It’s a sight worthy of an old black and white film, a snapshot that would stand the test of time. He can’t keep his hands off her. They make it two steps forward, almost around the corner and out of sight, and then he backs her up against a brick wall—in plain view of everyone—and bends down to kiss her.

“God, I missed you all day” is what he tells her, his lips daring to move down to her neck.

I don’t have to wonder if she loves him like he so clearly loves her.

I don’t have to imagine she’s happy.

I’m no longer the girl on the balcony.

“I missed you too,” I tell him, rising up onto my tiptoes to press a firm kiss against his lips.

Epilogue

Lainey

It’s midnight and the grounds of St. John’s are deserted and quiet. The moon looms large in the sky, our only light.

Emmett stands at the end of the dock, turned away from me, staring at the pine trees across the lake. He’s dressed in a black suit, nearly the same color as the calm water stretched out in front of him. Despite the late hour, he’s impeccable as always, not a single strand of hair out of place. He could have just walked off the pages of GQ.

I walk barefoot on the cold grass, having wisely discarded my heels a while back. My hair hangs loose, full of its natural wave. The long white dress I’m wearing once belonged to my mother. I found it while going through a few boxes of her things with my grandmother. I mentioned how much I liked it and, in secret, she took it to get cleaned and mended for me.

The dress is free-flowing, almost ethereal in its style and simplicity. It pairs well with the bouquet I foraged from the school’s garden. They’re roses I would have left for Emmett back in our youth, a little wilted, a little brown at the edges, still lovely.

I have no doubt I present quite a sight in the moonlight. I’m sure if my old St. John’s peers could see me now, they’d say, Told you she was a ghost all along!

The thought makes me smile.

Either Emmett hears the subtle creak of the wooden boards beneath my feet as I step up onto the dock or he senses my presence, because he turns to watch me walk toward him, down our makeshift aisle.

Tomorrow, we’ll dash off to Paris, dress in designer, and stand in front of a crowd of five hundred invited guests, smiling for flashing cameras as we say I do. We’ll fulfill the commitment our families expect of us. Tonight, however, is just for us.

Wedding planning has gone just as I expected it would. There was no hope of us having an intimate affair. Right from the start, my grandmother hired a team of professionals to bring her vision to life. Frédéric was no help either. At every turn, he never failed to add to the madness. More people, more press, more food, more flowers. The pageantry of the day will be on par with a royal wedding, and coverage of it will be splashed across newsstands come Sunday morning. I’ve already seen some snippets. After a two-year engagement, GHV heir is off the market and No luck for you, ladies—Emmett Mercier is officially taken and Have you SEEN the ring?