Claire’s arms dropped to her side in befuddlement. “Wait. What? What am I missing?”

“No, no, I know this,” Audrey said, snapping her fingers, something tickling at the back of her brain. “It’s familiar, it’s familiar… Nope. I’m blanking.”

Naomi merely smiled at their confusion. “It’s from a scene out of the Anne of Green Gables series when Gilbert proposes to Anne. Sort of an inside joke, and honestly, it could not have been more perfect. It was a very us moment.”

“Okay, well, I still don’t get it, but I don’t have to,” Claire said, hugging Naomi again. “I am so happy for you.”

“Me, too,” Audrey said. “Though maybe a little mad that you didn’t tell us!”

“I was going to tell you guys right away, I swear. But then you told me that you and Clarke were getting married for real, and Oliver and I agreed to wait until after to announce it. You two deserve to have your time in the spotlight.”

“Yes, but—” Audrey broke off, not sure what to say.

“Don’t be mad,” Naomi pleaded. “You know I’d never intentionally keep anything from you two, but I really didn’t want to steal your thunder. You’ve wanted to be a bride for so long. I wanted you to have your moment.”

“No, it’s not that,” Audrey said, “I appreciate the sentiment. I’d like to think I’d have done the same if the situations were reversed. It’s just…”

She felt her eyes welling and was embarrassed to realize that it was partially out of happiness for Naomi and Oliver, but also partially, shamefully, out of sadness for herself.

“Audrey,” Claire said softly, putting an arm around her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Audrey said, wiping her nose. “I’m so happy for Naomi, but I’m just… she and Oliver! They’re getting married for real, the fairy-tale love, like you and Scott have, and I thought I didn’t want that. I thought I didn’t deserve it—”

“Of course you deserve it,” Claire said, sounding appalled. “You deserve it more than anyone I know!”

Naomi nodded in agreement, looking concerned.

“I don’t,” Audrey protested, looking at Claire. “I stole yours, Claire.”

Claire frowned. “You stole my what?”

“Your fairy tale. You found your Prince Charming, and I took him, but he was never mine. I was so busy looking for the fairy tale, so selfish—”

“No,” Claire said firmly. “I don’t know why you’ve gotten this into your head, or how long you’ve been carrying it around, but I want you to listen very carefully. Brayden Hayes was never my Prince Charming. He was never any of ours. He was the witch, or the troll, or the monster in disguise, but never the prince. Scott is my prince. Oliver is Naomi’s prince. And Clarke is yours,” Claire finished gently.