Someone is singing “That’s How You Know,” from Enchanted. I go perfectly still, eyes closed, as I wait to wake up from the dream.

When I open them again, the words are still coming, closer this time, the voice low and rough and masculine, and nothing like Amy Adams’s soprano, but infinitely more dear.

I slowly turn, unapologetically crying as I face a still-singing Andrew. It’s really only fair that with such a beautiful face, he has a semi-terrible singing voice.

“Really?” I say on a sob. “Really? Everyone’s staring.”

He only sings louder, lifting his hands and spinning in a circle to the whoops of the crowd before continuing toward me.

Only when his hands move to cup my face does he stop the song.

“That’s how you know, Georgiana,” he says, bending down so his lips are to my ear, his next words just for me, not the crowd. “That’s how you know I love you.”

I mean to tell him I love him too, but the only thing that comes out is a sob as I throw my arms around his neck and pull him close.

He still doesn’t relax, the press of his fingers urgent, demanding. “Love me back,” he whispers. “Please love me back.”

I press my face to his neck. “You’re ridiculous,” I whisper. “Of course I love you back.”

Andrew’s eyes close, his head going back in relief, before he looks down at me with a smile. “If you really love me, we’ll never speak of the singing episode again.”

I grin back. “If you really love me, you’ll do an encore whenever I demand it.”

His gaze goes just a touch more serious as his fingers brush my lips. “I truly do love you, Georgiana. I owe you so many apologies for the way I spoke to you that night.”

“I’d like to hear those,” I say, going to my toes and kissing him. “Maybe later? In bed? Naked?”

“But—”

“Please don’t make me beg you to take me home right now,” I say with a little laugh.

He kisses me slowly and thoroughly, but pulls back far too soon and checks his watch. “Not yet. It’s just past three.”

I lift eyebrows. “You say that mighty casually for a man who usually gets up in two hours.”

“Actually, I get up in one hour. I usually wake up at four; I just dawdled a little so I could see you every morning.”

“Four? I don’t know if that’s sweet or obscene.”

“Both. Now, what time does your donut shop open?” he asks, putting an arm around my shoulder and pulling me close as he lifts a hand to hail a cab.

“Not till five, but they let me in at a quarter to.”

“Of course they do,” he mutters. “So what do you usually do until then?”

I shrug. “Talk with friends. Go to a diner. There’s an all-night coffee shop that does Disney karaoke from midnight to four—”

“The diner it is,” he says, ushering me into the cab.

“Should I be offended you’re not dragging me home and into bed as soon as possible?” I ask.

He smiles but doesn’t answer as he gives the taxi driver the intersection of a diner near our apartment building.

A couple of hours later, happy on coffee, hash browns, and the love of my life, I realize why Andrew was stalling. It was so that he could slide a perfect solitaire on the fourth finger of my left hand in our apartment building’s lobby with Ramon and Charles and the rest of the staff waiting with mimosas.

And in case you’re wondering . . .

At five A.M. on the dot, I said yes to being Mrs. Andrew Mulroney, Esquire.

Epilogue

ONE YEAR LATER, SUNDAY EVENING, 6:00 P.M.

“What if she hates me?” I ask, bending slightly so I can check my reflection in the shiny oven door, fluffing my curls.

Andrew glances over as he opens the bottle of red wine. “Has anyone ever hated you?”

“You did,” I accuse, putting a hand on my hip. “From the very start.”

“Self-protection,” he says, pouring us each a glass of wine. “I’m smart, remember? I knew, even from the beginning, that you’d turn my life upside down.”

“And look how that worked out for you,” I murmur, taking the wineglass from him and tilting my face up for a kiss. He obliges, and what I meant to be a playful peck turns hot far too quickly considering that we have dinner guests arriving any minute.

“Don’t suppose we could cancel?” he says in a husky voice when I gently push him back.

“Absolutely not. I’m determined to make a good impression on Dad’s new girlfriend. Plus Peter will kill you if you make him come all the way into the city for nothing.”

“You know I see right through you, right?” he says, helping himself to a piece of cheese and a cracker. “Everyone knows that you just want to see the kid.”

“I can’t help it if I’m the best auntie in the world,” I say breezily.

He’s right, though. Pam gave birth to a healthy baby girl a few months ago, and I’ve fallen hard for my new niece. I also can’t wait to give Kim a cousin to play with someday soon, but for now I’m just enjoying being a wife to the man of my dreams.

Life is . . . well, quite honestly, life is amazing.

Andrew and I were married last month in the most perfect wedding ever. Marley was maid of honor, naturally, although I did talk her out of the gold glitter dress and into a gorgeous lavender gown instead.

My dress, to the surprise of absolutely nobody, was white, sparkly, and enormous. It took Andrew nearly ten minutes to get it off me at the end of the evening, but I made it worth his while.

As for my parents, they’re, well . . . fine. Mom’s embracing the single life like nobody’s business, and though it still hurts that they’re not together anymore, I have to admit she’s sort of thriving. And she’s happy. So I’m happy.

Dad’s happy too, even more so now that he’s started seeing the mysterious Melinda, who I’ll get to meet tonight.

Andrew and I have dinner with Liv Dotson and her hot Yankee center fielder at least once a month, and Marley’s dating a dentist who she’s over the moon for. And get this . . . Brody ended up marrying his midwestern baby mama after all. They live in Iowa, and last I heard, he’s never been happier.

So I guess what I’m trying to say is that they all lived happily ever after.