Page 150 of The Truth of Us

I pulled Harper toward the edge of the dance floor, wrapping my arms tightly around her waist. She rested her chin against my chest, her wedding ring glittering under the lights, her body pressed flush against mine.

"So, Mr. Montgomery," she murmured, a wicked, playful tilt to her lips as her nails lightly scratched the nape of my neck. "How does it feel to be officially off the market?"

I dropped my head, my lips brushing the sensitive shell of her ear, and lowered my voice to a gravelly whisper. "It feels brilliant, baby. Though if you keep moving your hips against me like that under this dress, I’m going to drag my wife into the wine cellar and show her exactly what I learned about logistics in the front seat of my SUV."

Harper let out a loud laugh masked by a gasp, her cheeks flushing a delicious pink as she swatted my chest. "Elliot! My father is standing twenty feet away!"

I chuckled, pulling her closer until there wasn't a whisper of air between us, my hand resting possessively on the curve of her hip. "You love my brand of crazy, Mrs. Montgomery."

She looked up at me, her blue eyes shining with everything we’d fought for, everything we’d built, and everything waiting for us. "I do," she whispered softly, her hand pressing over my heart. "I really, really do."

Looking around at our family, holding the woman who had rewritten my entire world, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that life would never get better than this.

EPILOGUE 2 - HARPER

Montgomery House was wrapped in a quiet, pristine blanket of fresh Christmas snow. Outside, the pine trees bowed under the weight of white drifts, but inside, the air smelled of moms pasta, cranberries, and cinnamon, the exact scent of the holidays I remembered from my childhood.

In keeping with our family tradition, we had sent all the staff home for the holiday week. The massive house belonged only to us: no PR reps, assistant, chefs, no lingering shadows of the media or the past. Just family.

I stood in the kitchen, wiping flour off my hands with a dish towel, staring down at my mother’s handwritten cookbook open on the counter. Beside it sat a cooling rack filled with warm gingerbread biscuits and the empty pots from the dinner we’d spent hours cooking and eating together. For five years, Elliot and I had made it a point to keep these traditions alive, cooking her recipes, keeping Will’s journals close, and filling rooms that used to feel frozen in grief with laughter, music, and genuine warmth.

A mug of warm cider in hand, I slipped off my slippers and walked barefoot down the hallway toward my favorite sitting room.

As I approached the doorway, the low, familiar murmur stopped me in my tracks. I paused just out of sight, leaning against the doorframe, my heart doing that familiar, soft flutter it always did when I heard him.

The fire was crackling in the hearth, casting a warm, golden amber glow across the room. Perched on the plush velvet couch, the exact spot where my father had sat with me so many times over my life, sat my husband.

And tucked snugly against Elliot’s side was our four-year-old son, Asher.

My throat tightened instantly. The little boy Elliot had envisioned so many years ago, existed now and was the perfect twin to his father. He had Eliott’s messy, dirty blonde hair, his sharp little chin, and those brilliant, sparkling blue eyes that held the entire world in them. Asher was wearing matching tartan pajama pants, his small hands wrapped around a stuffed plush dog, staring up at Elliot with pure, unadulterated love.

"Daddy?" His soft, sweet voice carried across the quiet room.

Elliot looked down at him, his expression so filled with love it took my breath away. He reached down, ruffling golden curls. "Yeah, buddy?"

Asher wiggled closer, resting his head directly against Elliot’s chest, right over his heart, the exact way I used to lay when Elliot held me through my darkest nights.

"Tell me the story," Asher murmured softly. "The greatest love story."

Tears immediately pricked the backs of my eyes. I bit my lower lip, clutching my cider mug a little tighter, remaining hidden in the shadow of the doorway. It was the exact phrase I had whispered to my father dozens of times on that very couch, asking to hear how he fell in love with my mother.

Elliot smiled, a soft, incredibly gentle expression settling over his features. He pulled the blanket up over Asher’s shoulders and looked into the fire, his voice dropping into a rich, storytelling cadence.

"Once upon a time," Elliot began softly, "there was a princess. Only, she wasn't the kind of princess who stayed locked in a tower waiting for someone to rescue her. She was fierce, brilliant, and brave. But because the world could be cold and mean, her family hid her away to keep her safe, under a different name, so no one could hurt her."

Asher listened intently, his blue eyes wide. "Was she hiding from dragons?"

Elliot chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Something like that. Big, noisy dragons with cameras and loud voices." Elliot paused, his eyes reflecting the dancing flames. "And then there was a prince. Except... he wasn't a very good prince at first."

Asher tilted his head. "Why?"

"Because he was scared," Elliot admitted quietly, his voice carrying an unvarnished honesty that made my chest ache with love. "He was afraid that if he let anyone close to his heart, they would leave him. So he put up big, high walls, made lots of silly mistakes, and tried to pretend he didn't need anybody. He thought protecting himself was more important than being brave."

"Did the princess fight him?" Asher asked.

"She didn't have to," Elliot whispered. "She was just... her. She stood tall, she reclaimed her power, and she showed him what true courage looked like. And when the prince finally realized how much he loved her, how she made the whole world brighter just by being in it, he threw away his crown, left his big fancy castle behind, and swore he would protect her forever. He even took her name so they could build a brand-new kingdom together."

Elliot looked down at our son, his thumb gently tracing Asher’s cheek. "She didn't just save herself. She saved the prince's broken heart, too."