“Hell of a party, gentlemen,” Bowen announces.
“I know that’s right,” Holden agrees, stretching with a satisfied groan.
“What’s on the takedown list tonight?” Alexander starts to ask, but Danner cuts him off.
“Hey! This is great news!” Danner says, eyes on his phone. “Eliza confirmed. She’s coming.”
The mood shifts instantly. Silence drops like a hammer. Everyone freezes.
Oblivious to the reactions around him, Danner continues, “I know that podcast leaked the rumors, but it sounds like she’s finally ready to meet everyone. Cool. Christmas with our sister.”
I lean into Holden, lowering my voice. “What the hell is going on?”
“It’s a long story,” he mutters, jaw tightening. “Let’s just say the E inE-liza is the missing piece of the Kingridge family alphabet.”
“Oh…” I mentally tick through the brothers. Alexander, Bowen, Callum, Danner, Fallon, Geoffrey, Holden. “So she’s the eighth.. A sister?”
“Half-sister, yeah.”
“Is that a good thing?”
Holden exhales. “Guess we’ll find out come Christmas.”
CHAPTER 9
EPILOGUE: HOLDEN
One YearLater
I’m standing at the altar.
Well, technically, it’s the front of the barn. But it’s draped in white linen and overflowing with more flowers than I’ve ever seen in one place. So for me, it may as well be a cathedral. There’s no place more sacred than the ranch, and nowhere else I would’ve wanted to do this.
Now I’m trying not to fidget with my tie while half of Texas watches me sweat through this moment.
A year ago, if someone had told me I’d be getting married out here in front of two hundred people, I’d have laughed them off the ranch. As Pa would say, I’m nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. But I’m also steady, because today Ms. Zara Platt becomes Mrs. Zara Kingridge. And that still feels completely surreal.
The woman could’ve had a wedding anywhere… and I do meananywhere.Tuscany. Malibu. The rooftop of some glittering New York hotel with chandeliers and champagne fountains. She could’ve booked the Four Seasons and flown in a celebrity guest list so rich in blue checks it would’ve crashed the algorithm. I’ve seen the pictures on her phone. I’ve seen the lifeshe left behind. Hell, Taylor Swift once commented on her Insta. That’s not normal.
But Zara didn’t choose any of that.
She chose simple and real. She choseme. She chose this dusty, imperfect, beautiful place full of stubborn men and wild animals with terrible names. So as the sun sets low over the fields in the distance, all I feel is gratitude.
The music starts. It’s an acoustic version of a song I don’t recognize, but I’m pretty sure it’s got a million streams. Everyone stands, but I can’t see a thing beyond the end of the aisle.
And then I do.
There she is, and holy hell, she’s beautiful.
The dress isn’t simple… not even close. It’s a masterpiece of delicate beading that catches the afternoon light like a thousand tiny stars. The skirt that trails behind her is like something out of a dream. But it’s not the dress that floors me. It’s her.
Zara, smiling at me like I’m the only man in the world. Her dark hair is tucked back in soft waves. Her eyes locked on mine. She looks like herself. No filters, no façade, a whole lot of sparkle. It’s just Zara, and it makes my heart skip a beat.
Tucked into her bouquet is a sprig of wildflowers. I don’t know much about flowers, but these were picked here at the ranch. There’s no doubt about it. You’d barely notice it unless you knew to look, but I’d recognize them anywhere. Seeing them clutched in her hands somehow fits. I can’t for the life of me figure out how I got so damn lucky.
Zara reaches the altar, and her smile wrecks me. It’s not the curated, camera-ready version of her I first saw on her social media feed. It’s soft. Real. Radiant.
From there, time speeds up and it’s a blur.
