A/N: Final chapter! Thank you to everyone who read this story. It was a weird idea that I had after watching Jane The Virgin and I really didn't expect many people to read it. Thank you all for proving me wrong! I hope you enjoy this final installment.

Chapter Eighteen

1 YEAR LATER

Felicity hurried around the kitchen, checking this and that as she made sure everything was in order for the party. One year. She couldn't believe it had been one year since her beautiful Bridgette entered the world. She didn't actually end up naming her daughter Beyoncé, although Oliver did buy their daughter a bib with that name on it as a gag gift in those first few weeks. Bridgette christened it with formula spit-up after wearing it for five seconds.

"Holy shit, you have a lot of food here," Lydia said, walking in with her famous buffalo chicken dip. "Are there another twenty or so people coming that I don't know about?"

Felicity smirked. "I like to have a lot of options. Besides, I'd rather have too much food than not enough."

"I can't argue that." Lydia looked for an open space, which proved problematic. She settled on an open burner on the oven. "Don't turn the oven on unless you want burned buffalo chicken dip."

"I won't."

"So, is Oliver here yet?" Lydia asked, reaching over to the vegetable plate and grabbing a celery stick.

"No, he's not," Felicity said. "You're the first one."

Lydia bit into the celery with a loud crunch. "Are you nervous to see him?"

"I see him all the time. He's the father of my child."

"You know what I mean."

Felicity sighed. "Yes, I know what you mean. But we've been broken up for a few months now. It's fine. We're…we're very adult about it."

In fact, she was being anything but adult about it for the entire day. She couldn't stop thinking about him, and what it would be like to be in the same space again. Sure, she saw him when he visited Bridgette, but this was different. It wouldn't just be a few minutes of stiff pleasantries as she stuffed a brightly colored duffel bag with a few stray toys. This was an entire afternoon. With witnesses.

"We've been fine being around each other," Felicity said, half to herself.

"Yeah, but he wasn't spotted with a Rothschild heir before."

"It doesn't change anything," Felicity held. It couldn't. He was allowed to move on, and she couldn't expect anything different.

"Of course it does. How could it not?"

"It just doesn't."

"Does it bother you? The fact that he's moving on?" Lydia pressed. Felicity gave her a look and she said, "Hey, it's better you get all of this out now before he gets here. I'm saving you a lot of awkward moments."

"It doesn't bother me," Felicity said, lying through her teeth. Of course it bothered her. The man she loved was apparently cavorting with someone more rich and beautiful than she could ever imagine, but she wouldn't admit it. Today was about her daughter, not her and Oliver's failed relationship.

"He was bound to move on eventually," Felicity said, her voice misleadingly calm and measured. She'd gotten good over the past three months at pretending she was fine. For a while, she even believed it. "And that girl seems nice. I wish them nothing but the best."

"You're full of shit," Lydia said, pointing toward her with the half eaten stalk of celery. "But I'm not going to push it because I know you want today to go well."

"Thank you."

"Do you think he'll bring her?"

"No," Felicity said immediately, offended at the very thought. "Or, I don't think so. I don't know. Bridgette's his daughter, too. I guess he can bring whoever he wants."

"You should have had a swing boyfriend here," Lydia said thoughtfully.

"A what?"

"You know, so if he brought someone you could just nudge the guy and go – boyfriend activate. You could have gotten an escort. That would have worked well."

Felicity stared at her in disbelief.

"Oh, come on, don't look at me like that. You live in Las Vegas. An escort is not a ridiculous suggestion."

"Uh, yeah, it sort of is," Felicity said, not understanding how her area code suddenly made something so ludicrous actually within the realm of possibility.

"You can't be serious," Felicity pressed.

"Of course I am. I mean, not with the boyfriend activate part, but if your ex brings a girlfriend to your kid's birthday party, you definitely need something to answer with."

"So, let me get this straight, you are seriously saying that I should have brought a male escort to a one year old's birthday party?"

"You need someone in case he brings his Rothschild heir."

"I don't need anything," Felicity said, shaking her head. "Look, I don't want to talk about this. Today is about Bridgette. Anything with Oliver and I is for another time, okay?"

As if on cue, the front door rang. Felicity took a deep breath and walked over to the front room. She paused in front of the door and smoothed the skirt of her dress. She counted to five, giving her nerves a chance to settle, before answering.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

She opened the door, and there he was, Bridgette squirming in his arms. Immediately after spotting her mother, Bridgette reached toward her, making an irritated cry when Oliver didn't relinquish her quickly enough.

"I got you, babe," Felicity murmured, hugging Bridgette to her chest. She kissed her forehead and then looked timidly up at Oliver. It was so strange that only a few months ago they saw each other every day. Now, it was only when he picked up Bridgette.

"Hi Oliver," she said, stepping back to let him in. He walked past her, caressing Bridgette's cheek with his hand as he passed. Felicity was revealed to not see any Rothschild daughter – or other female – behind him.

"The place looks good since Donna and your dad moved out," he noted. Felicity's parents signed a lease on a new apartment a few weeks back and moved out on their own. They offered to have Felicity move with them, but she decided at twenty-six years old with a baby, it was time to make it on her own. She took over the old place, slowly redecorating it in her extremely sparse spare time.

"I've been trying to decide on a theme, but I sort of like them all, so I guess the theme has become more of a non-theme," she rambled, gesturing unnecessarily told the living room. "I've kind of just thrown together everything I like and hope it works."

Oliver chuckled. "Well, I like the non-theme."

"Thank you."

"Hey, former boss," Lydia said, striding into the living room. She held out her hand, and when Oliver grasped it with his own she took the opportunity to squeeze his hand almost painfully tight as she asked, "So, what's that I hear about you and that Rothschild girl? What's her name? Lemon or something else stupid rich like that?"

Felicity glared at her friend, although she had to admit that she wanted to hear Oliver's answer. For the sake of the peace, however, Felicity cleared her throat and told Oliver, "You do not have to answer that. Lydia, go check on the pizza puffs in the oven, please."

Lydia obeyed, but she did so grudgingly, her heels clacking unnecessarily loud on the hard wood floor on her way back to the kitchen. Felicity tilted her head to the side and murmured, "That was mortifying to say the least. I'm sorry about her. She's weirdly protective."

"No, I get it."

Silence stretched between them, and Bridgette rested her head on Felilcity's shoulder. Felicity laid her hand on the side of her daughter's head, thinking to herself that Bridgette was remarkably good at filling awkward silences.

"Do you want a drink or something?" Felicity said, her hostess duties suddenly returning to her. Although, she supposed with Bridgette being their child both her and Oliver were the hosts.

"What do you have?"

"I'm from a family of cocktail waitresses," she reminded him. "So the real question is what do I not have?"

Oliver grinned. "How about a gin and tonic?"

She nodded and told him, "Coming right up. Why don't you take this one back while I get your drink," she said, stepping toward him with Bridgette.

"I can make my own drink, you know."

"I know," she said, handing him his daughter. "But I don't trust Lydia in the kitchen with you."

He laughed, and she thought to herself how much she missed that sound. His laugh was one of her favorite sounds, rare but always well deserved. She remembered nights filled with laughter. She couldn't even remember what they were talking about anymore, but she remembered the tears streaming from her eyes and how her insides seemed to actually hurt. She'd give anything for that pleasant pain again.

She disappeared into the kitchen and made him his drink with trembling hands. The gin and tonic was arguably one of the easiest drinks to make, but she still found herself distracted. She poured in too much tonic water, and corrected it with an extra glug of gin. She squeezed in the lime juice and prayed it tasted right.

She brought it out to him, but before she could gage whether or not she'd messed up his drink the doorbell rang. It was a rush of people after that, everyone telling her and Oliver how they couldn't believe it had been a year already, and then fussing over Bridgette, who initially loved the attention and then was promptly over it.

"I swear she's usually a happy baby," Felicity said to no one in particular as Bridgette wailed in her arms.

Donna laughed, David's arm around her waist, and said, "You were just like this when you were her age." She glanced up at David. "Remember, sweetie?"

He nodded slowly. "You were a screamer. Your mother and I didn't sleep for the first three months. Every time we dozed off you'd start screaming again."

Felicity grinned in response, and then began to corral the group into the kitchen for cake. Everyone stuffed themselves on the appetizers, and she hoped they had room for the cake. She baked it herself. A red velvet with brown sugar cream cheese frosting.

"You're doing a good job of avoiding the ex," Lydia noted as she watched Felicity slide the cake onto a serving platter. There was a separate small "smash cake" just for Bridgette already plated on the counter.

"I'm not avoiding anyone."

"Oh yes you are. I saw him head toward you once and you literally made a three sixty and went the other way."

"You mean one eighty," Felicity corrected. "If I made a three sixty degree turn I'd be facing him still."

"Oh, whatever, you know what I mean."

"It's harder having him here than I thought," Felicity admitted. "It's different when you're not just handing a kid off to him."

Lydia snorted. "How poetic."

"But I'm not worrying about that now. Lyd, grab the smash cake, will you?"

They walked out to the table, everyone ooh-ing and ahh-ing at the cakes. Felicity set the larger cake in the middle, and then the smash cake in front of Bridgette. Donna said, "Why don't we get a picture of the family before Bridge gets herself all messy?"

"That's a great idea," someone called out.

Lydia snickered beside Felicity and said, "Yeah, that's a swell idea."

Felicity gave her a look and then said, "A picture sounds great. Oliver?"

He was already next to Bridgette, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. Felicity walked over, giving him a timid smile. This was their first family photo since the split, and she felt a certain sense of trepidation when she thought of their separated future. Meeting up for the large events as their lives diverged more and more.

They each stood on their respective side next to their daughter and put on their best society grins. Donna held her phone out in front of her and then went, "Get closer guys. You're not fitting in the frame."

They scooted a bit closer, a sizeable distance still between them, and Donna said, "Still not in."

They looked at each other, smiling uncomfortably before giving in to the situation and meeting behind Bridgette's highchair, pressed close with their arms around each other's waists. She could feel the heat from his hand through the thin material of her dress, and when she glanced at him, she swore she noticed a tick in his jaw.

"That's perfect," Donna said happily, snapping several photos.

"Alright, enough pictures," Felicity said, practically yanking herself away from Oliver's side. "There is a cake just waiting to be smashed."

Bridgette, not waiting on ceremony, sunk both of her tiny fists into the cake, and then proceeded to fling the fistfuls of cake clear across the table. She giggled as a glob of cake beaned a guest in the face.

The guests cleared out after gifts – a smattering of new clothes and toys – and then it was just Felicity, Lydia and Oliver. Lydia, knowing when to make an exit, bowed out not long after the rest, making up something about having plans. Felicity knew for a fact that her night was free, she was supposed to stay and help Felicity clean up.

"I'll help," Oliver offered.

"You don't have to."

"I want to."

The words were so simple, and so akin to something she'd only half let herself remember from her dreams, that she only nodded and turned away from him, her hands trembling when she grabbed a stack of dirty plates. When they finished the dishes it was nearly dinnertime, and it only made sense to invite him to stay. Dinner included a bottle of wine, and both agreed that he shouldn't drive. They put Bridgette to bed, and then she made up the couch for him and they sat together, some TV show on the screen but neither watching.

"One year old," Oliver murmured, leaning his had back against the couch. "It's sort of hard to believe."

"I know, right?"

"I remember being terrified when she was born. I just thought, how the hell am I supposed to do this?"

"I was pretty scared, too," Felicity admitted. She remembered the mixture of pure terror and elation that she felt upon hearing her daughter's first cries. It was one of the headiest experiences she'd ever had in her life. "But, we did it. We made it to one."

"We did," Oliver said. "And she's healthy. She seems happy."

"She is happy. Did you see the sheer joy with which she flung that cake at the party?"

Oliver laughed. "I liked how large of a fistful she took. I feel like that was a bit of me coming out. I always bite more than I can chew."

He had that part right. Her thoughts drifted to the new hotel Tommy and him were opening farther down on the strip. One of many distractions that drove them apart. With the non-existent sleep they were getting with a new baby and the endless meetings and conference calls for the hotel, her and Oliver barely saw each other. She pretended to love his ambition while he cancelled plans with her to run out to a meeting, just like he pretended not to notice when she would passive aggressively dodge his calls or snarkily asked him if he had a baby with his new hotel, too. They tip-toed around each other, never admitting that they were unhappy, and making each other miserable in the process.

They broke up on a Tuesday, and despite it being mutual, Felicity didn't leave her bed for a week afterwards. Oliver cried for the first time since his grandfather died when he was seven, Tommy consoling him with a glass of scotch, the only way he knew how to console. Neither told the other how hard being apart was for them, taking the other's feigned okay-ness as tacit proof that their misery was unwarranted. If only they knew.

Oliver turned his head toward Felicity. "We did pretty good, huh?"

"We did better than good," she murmured, voice soft. She realized then how close they were on the couch. They'd scooted closer somehow during their conversation, and his hand rested directly next to hers on the couch cushion. If she moved her hand the tiniest bit her pinky would brush his.

She glanced up from their hands and was caught in the intensity of his gaze. It reminded her of what it was like when they first got together before Bridgette was born. Before the stresses of his job and the exhaustion of parenthood drove them apart. Her gaze fell to his mouth and she noted his lips were softly parted. Hers were, too. She leaned forward more out of habit than anything else, but she caught herself. Her eyes closed for a moment and then she opened them again. Somehow, he was even closer.

Her mind was muddled from the wine, and she could smell his skin, and she remembered what it tasted like on her tongue, and she wanted nothing more than to lean forward and taste it again. Give in to the feelings coursing through her, even as her pesky conscious reminded her that both of them were tipsy, and he very possibly had a Rothschild waiting for him in his penthouse suite, and – fffuuuuccckkk.

She pressed her mouth against his. All concern and hesitance slipped away as he kissed her back, his hand finding the curve of her jaw. This was what being kissed should be like. Her entire body felt like it was on fire. She was feverish. Her skin burned, like after a day in the sun.

His hand pushed up the hem of her dress, and she moaned against mouth as he slid his hand up her thigh. She parted her legs for him, but he kept his hand north of her center, rubbing slow circles against her skin. If she were more sober she would have been horrified by how wantonly she threw herself at him, but in the moment she didn't care, and he didn't seem to, either.

She couldn't get enough of him. It had been too long since she'd touched him, and she could tell by the purposeful movement of his hands that he was thinking the same thing. They were agonizingly close now, nearly on top of each other, and she could feel him pressing against her leg. She reached down for his zipper, but then he pulled away, taking her deviant hand in his.

"Felicity –"

"What are you doing?" she said breathlessly.

"What are we doing?" he returned.

She thought that what they were doing was pretty obvious, but she knew the question really wasn't about the physical act. She let out a shaky breath and said, "I don't know."

"I don't want us to do anything we'll regret."

She sat back and pulled her hand away from his. "Is this about your Rothschild?

He looked at her in confusion. "My what?"

"Your Rothschild. The girl you're seeing. It was in the paper."

Oliver laughed sardonically and shook his head. "It must have been a slow news day."

Felicity narrowed her eyes irritably. "But you're seeing her, aren't you?"

She remembered the pictures she'd seen when she made the self-flagellating decision to Google them. Oliver had his arm around the girl, who looked straight out of a Ralph Lauren catalogue. In fact, both of them looked straight out of a Ralph Lauren catalogue.

"I'm not seeing anyone," Oliver said, pulling her back from her Google search history. "She's an old friend. She was visiting and I took her out. That's all."

"You had your arm around her."

Oliver shrugged. "Like I said, she's an old friend. I've known her since I was five."

Felicity's face softened. "She's your Barry?"

Oliver thought about it for a moment and then nodded. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"So, you're not seeing her."

Oliver shook his head. "I'm not seeing her."

"You're not seeing anyone," Felicity said, echoing the words he'd used previously.

Oliver's face went serious, and he took a deep breath before saying, "No, I'm not seeing anyone. How could I when they're not you?"

Considering that they nearly had sex on her couch, she shouldn't have been surprised by this admission, but his words left her stunned.

"You are all I think about, Felicity," he continued. "I know that things ended for a very real reason. We weren't happy. But, I swear, I was happier being not happy with you than I am now."

"I miss you every day," she said softly. "Every minute. I thought it would go away – the missing you – but it hasn't."

"I miss you, too," he murmured hurriedly, and then they were kissing again, a mess of teeth and gums, her hands and his hands seemingly everywhere at the same time. They stumbled up to her bedroom, leaving his pants, her shirt and one lone sock in their wake. When they got to her bedroom, Felicity stifled abject horror at the realization that she'd put off cleaning her nice adult sheets, and instead had her Little Mermaid bed set stretched and tucked on her twin mattress.

"This is mortifying," she said, pressing her forehead against his shoulder. He chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"We could always go to Donna's room."

"Gross. Not happening."

They stayed in her room, making love under the same sheets she used to sleep with as a young girl, wishing and praying that one day she'd find someone who loved her as much as Prince Eric. It was poetic almost, the adult Felicity finding vindication for her younger, awkward self.

When they were finished she laid in his arms, both of them barely fitting in her twin size bed. She had to lay nearly on top of him to not topple off the bed, but neither of them complained. She laid her hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat beneath her fingers.

"I didn't expect this to happen tonight," she murmured.

"Me neither."

She didn't ask the question that was pressing on her tongue. What did it all mean? Were they together again, or was this just two former loves rediscovering each other for the moment? She had no inkling either way, and she felt dread settle in her stomach. She didn't know if she could handle walking away again.

"So, I'm thinking I can bring over some Chinese food tomorrow night. You like Chinese food, don't you?"

"I'm Jewish. Of course I do," she returned reasonably.

"Good," he said softly. "We can have a nice family dinner then."

She didn't know if his words meant what she thought they meant, but when she looked up at him, she had her answer. He was looking down at her with the type of soft, adoring look she'd already dreamt of being looked at with. Only one person had ever looked at her that way, and it was him.

"A family dinner," she echoed, her heart feeling so full of love that it felt like it could burst. "I'd like that."