SHOULDN'T WANT YOU

BONUS EPILOGUE

LILIAN MONROE

Copyright © 2020 Lilian Monroe All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or byany means without prior written permission from the author except for

short quotations used for the purpose of reviews.

Resemblance to action persons, things living or dead, locales, or events isentirely coincidental.

WILLOW

SOUR LOLLIPOPS ARE MY SALVATION, especially when myhairstylist is tugging at my head like I’ve insulted her motherand she intends to rip my scalp right off. Jackson is snappingpictures of us in between checking himself out in the mirror,and Nadia’s doling out glasses of champagne.

I refused to get ‘Bride Tribe’ embroidered on anyone’sdressing gowns, but they’re still my tribe.

And I’m the bride.

Finally.

Nervous butterflies tickle the inside of my belly as the stylistcurls my hair into soft waves. The door to my dressing roomopens and Jackson’s friend, Missy appears. She gives me abroad smile as she drags her big, black makeup artist’s kitbehind her.

“Hello, gorgeous!” She sings to me.

“Hi, darling,” Jackson replies, then laughs. “Oh, you weren’ttalking to me.”

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“You’re gorgeous, too.” I grin as the hairdresser fluffs my hairone final time. I tug my dressing gown around my body,adjusting myself in the chair before standing up to stretch mybody out. I glance outside at the Black Estate gardens below,shifting to look at the darkening sky. I swear a minute ago, itwas blue skies and sunshine.

Missy starts opening up her makeup kit, and I prepare myselffor more time sitting in this damned chair. All of this is morethan I intended on doing for my wedding. I just wanted to godown to the courthouse, but slowly and surely, my weddinggrew, and grew, and grew.

I’ve seen it happen to countless brides, and I thought I’d beimmune.

How naive of me.

Now, my wedding has turned into a whole ordeal, withflowers and centerpieces and catering. We even have a choco-late fountain, for some reason. I didn’t even know I had ahundred friends and family, but apparently there are ahundred people attending my wedding. Cousins and friendsand old coworkers. Even Finn and his skydiving partner,Sweeney got an invite—but only after they promised not tocause any trouble.

Missy gets to work on my makeup, and I take sips of cham-pagne whenever her hand leaves my face. Jackson snapspictures. Nadia stays on champagne duty. I try to keep upwith what everyone is saying, but my thoughts keep driftingto what’s about to happen.

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In mere hours—minutes, even—I’ll be marrying the love ofmy life. The man of my dreams. The future father of my chil-dren, hopefully.

I don’t even know why I’m nervous. I’ve wanted to marrySacha since I was seven years old, maybe even younger. I’vedrawn hearts around our names in every notebook I’ve everowned. I’ve dreamed of him since I was a teenager.

Now I’m doing it. For better or worse. ’Til death. The wholenine yards.

I was wrong about one thing: my heart is most definitely notdead. It’s not a black hole. It’s red-blooded and thumpingmadly in my chest, reminding me of how much emotion iscoursing through my body.

Missy finishes the simple makeup look I’ve asked for, and I turnto the dress hanging on the wall of the room. Nadia smiles, clap-ping her hands, and Jackson moves to take it off the coat hanger.

It’s a tea length, whimsical dress with a lace bodice and a fullskirt. I’ve chosen colorful, floral heels to go with it, as anhomage to the color Sacha’s brought back into my life.

It feels good not to wear black to a wedding, for once. Ihelped plan this wedding, obviously, but I’m not workingtoday. I’m just marrying the man I love and celebrating ourlife together with a hundred of my closest friends.

I slip into the dress and stare at myself in the mirror, suckingin a deep breath. By the end of the day, I’ll have gained ahusband.

“It’s time,” Nadia says, handing me a bouquet of flowers sheput together herself. “You look amazing.”

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I’m ushered downstairs to where our guests are waiting intheir seats, in the rolling lawns of the Black Estate. The wholefront gardens have been set up for our wedding. I look out atthe beautiful flowers in full bloom, standing in the foyer ofthe house that used to be full of bad memories and pain.

Now, it’s the opposite. It’s the happiest place I’ve ever been to,and it’s nearly time for me to walk down the aisle. But as Iglance out at the gathering clouds, I wonder if I’ll even beable to make that short walk.

This morning, the sun was shining.

Now? A couple of hours later?

Thunder booms.

Jackson grunts, staring up at the sky. He glances at me,arching an eyebrow. “Doesn’t look good, Willow.”

“Maybe we’ve got time to do the wedding before the stormcomes in,” I answer, already knowing it won’t be possible.

“They say it’s good luck,” Nadia offers, ever the optimist.

It’s already drizzling out, and I can see guests looking up atthe opaque, grey sky as they try to cover their heads withbags and jackets. Thunder cracks right overhead almost atthe same time as lightening rips through in the sky. A fewguests shriek. Nadia jumps beside me.

I just sigh.

Of course this is happening. Wouldn’t be a wedding withoutat least one thing going wrong.

What starts as a light drizzle turns into a deluge withinseconds. Guests come running toward the building as a whip

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of wind tears over the cliffs. All one hundred of them comebursting through the doors as Nadia and Jackson help meshuffle to the side of the tight foyer.

Sacha is the last to come in through the doors, drenchedfrom head to toe. His hair is plastered to his forehead, and hisexpensive, tailored suit is soaked.

His eyes find mine right away, and a smile splits across hisface. Sacha’s laugh warms my heart and he crosses thedistance between us in three steps. Reaching his arms towardme, Sacha grabs me by the waist and spins me in a slowcircle.

Jackson yelps, screaming something about getting my dresswet and ruining my hair.

I don’t care. It doesn’t matter.

Rain? What rain?

All I see is my soon to be husband, a little wet around theedges.

My hands are on Sacha’s shoulders, and my eyes are glued tohis. He sets me back down on the ground and crushes his lipsto mine, ruining my lipstick and messing up my carefullystyled waves.

I press my body to his, soaking the front of my fancy whitedress.

And it’s perfect.

Sacha’s lips are warm. His gaze is hot. His hands are made fortouching me, and my heart beats only for him. Outside, light-ning flashes. Thunder booms a second later, makingeveryone jump as Sacha and I fall apart.

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My eyes stay glued to his, and I reach up to push his wet hairoff his forehead.

“The weather isn’t cooperating,” I note, stating the obvious.

“I don’t care about the weather,” Sacha responds. He leans hishead down to brush his lips against mine. “You lookincredible.”

“You look soaked.”

Sacha grins, wrapping his arms around me to make sure Iabsorb as much water from his clothes as possible.

“Just like you’ll be later tonight.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

Laughing, I push him away. This is the man I’m marrying.Rain or shine. Soaked or dry. Fairytale wedding or rained-outdisaster.

It’s him. He’s the one for me. Any day of the week.

He threads his fingers into mine and turns to face the guests,who are doing their best to dab their clothing dry with towelsthe staff are handing out.

Staring at us, the officiant arches an eyebrow and glancesoutside. “Well, what do you want to do? Should we wait forthe storm to pass?”

“I’ve been waiting my whole life,” Sacha says, shaking hishead. “Make Willow my wife, storm or no storm. It doesn’tmatter.” He turns to me and whispers softly. “Our storm hasalready passed.”

So, we shuffle into the nearest living room, and Sacha and Iget married. Max stands beside us, and our friends andfamily crowd around.

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There’s no walk down the aisle. There’s no gauzy fabric andperfect Instagram-worthy photos. There aren’t even anyflowers in this room.

But there’s a great deal of love, laughter, and good memories.

When Sacha kisses me for the first time as my husband, myheart nearly explodes from happiness. Max produces a bottleof champagne from who-knows-where, popping the cork andyelling out as the rest of our loved ones cheer and clap.

Sacha holds me close, touching the tip of his nose to mine.

“I love you, Willow.”

“And I love you, Sacha.”

“Always.”

I smile. “Forever.”

Sacha arches an eyebrow as a grin tugs his lips. “You believein forever?”

“I believe in forever with you,” I answer.

And it’s true. Forever with Sacha Black is the only type offorever I’ll ever want. Together, we’re better.

Rain or shine.

Thunderstorm or clear blue sky.

Aisle or no aisle.

He’s mine, and I’m his.

Forever.

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Get Book 2: Can’t Have You HERE(mybook.to/CantHaveYou)

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For all books, visit:

www.lilianmonroe.com

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