Semua Bab Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine: Bab 181 - Bab 184

Logan Reynolds I’ve been thinking about this for days.Weeks, if I’m being honest. Maybe even since the moment Viola left Chicago with her heart in pieces and my daughter in my arms.And now, every morning I wake up to the sound of Missy humming while drawing pictures on the floor, or asking if we can bring the “pretty lady” flowers again, I realize—I don’t want this to be temporary anymore.I want her. I want us.So when Missy climbs onto my lap one rainy afternoon, coloring marker smudges all over her cheeks, I ask her if she wants to make something special for Viola.She tilts her head like she’s thinking hard. “Like… pancakes?”I chuckle and shake my head. “Not pancakes this time. Something from your heart.”She gasps. “Like Valentine’s!”Close enough.We spread everything out on the kitchen table—construction paper, glue sticks, stickers, glitter (God help me), and crayons. I grab the card stock and fold it into a shape. Missy draws crooked hearts and stick figures of the three

Wedding DayLogan ReynoldsIt’s early—too early for a man who barely slept last night, but I’m wide awake.I keep checking my watch even though there’s still an hour before the ceremony. I’ve straightened my tie at least ten times and stared out the window more than I’ve blinked. I’m not nervous. I’m… something else. We’re in the garden behind the little chapel we rented off a road in the countryside. The sun is soft. Everything smells like grass, lavender, and wood polish. Chairs are lined up in two rows, white ribbons curling lazily in the breeze. Phil insisted on handling the seating chart. Viola let him—on the condition he didn’t read anything poetic during the ceremony.Missy is running in circles around me, still in her frilly white dress and sparkly sneakers. I told her not to get dirty. She told me she was “blessing the ground with joy.” I gave up.“You look fancy,” she says, hopping to a stop in front of me. “Like a prince.”I crouch down and smooth her curls back from her