“You’ve been stealing from me.” Zo Rossi said it quietly. That made it worse. Men like Zo didn’t need to yell.

One year later.

The private beach on Lake Geneva was bathed in the golden light of a late autumn sunset.

A small, intimate wedding altar made of birch wood and white roses stood near the water's edge. Only thirty people were present—our closest staff, trusted doctors, and a few close friends who had stood by us through the storm.

I walked down the aisle on the arm of my older brother, wearing a simple, breathtaking ivory gown that flowed around my ankles like seafoam.

At the end of the aisle stood Zo.

He looked impossibly handsome in a crisp black tuxedo, his eyes locked onto mine with a fierce, unwavering devotion that made my heart leap in my chest. Beside him stood Mia, wearing a matching white dress, holding a basket of rose petals like the proudest maid of honor in the world.

When my brother handed my hand to Zo, his fingers closed around mine with the same warm, protective strength I had felt the night he rescued me in the kitchen.

"You look breathtaking," Zo whispered as we faced the officiant.

"You don't look too bad yourself, Mr. Rossi," I whispered back with a winking smile.

The ceremony was short, heartfelt, and beautiful. We spoke our own vows—promising to protect each other, to honor the life we had built together, and to never forget where we came from.

"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife," the officiant smiled. "You may kiss the bride."

Zo didn't wait. He pulled me into his arms, dipping me back slightly as he pressed his lips to mine in a passionate, beautiful kiss that echoed across the quiet lake.

The guests broke into cheers, throwing rose petals into the air. Mia ran up, throwing her arms around both of our legs.

"We did it!" she giggled.

Zo laughed, scooping Mia up in his left arm while keeping his right arm securely around my waist.

We walked back up the beach together—a real family, whole, safe, and bound by an unbreakable love.

Later that night, after the reception had wound down and Mia was fast asleep in her bedroom upstairs, Zo and I sat together on the dark leather sofa in the lodge living room, watching the flames crackle in the stone fireplace.

I leaned back against his chest, wearing his soft cashmere sweater over my silk robe, staring at the sparkling diamond on my left hand.

"I still have it, you know," Zo murmured softly into my hair.

I looked up at him. "Have what?"

Zo reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, faded green object.

It was Mia’s old, one-eared stuffed rabbit—the one he had scooped off the cold garage floor the night he dumped my canvas bag.

"You kept that?" I asked, touched beyond words.

"I kept it in my desk drawer every single day," Zo confessed gently, setting the rabbit on the table beside our wedding photos. "To remind me of the night a brave little maid walked into my house and changed my rules forever."

I smiled, turning in his lap and pressing my lips against his warm jawline.