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EPILOGUE
IVY
Ford calls me his princess all the time, and rarely do I feel like a princess. But tonight, I feel like a goddamn queen.
It’s a big night for Ford, marking his official return to Hollywood. He was able to make a movie he absolutely loves, and it didn’t even involve any snow.
“Are you ready, princess?” he calls out through the vast house we’ve been renting in the Hollywood Hills.
With my stilettos in hand, I head down the marble staircase and into the foyer, where he’s waiting.
If I’m a queen, then Ford Harmon is surely my king. He looks sinfully sexy in his perfectly tailored tuxedo and crisp white dress shirt with onyx buttons.
“Holy shit,” we both mutter.
“You look amazing,” I gush, circling him and checking out every angle.
Damn, I think as my eyes take in his ass. The tailor did an impeccable job.
“You look…well, I don’t have any words for how gorgeous you look,” he says, tripping over his words. His eyes blink rapidly and then he lifts a hand to swipe at them.
“Are you crying?”
“No. Just an eyelash,” he says, turning his back and dipping his head.
When he faces me again, his gaze travels the length of my body. The smile on his face is everything.
Still, there’s a moment of self-consciousness when I smooth a hand over the front of the skirt. I’m a little nervous about my choice. A full ballgown skirt with a high waist and a cropped top with thin straps. It’s a bit risky, but I love it.
“Do I really look okay?” I ask.
Even though we’ve done an amazing job of keeping our relationship private, I worry about embarrassing him. In this industry, image is everything, and I don’t want to be a misstep for Ford.
“It’s an interesting color choice,” he says with a cocked brow.
“White? What’s wrong with white? Oh, God, are white dresses not a thing this year?”
He holds up a hand and laughs softly. “Settle down, princess. There’s nothing wrong with the color. It just reminds me…”
His voice trails off as he shoves his hand deep into his pocket and pulls something out.
Oh, shit.
That couldn’t be, could it?
“I think you’re missing something,” he says, holding a red leather box in his palm.
“What’s that?” I whisper.
“I think you know what it is.”
I cover my mouth, trying to suppress the sob caught in the back of my throat. Even though Ford told me over a year ago that he was going to marry me, I never believed him.
“It’s a big fucking rock for your pretty little finger,” he says, flicking the lid open with his thumb.
He’s not lying, either. The ring is massive.
“I don’t want to walk down the red carpet tonight and introduce the world to my girlfriend, Ivy Parrish. I want to introduce you as my wife.”
