Wild Love: EPILOGUE

“What are you humming?” Cora asks as I put fresh towels on the shelf in the first-floor bathroom.

My brows scrunch. “I don’t know.”

“Was that ‘Pumped Up Kicks’?”

I shrug. “Maybe? You and your dad are the ones with ears for music in this house.”

It’s been a month since the end of school. A month of us all living together.

It feels like playing house.

It feels too good to be true.

“You know that song is about a school shooting,” Cora deadpans, her black bangs dead straight across her forehead.

I stop. Sometimes she’s so abrupt and morbid that I need a second to catch up.

“Really?”

She nods soberly.

“But it sounds so happy. I was humming it happily!”

“Shaking your ass too.”

I flush but refuse to be embarrassed. I’m the one doing chores after dark.

“Did your dad teach you this?”

She nods. “Just came from the office. Listened to a bunch of new stuff.”

A slow smile spreads across my face. That has become a favorite pastime for them. They sit on that leather couch, drink root beer, listen to music, and talk about it. In depth.

Upcoming tours.

Synthesizers.

Auto-tune.

Guitar pedals.

I once walked in and found them watching a video where Jack White—who I was told is in fact not Edward Scissorhands—builds a guitar with an old board, a few nails, a piece of string, and an old Coke bottle.

“Well, that sounds exactly like the type of storm cloud conversation the two of you would have.”

I get a petulant eye roll for that one, but it doesn’t bother me at all. This week, Marilyn closed on a house in town. Ford didn’t buy it, but he made the entire process his business. Dickering on price, organizing movers—I even overheard him tell Marilyn that he knows a good painter named Scotty that he could connect her with.

The same Scotty he fired for talking to me.

Petty bastard.

Either way, knowing Cora will be close is the cherry on top. I foresee plenty of music sessions in the office for these two. The odd weekend at our place. A come-and-go-as-you-please arrangement is what it’s looking like.

“Speaking of conversations I like to have⁠—”

I snort. “Oh, this should be good.”

“Have you ever done Bloody Mary?”

“What?”

Cora rolls her eyes like I’m dumb. “You know… Bloody Mary. Where you say it while you’re turning and then see her in the mirror?”

“This is so on brand for you.” I slap a hand over my mouth as the sentiment slips out, and Cora’s eyes roll again. But she also chuckles.

“I want to try it. But not alone.”

I nibble at my bottom lip. “Like, on Halloween?”

“No. Right now.”

“Right now?”

She shoves me farther into the bathroom, facing the mirror. “Right now.”

“You know ghosts aren’t real, right?”

All Cora does is quirk a brow as my eyes drop to the one pop of pink over her shoulder. My velvet scrunchie. I’m gonna have to pack her stocking full of those at Christmas.

“Let’s go, Rosalie. You chicken?”

I step up beside her, my jaw dropping. “Kid, did you just call me Rosalie and a chicken in one breath?”

She just forges ahead. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

I shake my head. “You need to get back to school. Some structure is good for hellions like you.”

Our eyes catch in the mirror and we both giggle. That was a lie and we both know it. Summer has been the most fun. Cooking over the fire. Boating when it’s hot. Cora has even learned to water-ski.

“So, we have to say Bloody Mary thirteen times. Getting louder each time. On the last one, she’ll show up in the mirror.”

“Ford is gonna think we’re nuts.”

She shrugs. “He already does. Plus, he went to West’s. Okay. Go.”

Wow. She is like… really hell-bent on this.

“Bloody Mary,” she starts with a whisper, and I fumble the first one, trying to catch up.

Then I get the timing right. “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary.” We keep getting louder until I worry that someone is going to call the cops. “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary.”

We look over at each other before screaming the last one.

“Bloody Mary!”

Then every light in the house cuts out, and I scream, jumping what has to be a few feet off the floor.

Cora though? Cora is giggling. And I piece this together quickly. She and her dad are playing a very adorable joke on me.

But going from bright light to being plunged into darkness has my eyes struggling to adjust.

“Ford fucking Grant!” I shout, hoping, for his sake, he hears me loud and clear from wherever the electrical panel is in this house. “You are an overgrown child and I’m going to kill you for this!”

Cora laughs harder.

“Turn these lights on right now!”

I stomp my foot like a petulant child.

And then I start when I hear the amused rasp of his voice from right in front of me. “Okay.”

I’m confused by how he’s so close, but all that confusion evaporates on the spot when the lights flash on and I take him in.

Down on one knee.

Wearing a lopsided smirk.

And holding up a ring.

A huge cushion-cut pink stone set on a dainty rose gold band. Smaller white diamonds flank the center stone, arranged in a way that looks an awful lot like leaves.

His eyes remind me of leaves.

“We figured you had to have a pink ring,” Cora blurts, practically bouncing on the spot.

From behind Ford, my brother appears. Smirking exactly like I bet he did the last time he played that joke on me.

“Rosalie Belmont—” Ford starts, but I cut him off.

“Don’t Rosalie me. Are you seriously proposing after scaring the shit out of me the way you did as a teenager? You cannot possibly be doing this.”

He grins that grin that makes my stomach flop. Followed by a wink that makes my skin itch. “Loved you then. Love you even more now. If we aren’t driving each other up the wall, what’s even the point?”

My eyes sting, and I blink away to Cora. Her hands are cupping her cheeks, and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her appear so… adorably excited.

I cross my arms and lean in to take a closer look at the ring. I’m trying to appear casual, but my cheeks are hot, and my heart is thrashing wildly against my ribs.

I want to throw myself at his knees and beg him to please marry me.

But instead, I lean in close to him, sucking in the scent of his signature cologne, and murmur, “Maybe I should say no. Teach you a lesson.”

Cora gasps, and West laughs.

Ford’s eyes flash with amusement. “Sure thing. Say no. I’ll chase you down, force this ring onto your finger, and teach you a lesson of my own, Rosie.”

Now I smirk. “That actually sounds pretty fun.”

Before Ford can finish rolling his eyes, I dart out of the bathroom right past him.

I fly out the front door to the sound of my brother’s and Cora’s laughter as Ford clearly tries to get his bearings. The minute I’m out the door, I burst into a full sprint, grass tickling my feet as I use the hill to my advantage, running down toward the water.

Toward my dock.

I can hear Ford’s breathing behind me. A breathless laugh as he chases me down.

My footfalls rattle across the dock’s wooden boards as I barrel toward the lake.

And he follows.

“You’re trespassing, Junior!” I shout back at him, a sort of maniacal laughter lurching from my throat.

His long arm captures me around the waist as he hauls me to him, mere feet from the end of the dock. “Try to get rid of me then, Rosie. I dare you. I’m making everything that’s mine yours anyway. I’m even renaming the studio.”

My brows furrow.

“I wanted to name it after the town I’ve come to love. But…”

“But Rose Hill Records is kind of uninspired?” Ford’s eyes roll. “Yes, you’ve mentioned that.”

“So, what are you calling it?”

He swallows and watches me so carefully. His tongue darts out and he presses it between his lips. It hits me that he’s nervous. This man actually thinks I might not marry him.

“Wild Rose Records. After the girl I’ve always loved. But as my business partner, I need your input.”

I blink. My heart thuds harder. Fuck me, that’s romantic. Being considered my boss bothered him. Ethically and romantically. He flinches every time it comes up—especially with how I came to need a job in the first place.

He shifts his feet, waiting for me to respond. “I know it’s not Rosie or Rosalie. But Wild Rosie Records sounds⁠—”

“Kinda dumb,” I finish for him as I sniff and slide my hands up over his broad chest. “I love it. I really love it. But I’m not giving you half my dock. I refuse,” I toss back as he stares down at me, shaking his head, green eyes twinkling.

“Rosie, shut up and marry me,” he growls with a touch of desperation in his voice.

Then he yanks my hand off his chest and shoves the ring onto my finger.

It’s so us.

I’d laugh if I weren’t so entranced by the way it sparkles when I wiggle my fingers.

“Yeah. Yes. Definitely. I definitely want to marry you.

Very much.”

He breathes out a laugh. “Thank god.”

Then my fingers curl into the soft cotton of his shirt and I tug his mouth down to mine. He kisses me and I feel like I could float away.

But I don’t.

I hold him tight… and pull him straight into the water with me.

Dear Diary,

Tonight, I had a bunch of girlfriends over. We were at Ford’s parents’ place because they’re away tonight, which meant we could have the entire house to ourselves. I’m sure half of them only showed up because they’re secretly obsessed with West.

Anyway, Tarah brought her Ouija board, and I was convinced it was super stupid. Obviously, ghosts aren’t real. But then the five of us started playing, and I swear the piece moved. Of course, Ford had to walk in and see us playing it.

Just the easiest ammo for him to shit on me with.

So, I invited him to play with us, right? Thinking that if he were in on the game, it would neutralize his evil plans.

Except Tarah looked just a little too excited about having him join us. She moved over immediately to make room for him and smiled all stupid-like at him.

Which meant I was stuck kneeling, facing Ford and his annoying, condescending smirk while she stared over and made moon eyes at him.

As if Ford would ever be into a girl who likes Ouija.

Next thing you know, this bitch will be trying to read his tea leaves or his palms or the veins on his ballsack.

I didn’t miss the way she got her fingers all over his, either.

Kinda made me hope that we *could* actually conjure a ghost. One that would break her fingers for me.

Anyway, we asked the spirits if one of us was going to die young (if I were a worse person, I’d wish for it to be Tarah) and then it slowly landed on YES.

Which would have been stupid except the lights cut out right then, and I lost my shit.

I played it off after, like I was cool. And I’d never admit it anywhere but here, but I was shit-scared.

I don’t think I’ve ever screamed so loud in my life, but it was SO dark and SO sudden. I turned to run, but Ford was there. He must have stepped straight over the board, straight through the chaos of screaming girls, to get to me.

He reached for me, and I went. I clung to him.

He’s a lot less scrawny than he used to be. I’m not sure when that happened, but his arms have muscles now. And he even smells good.

Okay, really good.

I should probably be mad because I’m sure West cut the electricity as a prank.

But instead, I… I don’t know. It sounds crazy, but I’m almost glad he did it?

Ford held me until the lights came back on. He whispered, “I’ve got you,” against my hair and I believed him.

I’d never admit it anywhere except on these pages, but I felt safe in his arms.

And I was disappointed when the lights came back on.

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