If it had been up to her, they would have done it months before, back when March was melting into April, with nature still waking from winter and Grand’s once resplendent flower beds shabby and bare of blooms. They would have done it without a harpist and a four-tier cake too beautiful to cut and a crisp white carpet strewn with rose petals. Without the circle of white chairs trimmed with wildflowers and white tulle bows; without dozens of friends and family gathered to witness the start of their new life together, and to share in their joy.

When it came to marrying the man she loved, none of that mattered to her. What mattered was that she had come whisper close to losing him—the one man she thought she’d never find and worried might not even exist—and she hadn’t. In defiance of logic and collective wisdom, and against all odds, Hazard had opened his eyes and come back to her.

Eve would have wed him that very moment, or any of the countless thousands of moments since, but Hazard would hear nothing of it. He was determined she would have the wedding of her dreams, and her sister had been quick to second the idea. And so she was outvoted, and the months-long endeavor began, starting from the ground up. Literally. By night Hazard studied old photographs of the property; by day he shoveled and sweat and planted and trimmed to restore the gardens to their former glory.

Only Rory and Grand were allowed to help. He taught Rory a myriad of useful things, like how to use a wheelbarrow and sift stones from topsoil and tell flower from weed, but most important, he taught her that there are decent men in the world, men worth waiting for, no matter how long the wait. The physical labor was backbreaking, but whenever Eve suggested hiring someone to help unroll all that sod or take down that dangerously tall tree standing between the sun and the sunflowers, Rory would shake her head and roll her eyes and remind Eve that this was a labor of love, and a labor of love was something you had to do yourself.

From the mouths of babes . . .

Watching from the kitchen window as the two of them worked side by side, with Hazard teaching her niece about life and Rory providing him with a crash course in pop culture, Eve had to agree. The restoration of the garden was, in many varied and subtle ways, a true labor of love. If she hadn’t already fallen hopelessly in love with Hazard, she would have tumbled head over heels on the spot.

Grand’s contribution to the project was to pour lemonade and stand by, armed with an umbrella for shade and a plethora of opinions and advice. In her own inimitable way, she had also seen to it that every last rose and peony and lilac was in perfect bloom when the sun rose that morning; Eve wouldn’t be surprised if the blue sky and gentle cooling breeze were also her work.

While the others were getting the yard in shape, Chloe devised a plan to turn it into an enchanted garden for the big day, with fairy lights and garlands of fresh flowers and songbirds in gilded cages high in the surrounding trees. Eve loved the idea, though the number of lists and phone calls and decisions involved in making it happen left her head spinning . . . and gave her a new, deeper understanding and respect for her sister’s talents.

It was almost a shame Chloe was getting out of the wedding-planning game. She’d found a kindred spirit to take over the business, and she was returning to school to study mythology, a youthful fascination rekindled by a new friendship with the best man at one of her weddings . . . that March wedding off the coast of Greece to be exact. He was a college history professor, and also a kindred spirit.

It was still too soon to be certain where it would lead; impulsive, fall-in-love-first-think-later Chloe had decided to take this one slow; the romantic in her wanted to discover if he was her one true love the old-fashioned way. Rory considered that to be an annoying waste of a perfectly good talisman, but Eve needed no further proof that when it came to matters of the heart, T’airna luck had changed. The talisman had brought Hazard and her together, and at the same time, half a world away, Chloe had met a man who breathed life into an old dream . . . maybe more than one.

Things were definitely looking up. And come January and Saint Agnes’ Eve, Rory would still be a few weeks shy of her sixteenth birthday. Maybe the next winter rose would bloom for her.

Now finally the day had arrived. Hazard was predictably gorgeous in a classic black tux, and she had never felt as girly and graceful as she did in the silk chiffon and lace confection of a dress. The late afternoon ceremony, which took place at the heart of the garden, was simple and beautiful.

The minister, an old friend of Grand’s, read from the Bible and from Shakespeare, and offered words of advice for the days ahead.

“Do not think that you can direct the course of love,” she told them, “for love, if it finds you worthy, shall direct you.”

And then it was time for their vows.

Still holding hands and looking only at each other, they heard the words that officially merged the long and winding paths they had traveled alone into one they would follow together.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife—and may your days be good and long upon the earth.”

Those last words brought a smile to Hazard’s face that few present could fully appreciate.

“Amen,” he said softly.

And then the kiss . . . a light touch at first, with all those people looking on, a slow brush of his warm mouth against hers, something a little giddy and a little restrained that grew longer and deeper because they couldn’t help themselves. With Hazard’s hands at her waist, the kiss became a promise, and a preamble to all the kisses to come.

Slightly breathless, grinning happily, they turned together to the cheers and applause of their guests. Chloe, the maid of honor, gave a little squeal of excitement and hugged Eve before returning her bouquet to her.

After congratulating Hazard with an enthusiastic slap on the back, Taggart grinned at Eve.

“The best man gets the second kiss,” he told her, claiming his.

“And the grandmother of the bride gets the next,” Grand exclaimed, opening her arms to Eve and gathering her close. “You are the most beautiful bride there ever was. ’Tis truly a magical day.”

“I second that,” said someone, and Eve looked up from hugging Rory to see Jenna and her husband waiting to congratulate them.

“Beautiful and magical,” Jenna declared, hugging first Eve and then Hazard without missing a beat or a word. “My God, this place is like the Brothers Grimm meets Disney . . . the flowers . . . the birds . . . your sister is amazing. And your dress. Oh my God, that dress is a million times more gorgeous with you in it than when I saw it on the hanger. Don’t you agree?” she asked Hazard, who had unleashed a roguish smile.

“Most definitely,” he drawled, his smoky eyes on his bride.

“I know that look,” Jenna laughed. Slanting a sly look at her husband, she added, “I’ve been on the receiving end of such a look once or twice myself.”

Now Hazard did turn his attention to Eve’s dear friend and used his deepest, smoothest voice. “And deservedly so.”

Jenna preened playfully. Over the past few months, as Hazard slowly came out of his self-imposed exile, the two of them had become partners in teasing banter. “A silver-tongued devil with the face of an angel. Has anyone ever told you that you have the face of an angel?”

“Only you, Jenna,” he replied, patient as she reached up and grasped his chin to give it an affectionate squeeze.

“The angel of sin,” she cooed. Sighing, she said to Eve, “You lucky broad.”

It was a perfectly Jenna-esque parting shot, and she moved on reluctantly because others were waiting to offer their congratulations. There was Angela Beckett and a few friends from work, a few friends of Grand’s, Chloe’s professor and Toby-just-a-friend from the night Rory went missing.

Eve’s smile was aching long before the whirlwind of cocktails and dinner and dancing al fresco came to an end. When Hazard waltzed her to the edge of the dance floor and then escaped with her into the shadows and along the side of the house away from the driveway, she went willingly and giggling.

“I have something to show you,” he told her.

“I have something to tell you first,” she said with another champagne-induced giggle.

He stopped and turned to her, moonlight gilding the elegant lines and angles of his face. Smiling, he touched a stray lock of hair that had escaped her chignon. “What do you have to tell me?”

“Two things. That I love you.”

“And I love you,” he said, and dropped a soft kiss on her mouth. “What’s the second thing?”

“My feet hurt.”

He laughed and dropped to a crouch in front of her.

“Lift your foot,” he instructed and then slid her strappy stilettos off one at a time, tucking them in his jacket pockets. “Better?”

“Much.” She wiggled her toes in the cool grass and followed him to the sidewalk and then across the street and down a little way until they reached a house with a brick wall in front.

He sat on the wall and pulled her down onto his lap. “So you don’t dirty your dress,” he explained as she looped her arm around his neck.

“Thank you. Though I don’t expect I’ll have occasion to wear it again.” She sighed wistfully. It was a spectacular dress.

“Our daughters might,” he said.

This time her sigh was one of pleasure. “What a lovely thought.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “Unless we have sons.”

“I hope to have both.”

She lifted her head so he could see her raised brow. “One of each?”

“At least. Provided that suits you.” He paused for a few seconds. “I grew up very much alone in my own home. I went off to school when I was eight, and then to the Royal Navy, and then to anywhere and everywhere. I spent years—you know how many—telling myself I didn’t care about family and didn’t want one.” His mouth slanted into a rueful smile. “I lied. I would love to have a family with you . . . to start a dynasty with you,” he said with rising passion. “I think we’d make one hell of a dynasty.”

“I can see it now . . . born of an enchantress and a centuries-old man . . .”

“Damn right,” he said, his arm tightening around her waist. “I want a family; it’s why I love having your family in the house. And that will be enough if you don’t want children, or don’t want them right away, or—”

“I do,” she interrupted, stopping him with her fingers pressed to his lips. “I do want them, and sooner rather than later since neither of us is getting any younger.”

“Speaking for myself, I’m very happy to be getting older every day.” He slid his hand higher and moved it in small circles on her back, just above where her dress dipped low. “I know how important your work is to you, and—”

“It’s not,” she interrupted again. “Not as important as it was. Not as important as you . . . as us. I don’t think it could ever be that important to me again. My life is so different now . . . I’m different. There are a lot of things I have to think about once things settle down; I have to figure out how marriage and magic and family and work all fit together.” She paused, gazing down the street at Grand’s house . . . her house . . . their house. “I have to think about what work I’m meant to do. How I can do the most good with all that I’ve been given. That matters to me. It always has.”

She laughed, and pleasure rippled through her as he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.

“But enough about me and my work and my dynasty,” she joked. “You brought me here to show me something.”

“Yes, it’s my wedding gift to you.”

“I thought these earrings were my gift,” she said, tapping one platinum and diamond earring. The earrings were beautiful and suited her perfectly, and were so spectacularly out of her price range she couldn’t even come close to guessing what they must have cost him.

He shook his head impatiently. “Those anyone could give you.”

“Anyone with pockets as deep as the Grand Canyon,” she agreed, rolling her eyes.

“I wanted to give you something no one else could.”

He smiled and pointed; Eve gazed up at the turret. The tiny white lights in the windows were lit, making the room look as though it were filled with stars. Her gaze moved higher, and she saw what he was pointing at, the reason he had aimed a spotlight at the very highest point on the house.

“A weather vane,” she exclaimed. “A raven. I love him . . . and he looks exactly like the original.”

“He is the original,” he told her. “I found him buried under a ton of junk in that old shed at the very back of the yard. I had to clean him up and sand some rusty patches, but he’s as sturdy as ever.”

Blinking to keep a sudden swell of tears from spilling, Eve tightened her arm around his neck. “When did you . . .?”

“This morning at the crack of dawn,” he said when her voice faltered. “I couldn’t chance putting him up sooner because I wanted it to be a surprise. I scouted out a couple of places before deciding that this wall was the best vantage point.”

“I . . .” She flung her other arm around his neck and kissed him hard. “I can’t believe you did that for me. I can’t believe it even occurred to you. I can’t believe you didn’t just toss it out with the other junk you unearthed back there.”

“Not a chance. When I realized what it was, my heart nearly pounded a hole my chest . . . it was like I’d struck gold.” He found that stray lock of her hair and wound it around one finger. “You once told me that no matter where you were playing in the neighborhood, you could look up and see the raven and know that’s where home was. And that it made you feel safe. That’s what I want, Eve. For you to feel at home here again, and safe, with me.” He turned her face to him and held her gaze. “This was the best way I could think of to show you that.”

Before she could respond, he pulled her to him and kissed her, and for one drifting moment the world stopped. There was no sound, no movement; there was only the two of them, and that perfect night, and all the perfect and not-so-perfect nights and days ahead for them. Perfection was lovely, but not a requirement as long as she could fall asleep in his arms every night and wake up by his side in the morning, with a raven, her raven, standing watch.

Dazzled by his kiss, she rested her head against his and gazed up at his gift to her.

“Thank you, Gabriel. Now that he’s back in his rightful place, it really looks like the home of an enchantress.”

“And not just any enchantress,” he observed in a tone that was only half-teasing. “None other than the Lost Enchantress herself.”

Eve smiled into the night. “Not anymore.”