Page 122 of Safe Place

“So,” he says softly. “Will you trust me? Will you marry me, Sophie?”

I nod through the tears. “Yes,” I breathe. “Of course I will.”

He kisses me like he’s sealing something sacred. Then, before I can blink, he lifts me into his arms with ease and starts walking toward the bed.

“This fucking white bikini,” he mutters like he’s already lost the fight.

I laugh against his neck.

He lowers me onto the bed, his hands already at my sides, and his fingers brushing beneath the delicate ties. His gaze flicks up to mine for a second—like he’s giving me time to stop him. But of course, I don’t.

Slowly, he pulls one string loose. Then the other.

My breath catches as his knuckles trace unhurriedly along my skin.

“Sophie Vale,” he whispers, leaning in, his lips grazing mine, “you will be the death of me.”

I pull him closer before he can think twice, my hands tangling in his shirt, and when his mouth finally claims mine again, there’s nothing careful left in it.

If this is what it feels like to be loved, let it consume me.

EPILOGUE

Loving her is the best thing I’ll ever do

MICAH

We're married.

It's been almost a month since Bora Bora, since rose petals and candlelights and the moment she said yes—the moment I felt like I won in life.

And somehow, after all of that, we ended up here—not in some grand ballroom or extravagant garden. No string quartet or champagne tower. Just the two of us in a courthouse in downtown Boston, bundled up in winter coats, slipping on rings with cold fingers and warm hearts. No witnesses—Massachusetts doesn't require them anyway. And frankly, given everything that's gone down with Wyatt and Poppy, it felt better to keep it simple. Quiet and ours.

But I will make sure Sophie has a proper wedding someday. When she's ready—when we're both ready. She deserves to have her special day.

Today, she’s in a simple white dress—nothing fancy or showy, but somehow she’s never looked more beautiful. She is perfection.

Now we’re driving home—to our home.

She keeps fiddling with her ring. I catch glints of it from the corner of my eye every time the light hits—flashing just the right amount of obnoxious sparkle, exactly how I meant it to.

“You keep staring at it,” I say, grinning.

She doesn’t even deny it. “It’s just really sparkly.”

I glance at her quickly at a red light. “I can get you a bigger one.”

She gasps. “Micah. This is already huge. I feel like I need security walking around with it.”

I shrug. “How about I get you a bigger one for each anniversary?”

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, but doesn’t let go of my hand. She squeezes it, then leans her head against my arm, still looking at her ring like she can't believe it’s real.

I can’t believe it either, in the best possible way.

People will say we’re crazy—married after a a semester, no big wedding, no buildup, no prenup. But I don’t give a shit.

Luke called to congratulate us earlier. It was his idea, after all. That charming, cunning, cocky bastard. But I love him for it. It was the perfect plan. Now, even my dad has to go to lengths to protect her and this marriage if needed. Divorce is not in the Vale dictionary, after all.