Page 119 of The Rancher's Wedding Deception

Her heart stop.

And her soul become absolutely still.

Because the way Paul was looking at her...

It mirrored the way God loved her.

Deep.

Unconditional.

Forgiving.

A love that saw every broken piece of her—every lie, every fear, every desperate shameful thing she’d ever done—and chose her anyway. Not because she deserved it. Not because she’d earned it. But simply because that was the nature of real love.

It didn’t keep score.

It didn’t demand payment.

It just...loved.

“And maybe...”

Paul’s voice was rough now. But also strained and ragged, which was something she’d never heard from him before.

“I’d like to hear my wife tell me she loves—”

Andie didn’t let him finish.

She threw herself into his arms—his already waiting arms, like he’d known, like he’d been ready to catch her all along—

“I l-love you.”

This time, the sob that clawed out of her throat was equal parts grief and joy and overwhelming relief.

“I love you.”

The words poured out of her, unstoppable.

“I love you, I love you, I love you—”

Neither of them noticed how everyone at the charity brunch had stopped what they were doing. How servers stood frozen with trays in their hands. How society matrons clutched their pearls and tech billionaires paused mid-handshake. How the entire room had turned to watch them like they were live theater.

“I love you,” Andie choked out again, her face buried against his chest, her fingers fisting in the fabric of his jacket. “I love you so much, and I’m so sorry, and I—”

The rest of her words disappeared into his kiss.

And as Paul’s mouth claimed hers, soft and fierce and full of promise, the ballroom erupted into applause.

Epilogue

THE FRONTIER BALL WASeverything Andie had imagined and nothing she’d expected.

Crystal chandeliers cast warm light across a ballroom decorated in silver and gold, with towering Christmas trees in every corner and garlands of evergreen draped along the balconies. Women in designer gowns glided across the marble floor on the arms of men in western-cut tuxedos, and somewhere a live band played country classics with enough polish to satisfy even the most discerning ears.

And everyone—everyone—wanted to congratulate them.

“Mr. and Mrs. Mitropoulos! That speech at the brunch was simply divine.”