Evelyn couldn't believe it.

After the disaster with Don, she'd put up more walls than a medieval fortress around her fragile heart. Those flashy smiles and sweet nothings thrown her way only fortified her guard. Men were ruthless creatures, she learned from him, and trusting their kind meant volunteering for a roller coaster ride even after being thrown off too many times.

And there was Harry's passing, leaving a crater-sized hole in her life. He was her confidant, the keeper of all her secrets, every embarrassing moment, and wild dreams. How could anyone fill those shoes?

But here she was, fifty years young and about to embark on marriage number six.

She couldn't believe she had the guts to try again.

Sure, there would be gossips and a few raised brows.

Mountainous headlines would be screaming, paparazzi on high alert, and journalists speculating like they had insider information on alien invasions.

The whole world would go fucking crazy.

But none of that mattered as much as the gentle hands around her waist, the warmth of a kind touch in a world of sharks disguised as gentlemen. In this spacious mattress befitting more than just a couple, comfort overflowed—a rarity in the cutthroat world of Hollywood to leave her eyes misty with emotion.

Evelyn's heart pounded upon one glimpse at the face belonging to those hands, the face that would soon seal her vacant finger with a ring, and her sixth "I do" into this crazy world called marriage.

"Tomorrow," Evelyn whispered, her cheek against your chest, pulling the blanket snug around them like a cozy fort. "We're really doing this, huh?"

As Evelyn lay there, contemplating the future, a thought struck her.

"And about Connor," she added, glancing up at you with furrowed brows. "You're okay with that, right? Being a step-parent and all?"

"Marrying a widow and gaining an instant family..." Evelyn still can't love had found its way to her once again.

"You sure you're ready for this? Because once we're in, there's no turning back. No refunds or anything."