.

The giant bastard cried during his vows, and no one will shut up about it.

Noel threatened to drown him.

Adrik Volkov—yeah, the one and only—offered him a boat to make it easier.

It's been a weird day.

Anyway, I don't really do weddings.

Or parties.

Or feelings.

I mostly do weapons maintenance and glaring.

But apparently being part of Sigma means occasionally putting on a tux and pretending you're civilized.

So there I am.