Four Years After, New Year's Eve

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                 "SO SHE GOT DOWN ON KNEE, SURROUNDED BY THE COLOURFUL CHRISTMAS bulb lights, and she said something stupidly romantic like, Would you do me the honour of making me the happiest woman on earth?" 

                 Simon traded a smirk with Alec. He had heard this story a thousand times and each time they retold it, it never failed to make him roll his eyes.

                 Rory nudged Paris. "No, didn't I say something like You're the most beautiful woman in the entire universe?" 

                 "You say that to me every morning," Paris said, although Simon noticed she was still smiling. "Idiot."

                  "Your favourite idiot."

                   "The only idiot I know."

                   "Which, in turn, makes me your favourite one."

                   "It also makes you my least favourite idiot."

                   From next to Simon, Alec clapped his hands together. "Both of you are idiots. How's that?"

                   Simon laughed, a deep rumble in his chest, and leaned over to kiss his husband's mouth. His hand snaked over Alec's waist, pulling him closer, and Alec curled his slender pianist fingers over the back of Simon's neck.

                   Simon didn't miss the way Rory grinned as she asked, "How is it being the kings of Valeria?"

                   Dryly, Simon said, "The exact same as it was the last time you asked."

                   "So, boring?"

                   "No," Simon said. "It's a lot of responsibility, a lot of power, but . . . it makes it worth it. Thanks to my experience as a bodyguard, I've been helping to train the army."

                   "Helping?" Alec scoffed from beside him. "You practically made the army. Our rate of military defence has ranked top five in all the countries now, thanks to him."

                   Simon felt the warmth of a blush trickling into his blood.

                  "And," Alec added with a wicked smirk, "watching him train the army has been absolutely delicious." 

                  "I feel like you use that adjective way too often," Paris said.

                  "I'm telling you, that hot, sweaty male body is a form of art. I'm going to have to get Rory to paint a giant portrait of him for us to hang in the palace."

                  Simon blushed again, and Alec smirked.

                  "How is that going?" Simon interrupted, before Alec could continue talking about Simon's hot sweaty, male body. "Making paintings? Selling art?"

                  Considering Simon had been Rory's bodyguard for over ten years before he became king, he knew her well enough to know that when she said, "Not bad," it was modesty.

                  "Oh, come on," Simon said, turning to Paris. "You have to tell us."

                  Rory glared at him. She knew Paris was her weak spot.

                  "It's going wonderfully," Paris said. "Rory managed to sell these paintings for over 50 thousand dollars, and she did it anonymously."

                 "Anonymously?" Simon said. "That's amazing, Rory."

                 He knew what a big deal that was to her. Sometimes she thought her only value as an artist was thanks to her title as a princess, but he'd known that wasn't true—and now there were no doubts she could have left about her talent.

                 "I know," Rory said, and there was real excitement in her eyes now. "I did this abstract impressionist crossover between Monet and Morisot, and—"

                 Simon tried to pay attention, he truly did, except Alec's hand had just slipped over to his hip. His slim fingers brushing against bare skin.

                 Even after four years of marriage, Alec's touch was enough to make Simon lose his concentration.

                 Paris noticed after a minute, and she tapped Rory.

                 Simon knew Rory would give him hell later, with that absolutely devilish smirk of hers, but she stood anyway.

                "We should go check on Tasha and Gloria, anyway."

               "How are they?"

                Paris bit her lip. "Well, they're each other's first loves. It's . . . intense."

                Simon laughed at Rory. "Now you know what I felt like, when you and Paris first started dating."

                 "They've been friends for a long time," said Paris. "Now they're both sixteen, and Gloria feels like a daughter to us."

                  Alec's laugh sent warmth shivering through Simon's chest.

                  "Do you let them keep the door open?" he asked. "When they're in their room alone?"

                  "No," Rory growled.

                  "Not since they started dating, at least," Paris added.

                  Simon exchanged a look with Alec, and Alec said, "Why not? It's not like they can make babies."

                  "Well, if you two had kids, you would understand," Rory snarled. "I am not letting my daughter be exposed to—"

                  "Sex?"

                  "She's still a girl," Rory said. "She's only sixteen."

                  Simon made a thoughtful sound. "You know, Rory, if I recall . . . what exactly was it you were doing at that age?"

                  "That's different."

                  "Really? How so?" Alec pressed.

                  Paris and Rory had both turned a different shade of pink, and Simon nudged Alec. "Come on. We'll meet you guys back here in time for the countdown, alright?"

                  "Wow, that's so sweet," Rory said. "Counting down for my birthday."

                   "I mean, and the new year," Simon said under his breath. 

                   Rory only chuckled, and her auburn hair came undone as she leaned over to kiss Paris on the mouth—a long, slow deep kiss.

                    "Get a room!" Alec said, but his blue eyes shone with delight.

                     Simon was happy that Rory had finally found a girl she was ready to spend the rest of her life with. Ever since they had married, three years ago, they had both proven themselves to be each other's equals. Paris's commitment to the hospital and Rory's commitment to the foundation she had started each meant that they understood each other, and still had time to be together.

                   This house was even a testament to that. With the white Christmas tree and the colourful string lights and the wreaths that curved the banner of the stairs, Simon could see the love that brightened their lives.

                   It had become tradition now, that every year for Christmas, they spent it at the palace in Valeria. And every year, for New Year's Eve—and Rory's birthday—they came back to their cozy little house in suburban Vancouver.

                   "Do you think Valeria will be okay without us for the weekend?" Simon had once asked.

                   Alec had grinned in reply, his teeth catching on his lower lip. "I think they'll survive," he had whispered.

                   And Valeria had survived.

                   Even while Alec had pinned Simon against the wall and—

                   "Simon? You alright?" Alec asked, waving a hand in front of his face.

                   Sometimes Simon thought that Alec was more beautiful than handsome. With his white-blond hair, his icy blue eyes, and his slim but strong body, he looked like a masculine ballerina. 

                   Simon couldn't deny it—he loved every part of Alec.

                   Ever since they had tried baking in Alec's kitchen all those years ago for their first date, a replacement of the Christmas cookies Simon had knocked over with his jiu-jitsu training, Simon had fallen ridiculously fast for a boy he barely knew.

                   And although Alec had his flaws, like his gravitation to drama and his love of dirty jokes and his sharp tongue in front of the royal council, there was nothing about him Simon would change.

                  "How about we make some cookies?" Alec asked.

                  As though he been thinking of their first date, too.

                  "This time, I'll try not to flip you over my shoulder and ruin them," Simon promised.

                  "You can still flip me over your shoulder, but I'd suggest waiting until we're back at home."

                  "That sounds . . . creative," Simon said.

                  "I'm thinking of adding a little spice to the cookies."

                  Simon blushed. "So, gingerbead?"

                  "Maybe honey-nut cinnamon."

                  "Hey, Simon," said a girl's voice brightly. "Hey, Alec."

                  "That's King  to you, Tasha," Alec said, laughing. "We're not friends. You didn't come to visit me this year."

                  "I'm sorry," Tasha said, sauntering down the stairs like Rory would. "I've been . . . busy."

                  Simon raised an eyebrow as Gloria Liu, a girl with sleek black hair and soft, uptilted eyes waved at them.

                  "Busy," Simon repeated. "So this is your girlfriend."

                 "Nice to see you again, King Simon."

                 Simon laughed. "You don't have to call me King, I promise. Alec was kidding." Simon shoved Alec. "You were kidding, right?"

                Alec cleared his throat. "Yes, kidding."

                "Where's Rory and Paris?" said Simon. "I thought they were checking up on you."

                "Oh, they did," Tasha said with the same wicked smirk as Alec. "And then they went to go check on their bed. They had to make sure it was soft, I think. It's a very solemn affair, bed checking. That's why their door is locked."

                Alec grinned at Tasha. "This is why you're my favourite niece."

                "I already knew that," Tasha shot back. "Try again."

                Simon flipped open the recipe book before Rory and Paris could come back downstairs and hear their daughter making dirty jokes. "Who wants to make cookies?"

                "I'll help," Gloria volunteered.

                Simon already liked her.

                Watching Tasha grow up into the smart, tough, sarcastic girl she was now had been . . . well, it had been a ride. And Simon was glad he had gotten to experience it. He knew she was strong from the moment she had said she would go on international TV just to convince Rory to listen to Paris.

                There was something Simon had never said aloud, before—a secret he had promised to keep.

                 After Amanda had broken into the hospital and Dhonielle had died, Simon had caught Tasha crying so hard her face was streaked in red.

                 "What's wrong?" he had asked, closing the door behind him.

                 "I'm broken," she had whispered. "I'm broken." 

                 "Why's that?"

                 "I haven't cried for my mom," she said. "I haven't grieved her. I feel . . . all I feel is relief. I'm broken."

                  Evelyn Tribeca—a twisted, homophobic, racist woman.

                  On her way out of the hospital, once, she had spat something that had made Simon's blood boil.

                  "I don't think you're broken," Simon said gently. "But maybe she was never a real mother to you. Maybe that's why you're not crying for her."

                  "But she still raised me. How can I be heartless? How can I not care enough to cry? Even now, I'm not crying because of her. I'm crying because—because I feel like I should be. Because I don't think anyone will ever love me if there's something wrong with me. I don't think I'll ever be loved at all."

                  Simon had crouched next to her bed.

                 "Listen, Tasha," he had said quietly. "The strongest people aren't the ones who have never been broken. I want you to remember this. The strongest people in the world are the ones that have been broken, because the most powerful thing you can do is to build yourself back up. It's putting yourself back together, even when you've been shattered to pieces."

                 "Even when it feels like all I have is glue and Scotch tape?"

                 "Even then," Simon had agreed.

                 He didn't know if Tasha still remembered that conversation, but he would always carry it with him for the rest of his life. 

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                 SIMON WAS STARING AT THE FRIDGE DOOR.

                 Magnets and little sticky notes were taped to it. But right in the center, there was a piece of paper that had been there for years, so familiar to him his eyes almost skipped over it.

                A crayon drawing of a dragon eating a princess.

                No, Dhonielle would never be forgotten.

                "Come on, Simon," said Rory, touching his shoulder. He knew she hadn't missed the soft look in his eyes, and he appreciated that she didn't bring it up. "The countdown is almost here."

                Alec hollered, "One minute left!"

                Simon stole a place right next to his husband. "You've had too much champagne," he breathed into Alec's ear, and Alec gave him a wry grin.

                "Probably," he said, and his lips found Simon's.

                By the time the kiss was over, the New Year had begun.

                Breathless, Simon said, "Cheers! This is to new beginnings."

               "Here's to the love of my life!" Rory shouted, clinking a glass.

                Alec hollered, "Here's to two gay kings!"

               "Here's to our daughter and her happiness," Paris said.

               Tasha pulled back slightly from kissing Gloria, and her eyes were wide with wonder, like she would be happy to spend the rest of her life staring at the girl in front of her. 

               The strongest people in the world are the ones who have built themselves back up—who have put themselves back together. 

              Tasha smiled. "And here's to falling in love."

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I love you all.

It is officially December 26th, 2020, and I started this book 16 days ago. I wanted to make a cute, cheesy Christmas romance. The problem was, I didn't intend on falling in love with the characters. These past two weeks (and two days) have definitely been a ride, but I'm so happy you were here the whole time. I probably even drove a few of you crazy with several chapter updates back to back every day. But . . . this is it.

Playboy Princess is officially over, and this is our final goodbye to the love story of Rory and Paris. 

I think I'm going to miss them. And I'm going to miss all of you. 

I wanted to thank you for the voting, the commenting, the following, and even the few of you who have messaged me privately. All of these mean the world to me. 

I guess this is goodbye.

From the moon and back,
Sarai