Smitten with the Single Dad (The Single Dads of San Camanez: The Brew Brothers #3)

EPILOGUE

Five months later …

“All right, Ms. Vitale—”

“It’s Mrs. Vitale-McEvoy,” Vica corrected the immigration officer, making sure to give him her biggest smile. She reached for Wyatt’s hand and squeezed it on top of her thigh. “We are married and have been for five months.”

The immigration officer, whose name was “Stan” didn’t look amused. “All right, Mrs. Vitale-McEvoy, please state your full name.”

“Ludovica Vitale-McEvoy.”

“And where were you born?”

“Rome, Italy,” she said with a polite head nod.

“And where was Mr. McEvoy born?”

She knew this question. “Dallas, Texas, while his father was stationed there.”

Wyatt squeezed her hand, and she turned to face him, getting a happy wink in return.

“What is your legal status in the US?” Stan asked.

“I, um … well, I work for WindRay Energy as an engineer. They are based out of San Francisco, and I work on site there one week a month while working remotely from home on San Camanez Island the rest of the time. I am legally married to Wyatt McEvoy. So I did not require a work visa. I married Wyatt while my old work visa was still valid. So, I am legally allowed to be in this country as a spouse of a US citizen. He is my sponsor.”

Stan wrote something down.

Vica glanced at Wyatt. “Was that answer too long?”

He shook his head. “No. The lawyer prepped us on everything. You’re doing great. More is better than less.”

Stan cleared his throat. “When did you come to the US?”

“Eighteen months ago.”

“How did you come to the US?”

“By plane? Or do you need the airline I used and the places where I had layovers? I had a work visa sponsored by Croft Engineering at the time.”

“By plane is fine, and thank you.” He tipped his gray gaze up to Vica just for a moment, though he was mostly staring at his computer screen. “Have you worked in the US?”

Vica glanced at Wyatt. Didn’t she already tell him she had worked and was working? “Uh … yes. I am a mechanical engineer, and I worked for Croft Engineering in Seattle. And now, I am employed by WindRay Energy in San Francisco.”

Stan’s head bobbed on his long, thin neck. How old was Stan? It was tough to tell. His dark hair was thinning on top and starting to show some gray, and he had thick, deep creases at the corners of his eyes. The man could be anywhere between thirty-five and sixty-five for all Vica knew. “Have you ever violated the conditions of your visa?”

Vica swallowed.

Wyatt squeezed her hand.

She shook her head. “No, sir. I have not.” Her smile was brittle on her lips and wobbled. And her hands were incredibly sweaty; she felt bad for Wyatt having to hold onto her slippery fingers. In her other hand, the papers that she’d brought were starting to get thin and fragile as her sweat dampened the sheets .

Stan kept them in suspense, not saying a word, but just typing away on his laptop. She tried to see what he was doing through the reflection of his glasses, but it didn’t work.

If he wanted her in the country, surely, he would have said so by now.

He was probably doing a deep dive into her last six months in the country and the chaos she was smack dab in the middle of. Yes, she was a murder suspect for a while. And yes, she helped bring Wyndham Croft and his two sons to justice, helping vindicate many of their victims. But as far as the murder thing went, it was ruled self-defense, and she had no criminal record.

“Stan … please,” she whispered. “This is torture.”

“Shh,” Wyatt murmured.

She spun around and pinched her brows at her husband. “Did you shush me? This is my life, my future— our future, on the line here. I’m a little stressed and I think I’m allowed to be.”

“Vica—”

Her brows parted and rose now, challenging him to shush her again. She faced Stan. “If you’ve got questions about me being a murder suspect, I can assure you that it was ruled as self-defense. I was never charged. An assault kit was performed and processed, and admissible in court.”

Stan’s face was made of stone.

Vica whimpered. “Stan?”

Now her knee started to bounce.

Wyatt put his free hand on it to keep it from going berserk. “ è necessario rilassarsi. Stai facendo tutto bene. You need to relax. You’re doing everything right.”

Nodding, she took a deep breath in through her nose, then exhaled out through thinly parted lips.

Stan’s gaze moved from his computer screen, and he finally met her eyes. “Well, Mrs. Vitale-McEvoy …”

Vica held her breath .

“You get your green card.”

Vica leaped out of the seat, leaned across Stan’s desk, gripping him by the face, and kissed him once on each cheek.

“Vica!” Wyatt exclaimed behind her, standing up and grabbing her by the hips to pull her off Stan.

Realizing what she’d just done, Vica stepped back, mortified. “Oh my gosh. I … I … I am so sorry. I—is that going to stop you from giving me a green card?”

Stan was more shocked than Vica was. His brows looked like they were part of some weird hairline. “Uh … no. But … that’s never happened to me before.”

“Italians, we are passionate. And I am passionate about you, and how kind and wonderful you are, Stan,” Vica said, making the awkward situation more awkward.

Wyatt took her hand. “All right, thank you, Stan. I think we’re going to go now before you change your mind.” Then he steered Vica out of the door, but Stan was hot on their trail.

“You have to come back,” Stan said. “There is paperwork to sign.”

“Oh, dio ,” Vica said, wanting to curl up into a ball and disappear into a hole in the floor.

“Come on,” Wyatt said, chuckling and leading her back to Stan’s office.

They weren’t there long, and by the time they left, she was only slightly less humiliated than before. Stan’s cheeks were rosy, but he handled it all with grace and professionalism.

Vica, of course, dropped her pen three times her hands were so sweaty and she was so nervous.

“The hard part is over,” Wyatt said, his hand on her back as she signed her name the last time. “You can breathe.”

Stan smiled. “Breathe, Vica. You did great.”

“Thank you,” she said, about to lunge forward and hug Stan again out of pure instinct. But he was quick to push his hand out and between them instead.

Vica chuckled and shook his hand .

They left the office walking out the door with shoes made of clouds. And who should greet them on the sidewalk in front of the USCIS building, but Griffon, Jake, and Jagger.

“Did you get your green card?” Jake asked.

Vica beamed and nodded. “I did!”

The boys cheered and ran up to hug her.

“Can I see it?” Griffon asked. “What shade of green is it?”

“Uh … they mail it to us,” Wyatt said with a chuckle.

Griffon frowned. “Oh. That sucks.”

“So you’re like officially here forever now?” Jake asked.

“In eighteen months, we can file the paperwork to get Vica her citizenship status if she wants. But either way, she’s here for good. She’s ours and we’re never letting her go,” Wyatt said.

“You hear that, Vica?” Griffon said, glancing up at her. “We’re never letting you go. So don’t even try to move away.”

Tears sprang to Vica’s eyes as she met Wyatt’s gaze and hugged her stepsons close. “I wouldn’t dream of it. My life is wonderful now, and I never want to let it go either.”

“Who’s up for some ice cream to celebrate?” Wyatt asked.

The boys—including Jagger—all cheered with excitement as they piled into Wyatt’s new, white Toyota Tundra pickup. He held the front passenger door open for Vica. “Mrs. Vitale-McEvoy.”

“Why, thank you,” she said, climbing in.

He leaned in and pressed his lips to her ear. “Not sure how I feel about you kissing Stan, but I’m going to spend the rest of the day thinking of ways you can make it up to me.”

That made heat fill her cheeks, and she smiled. “Just tonight?”

His smile stole all the oxygen from her chest. “No. For the rest of our lives.”

She beamed at him. “Sounds good to me.”