Chapter 183

Chapter 183
Evelyn's POV

The bouquet felt heavier than it should have.

White camellias, lavender, and blue hydrangeas twisted together with ivory ribbon. Isabella had chosen them herself, said something about "symbols of new starts." At the time I'd only half-listened, too focused on not letting my hands shake while the florist explained how to hold them.

Now I understood.

I stood on the Hampton beach grass with the ocean breeze tugging at my dress, and behind me unmarried women clustered in a loose semicircle. Most had positioned themselves toward the back, like they were dodging a grenade instead of flowers.

I caught whispers floating through the air. "I'm not ready for commitment." "My career comes first." "Marriage is outdated anyway."

Six months ago, I would have agreed with every word, would have been the first one backing away, the fastest to escape. Now I was the one in the white dress, the one who'd just promised forever to a man I'd once tried to kill.

Life was strange.

Only Isabella stood at the front, champagne silk catching the light, blonde hair swept up, eyes bright with something I recognized now—hope, the kind that had been beaten down and clawed its way back up.

I knew that look because I saw it in my mirror some mornings when I wasn't expecting it.

I turned my back to the crowd while the flowers smelled sweet and sharp at the same time, my palms sweating slightly against the stems as I forced myself to breathe.

Just throw the damn flowers, Evelyn.

I tossed the bouquet high and watched it spin against the sky, white and blue and green tumbling over each other. For a second it hung there suspended, and I thought about trajectories and aim, about how some things you could control and some things you just had to trust.

It landed in Isabella's hands like I'd meant it to.

She gasped, then lifted the bouquet high with pure delight on her face, the kind of unguarded joy that made my chest tight.

People applauded and some cheered.

I walked toward her and she met me halfway, and up close I could see the sheen in her eyes.

"Thank you for catching it," I said quietly. "Most women treat it like a threat these days."

Isabella's smile turned thoughtful, her fingers tightening on the stems. "I know what they think—that wanting marriage means giving up your independence, letting someone else define you." She paused, looking down at the flowers. "But I've learned something. Being brave enough to want love doesn't make you weak."

Her voice strengthened. "My engagement to Adrian failed, and for a long time I thought that meant I failed. Now I know it just meant we weren't right." She looked at me directly. "I still believe in real love. I still think it's worth waiting for, worth fighting for when you find it."

The words hit me hard because I'd spent years believing I didn't deserve this, that people like me—killers, liars, weapons—we didn't get happy endings, we got bullets or prison cells or shallow graves.

Julian had proved me wrong, but hearing Isabella say it, hearing her own version of crawling back to hope, it made it feel real and universal, like maybe I wasn't the only broken thing that learned to heal.

"You'll find it," I told her, meaning it more than I expected to. "Someone who sees exactly who you are and loves you anyway."

"I hope so." Her smile turned mischievous. "Though there's already someone who seems interested."

I followed her gaze and spotted him immediately—my operational brain had catalogued him during the ceremony as late-twenties, military posture, deep blue suit, and I'd dismissed him as non-threatening. Now I reassessed.

He stood near the flower arrangements trying to look casual and failing completely, with dark hair and green eyes that were currently fixed on Isabella like she was the only person on this beach.

As I watched, Isabella turned to look at him and he went red—actually red, ears and neck and everything—then jerked his gaze toward the ocean like he was suddenly fascinated by seagulls.

I felt my mouth curve because it had been so long since I'd seen someone that transparently flustered, that honestly interested.

"Well," I said. "That's promising."

Isabella was still looking at him and I saw the moment she decided, her shoulders straightening and chin lifting in that particular tilt that meant she'd made up her mind.

"I'm going to go say hello," she said, glancing at me with a spark of mischief that made her look younger. "See if he's as nervous up close."

"Have fun, but maybe go easy on him—he looks like he might pass out."

She laughed and walked toward him with the bouquet held high like a flag, and I watched her go, watched him notice her coming and visibly brace himself, watched his face transform when she started talking—nervous and captivated and utterly sincere.

Good, I thought. She deserved that, deserved someone who looked at her like she hung the moon.

"Matchmaking now?"

Julian's voice came from behind me, warm and amused, and I turned to find him right there, close enough that I had to tilt my head back. He'd lost the jacket and rolled up his sleeves, had that satisfied look he got when things went according to plan.

"I threw flowers," I said. "The universe did the rest."

"The universe," he repeated, catching my hand and pulling me close, "and a former CIA analyst named Aiden Hawthorne who's been working up courage for three weeks."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Thomas invited him because Isabella mentioned she was tired of Wall Street types."

"You rigged a bouquet toss."

"I suggested a direction—you're the one with sniper training, I just provided intel." Completely shameless.

I should have been annoyed, but instead I laughed, the sound surprising me with how easy it came.

"You're impossible."

"I'm thorough," he corrected, his thumb tracing circles on my wrist. "And I want everyone I care about to be as happy as I am. Sue me."

The question was rhetorical but I answered anyway, rising up on my toes to kiss his jaw. "Not terrible at all," I murmured.

We stood there watching Isabella and Aiden talking with increasing animation while other guests drifted toward the house and the sun dropped lower, painting everything gold and rose. Something settled in my chest, something I was still learning to name—contentment, maybe, or peace.

I'd never thought I'd feel this.

"We should go in," Julian said, though he didn't move. "People are waiting."

"Let them wait."

But I let him guide me anyway, his hand steady and warm at my back.