Disclaimer: If I was the engineer on this train things would've turned out quite differently.

Spoilers/Warnings: My very own version of S5 that includes some very vague references to the S5 spoilers swirling about. Also there's a major character death because this is how I would've liked it all to turn out.

Summary: It's been four years since graduation and they're all coming home for the wedding of one of their own. In a single weekend friendships are renewed and one couple slowly begin to mend their broken relationship.

A/N: I'm sure that you all thought that you weren't going to get this epilogue. Truthfully it's been sitting on my computer near completion since the last chapter was posted. Don't yell! Please. I got so bogged down with school that I hadn't had time to put the finishing touches on it. But here it is, better late than never, eh? So I'm hoping that you all enjoy how the story ends and, once again, I just want to thank you all for the reviews/support. And for putting up with my sporadic updates for well over a year.

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11. This Love Affair Is Never Gonna End (Epilogue)

A scream penetrated the apartment, forcing Lucas from the comfort of his bed and into the living room on quick feet. "Peyton! What? What happened?" He stopped short, four heads swiveling, regarding him curiously. Peyton, Brooke, Haley and Bevin stood in the kitchen, fawning over a box that sat on the kitchen table. "It's nine o'clock in the damn morning," he growled at them. On a Sunday, he almost added. As if that mattered, in the scheme of things.

"Sorry, Luke," they grumbled, managing to at least look contrite. Good. Because this was just getting ridiculous. His life, much less his apartment, hadn't been the same since he'd proposed to Peyton. Once they'd gotten back from Los Angeles and they'd shared the news of the engagement with their friends, the planning of the wedding had commenced. Since then it'd been chaos. Churches and reception halls and table centerpieces, not to mention headaches. Lots and lots of head splitting pain. Information overload.

"If I knew I was going to have to put up with seeing the three of you during the course of this wedding, we would've eloped in Vegas." The four women gasped. It was only Peyton that seemed amused by the concept, the smile tugging at her lips a dead giveaway. "Oh, chill out. It's not going to happen now." They regarded him with silent but deadly looks, compelling him to ask, "So, what's in the box?" It was a question he regretted immediately. Stupid, stupid mouth.

They began chattering at once, so much so that he had trouble following what was being said. He caught bits and pieces of garbled explanations, none of which he understood. He should just take himself back to his room, seeking shelter in his bed, far away from his bride and her nettlesome attendants. Unfortunately, he had promised Peyton to at least feign interest in the wedding details. Even if it killed him. The things the woman made him agree to.

He moved to stand beside Peyton as she lifted the lid off the box, revealing a dress that looked to be made of lace—the portion that he could see, anyway. "Is that Lily's dress?" he asked, knowing that Peyton wouldn't be showing him her dress. No doubt Brooke had the thing under lock and key anyhow.

Lucas felt his eyes roll back into his head as Brooke started spouting off about fabrics and colors that he didn't care one fig about. But he schooled himself to look interested because Peyton was expecting him to look so. "That sounds nice," he heard himself saying once she was finished, her mouth snapping shut, her eyes zeroing in on him as if expecting his thoughts and opinions. The women exchanged a look that shot off alarms in his head. They all then flashed him matching smiles that made him dizzy on his feet.

"I told you," Brooke told Peyton, holding out her hand. "Pay up."

Lucas watched as Peyton greased Brooke's palm with a crisp, hundred dollar bill. Wait, they had bet on him? Bet on him to—what? He couldn't fathom their reasons for doing so; they were supposed to be concerned with frilly stuff—dresses, flowers and the like. They weren't supposed to be gambling! Then, nothing about this wedding was proper. "What's that about?" his mouth inquired before his brain had a chance to stop it.

"Brooke bet me that you couldn't stand there five minutes inquiring about the wedding before you went off to your shiny, happy place of disillusion. I insisted that you could because you promised, but the second that Brooke started talking about Lily's dress your eyes glazed over and you were dead to us."

He scratched his face, needing to do something with his hands, save from strangling both women within an inch of their lives. Swiping a hand at the dress box, he said, "This is your arena. I was content with the beach idea. Khakis and bare feet. I had no qualms with that." He turned to glare at Brooke. "But once Madame Fashion Designer got involved it's been tulle and arches and candles and… and… and ALL THAT CRAP," he said, gesturing with his hand to the living room that was filled floor to ceiling, wall to wall with wedding decorations and things that no man should set eyes on until his wedding day. If ever.

Silence ensued at the end of his outburst. "Well," Brooke exclaimed, "aren't you just full of happiness and light!"

Lucas would've laughed were she not talking about him. Instead, he scowled and was contemplating a growl when Peyton touched his arm. He softened as her demure smile breached his defenses. He wanted the wedding to be over, her bridesmaids back where they belonged, with their boyfriends and husbands. He just wanted her to himself already. As his wife.

Peyton rolled her eyes at Brooke and Lucas. They'd been arguing for weeks, more so when Evan didn't accompany her on her trips to Tree Hill. When Brooke, as her maid-of-honor, had stepped in to help her with wedding plans that Lucas didn't care about, he had taken offense. He had been pretty mum about it, but he had complained to Skills who had told Bevin who had told her.

It wasn't that he was busting at the seams to help her decide between roses or lilies or any of those other minute details, he was a little miffed that Brooke was her go-to person. Sure, they talked at night at length about the wedding preparations, but it wasn't the same. Not when she was calling Brooke at least twenty times a day, calls that used to be to him, calls that he missed receiving. He felt inconsequential at times. Especially when the bridesmaids were underfoot.

Patting her hand, Lucas told Peyton, "Sorry. I should've known when I heard all the squawking that it was wedding business." Lucas pressed a kiss to Peyton's cheek, then turned on his heel and started for the door—the front door. Fresh air. Sunshine. No cackling women.

—

Peyton was sitting in bed, bridal magazines strewn across the bed when Lucas got home late that night. When he stumbled into the room, she looked up from her magazine. Marking her place with her finger, she closed the magazine, pressing it to her chest, watching him bump into the wall, the dresser before finally falling onto the floor, missing the bed—his intended target—entirely. "I see you've had a busy night."

"A little," he said, grunting as he stretched out on the floor. After a few moments of utter silence, he said, "I missed dinner."

"Lily and I had take out." Peyton tossed her magazine onto the floor along with the others before she slid across the bed to peer down at him. His eyes were closed as far as she could tell, his arm slung over his eyes. He reeked of smoke and alcohol and cheap perfume.

"I'm sorry. I didn't—Fergie and I played a game and somehow wound up at TRIC."

Peyton reached for his hand, moving his fingers around. "No, they're not broken."

Lucas snapped his eyes open. "What do my fingers have to do with anything?"

"I just wondered if they were broken, if that was the reason you didn't call to tell me where you were, when you were going to be back." Peyton watched as Lucas closed his eyes once more, the brightness of the lights irritating his retinas no doubt. She dimmed the lights for him, taking a small sliver of delight when he murmured his thanks. "I take it you had fun with the bar bimbos."

His head lolled back and forth. "They weren't you." One thing could be said for being drunk: honesty. "I miss you is all, Peyton. For four months I've had to fight Brooke and Haley for your attention… but mostly Brooke."

Peyton smiled despite herself. Lucas would no doubt hate himself in the morning for confessing so much. If he remembered this conversation at all. "So what you're saying is that you're jealous? Of Brooke?"

"Of course I am! You call her asking about tablecloths and cake layers, stuff that you should be asking me. Not that I actually care about that stuff, but I'd like to be included, for you to at least pretend that my opinion matters."

Peyton sighed. Why couldn't the man just tell her these things? "Why didn't you say something? Luke, this is our wedding. Do you think I like asking Brooke's opinion over yours?"

Lucas made a gesture with his hand. "Weddings are girl things. I don't know why I want to be included. I guess I just like feeling that you need me. I want to be with you when you learn that the videographer that you wanted is available, seeing you close your eyes when you're at the florist smelling flowers, trying to decide which goes better with the color scheme, tulips or daisies or daffodils or whatever." His eyes popped open, seeking her out. "What is the color scheme anyway?"

Peyton was a tad baffled that he wanted to know, since he had never inquired about her color choice before. "Black, white and silver," she told him, a little apprehensively, preparing herself for a scoff and a look of horror, the reaction that she'd gotten from Brooke.

"Classy."

Peyton watched as he struggled to stand up. She reached out her hand to help him as she agreed, "I think so, too." He plopped onto the bed beside her, however unceremoniously.

Lucas looked over his shoulder at her, pulling off his shoes, asking, "What does Brooke say about that?"

Peyton remembered arguing with Brooke over the colors in front of the wedding planner. When the poor woman had attempted to agree with her, Brooke had bitten the woman's head off, informing her that theirs was a private conversation. Brooke had tried swaying her to choose blue or green, even stooping so low as to suggest yellow—anything but black. Finally, Peyton put her foot down, informing her best friend that this was her wedding and that if she wanted her bridesmaids to wear lime green, they would. And with smiles on their faces. Luckily that had ended Brooke's disinclination toward black; she'd balked at the prospect of wearing lime green. "Brooke wanted bold and bright, but I'm not big a fan of fuchsia."

"That's my girl." Lucas laid back, limbs heavy, eyes falling shut of their own accord. "I am so tired," he murmured.

"Drunk, too," Peyton offered, laughing softly. Pulling on his arm, she urged, "Come on. Let's go to bed, you big drunk lug."

Lucas climbed beneath the sheets, a smile curving his lips as Peyton stripped him down to his boxers. "I hope you don't plan on taking advantage of me."

A giggle escaped Peyton's lips. "You wish. Though, it's doubtful you would know one way or the other, considering the state you're in."

"I suppose you're right."

Peyton pulled the sheets up to his chest and by the time she leaned down to kiss his cheek, he was passed out. Gathering her magazine off the floor, she turned off the lamp and left Lucas to sleep it off while she tried to make a decision about wedding favors.

The morning of her wedding, Peyton was pacing the floor of the apartment, glancing at the clock every other minute, making sure that the batteries hadn't stopped working. How long did it take to pick up one measly thing from the pharmacy? Really! But that was her mistake, sending a man to do a woman's job. He'd probably gotten sidetracked by something shiny and blonde with ample breasts.

Finally the knock that she had been anticipating came and she ran to the door. "Hey, I have the—" She cut Evan off, pulling him by the arm inside. "Ow!" he complained, rubbing his arm as he stared at her, perplexed.

"You got it?"

"Yeah, yeah," he said, preceding her into the kitchen. "Though, I'd hate to see what you'd do to me had I not." Evan held out the paper bag. "One home pregnancy test." He pulled out a chair, dropped into it. "I still don't get why I had to do this, why one of the girls couldn't."

"Because they would've camped outside my bathroom to wait for the results. I have no doubt that you can keep this a secret." Peyton was ripping into the box, then stopped to look at him. "Permitted that you didn't already tell Brooke."

Evan gave her a dour look. "Of course not. You threatened my man parts. Couldn't have that," he said, shrinking back fearing that she'd change her mind and maim him anyway. Just for kicks.

Peyton rolled her eyes, pushing the bag and box into his arms. "When I tell you, clock your watch."

"I feel dirty being privy to this subterfuge!" he yelled after her. As he stared at the booty in his hands, he asked, "Hey, are all pregnancy tests pink? That's, like, gender discrimination, isn't it?"

"Shut up, Evan! I can't pee when your babbling!"

Three minutes later he was watching Peyton pace the kitchen floor as she awaited the results. "I doubt you have to wait exactly five minutes. Aren't those things designed to tell you right away?"

"I don't know if I want to look. I mean, I want to know, don't get me wrong, but whatever the answer is it's going to put a damper on today. Positive, negative… it won't matter. I won't be happy with either outcome. And Lucas will wonder what is wrong, if I'm happy, if I have regrets and then I'll have to tell him… and, oh, God, what if he isn't ready for a baby?" She looked at him, her eyes bright with confusion and uncertainty. "What if he isn't ready for a baby, Evan?"

"You are buckets o' crazy, you know that?" Evan remarked dryly, not quivering when she sent him a stern look. "You can't not look. You won't be able to concentrate on anything if you don't. Besides, you'll want to know whether or not to abstain from the champagne." Peyton nodded mutely as he checked his watch. "Your five minutes are up."

For the fiftieth time in twenty minutes Lucas checked his watch, scowled at the closed double doors at the back of the church, then turned to smile at the minister who kept huffing with impatience. Lucas didn't understand what his problem was. At least he wasn't the one who, for all looks, was getting jilted.

She was going to show. He had no doubt. Sure, it didn't look that way to their guests or to the minister, but she had to show. She would not stand him up at the altar—she wouldn't. She couldn't.

"This doesn't look good, Luke," Nathan whispered from beside him. He, too, kept checking his watch, noting the lateness of the bride. All the bridesmaids were accounted for, he had been told; it was just the bride that was missing-in-action, a fact he was trying not to dwell on.

Glaring at his brother, he hissed, "She'll be here," as the doors swung open and the bridesmaids bustled in. He didn't take his eyes off of them until they took seat in the pews deigned for them. He noted that Brooke looked especially uptight. Maybe she knew something…

"Maybe she got cold feet. It happens."

Nathan was trying to piss him off, Lucas decided. And he was succeeding. He was actually considering pummeling him into the wine colored carpet when the doors to the back of the church opened once more. Lucas held his breath, but no vision in white stood there. Instead it was a man who looked a lot like him—black tuxedo, on the verge of fainting.

He tipped his hat at Lucas before he stopped at the pews where the bridesmaids sat, speaking in a low voice to them. It was only when Brooke stood up and approached the tuxedo-clad man that Lucas noticed that he held a cell phone, which Brooke took with a little trepidation.

Lucas watched Brooke's face as she began to speak, her mood shifting from unease to shock to sheer happiness. Gesturing to the other girls to follow her, Brooke stepped into the aisle. She waved them on, spinning to face him. "She's on her way, Luke," she told him. "There was an unfortunate incident with the horse and buggy."

"Of course there was. And who's brainchild was that, I wonder?" Lucas glared at Brooke, despite the deep flushing of her cheeks.

"I thought it'd be romantic."

Lucas put his hands behind his back to suppress the urge to inflict some serious hurt Peyton's best friend. "Well, it's not so romantic when the bride is a half-hour late to her wedding."

"Point taken. I'm just gonna… go. Now. So that we can get this party started."

"You're still here," he said through clenched teeth.

She left, moseying down the aisle as quick as her legs would take her. Finally, she took off her shoes and ran the rest of the way.

"Serves you right for letting her help Peyton plan the wedding," Nathan piped in.

Lucas ignored his brother, choosing instead to watch the back doors of the church like a man possessed, with a ferocity that he couldn't shake. Fifteen minutes later, the orchestra began playing, the bridal party making their entrances, followed by Lily and James. The doors closed once more and the bridal march began to play. Lucas sucked in a breath. And waited.

With a flourish the doors swung wide and there stood his bride. Her face was obstructed by a thin lacy veil, but somehow he knew that beneath that scrap of fabric, her face was glowing and she was smiling. Escorting her up the aisle was her father. It had taken them a few weeks to get in touch with Larry, since he was out to sea. Peyton had spent day after day, night after night, pacing as she awaited word, her father's reaction to their engagement. When it came, in the form of an email, it only said, "About damn time. Wouldn't miss it for the world."

As Larry handed Peyton off to him, he whispered, "She's my baby, Lucas. Take care of her."

"I will, sir." He took Peyton's hand, leading her up the two steps to the altar. The ceremony continued in a flurry of words, many of which didn't register until it came down to the vows.

He and Peyton had gone the traditional route, though they had entertained the idea of writing their own vows. Good thing, because Lucas highly doubted he would've been able to remember a single word, not with the thumping his heart sounding in his ears, drowning out all other sounds, including the minister's monotone musings.

Turning to face Peyton, he repeated the vows that the minister spoke, feeling each one with every breath he took, every beat of his heart. Peyton followed, saying her vows, making him wonder with every shaky word whether she was crying behind her veil. Dammit, he wished he could see her.

Finally, unable to take another moment of wondering, he stepped forward and lifted her veil, breathing out a sigh of relief that she wasn't crying. Although, her eyes were so glossy that at any moment she may start and not stop. "You weren't supposed to do that yet," she whispered, flashing him a dazzling smile.

"Stupid thing was in my way."

The minister cleared his throat as Nathan snickered behind Lucas. An elbow in the gut made Nathan quiet as Lucas told the minister, "Sorry. Go on."

The ceremony finished without further impediments and before he could blink, he was kissing his wife in front of their friends and family. As they parted and the priest presented them as Mr. and Mrs. Lucas Scott, Peyton murmured, "At last."

With eyes transfixed on the dance floor, watching as Peyton danced with her father, Brooke couldn't squelch her own desires to be married, to have all of this, her own happy ending. Her friends had it, now it was her turn. Unfortunately as far as prospects went, hers was married to another woman.

Not that she doubted for a second that Evan would secure his divorce—he would. After all he had expressed a desire to marry her, to have the kind of marriage with her that he hadn't had with his current wife. To her utter shame, the thought of marriage to Evan took told her constantly. She pictured their wedding, the ease with which they would settle into marriage, undoubtedly happy and content. Then other thoughts would take hold, her bearing his children, for instance. The prospect of having her own children—Evan's children—filled her with a delight she'd never known. She wondered if Peyton and Lucas would wait long to have children.

Her eyes turned to inspect all of her friends, now ensconced in happily unions, beginning to start their own families. It was only a matter of time, she knew, before Nathan and Haley added a brother or sister for James and she had no doubt that Lucas and Peyton would get started on their own family right away. Then, there were Bevin and Skills, who were already expecting their first child.

A moment later Brooke was stirred from her wayward thoughts when Peyton approached her table, asking, "Have you seen my husband?"

Brooke raised her brows at her best friend as Peyton fell into the chair next to her. "Oh, you like saying that a little too much." Husband had been rolling off Peyton's tongue adamantly since the church ceremony. It had been my husband this and my wonderful husband that. Quite nauseating it was.

"I really do," Peyton said, trying to wipe the smile off her face.

"How do we turn it off?" Brooke asked, leaning forward, trying to force the smile from Peyton's lips. "Well, it's official, your lips are stuck that way."

Peyton slapped Brooke's hands away. "Oh, stop it. Can't I be happy?"

"Of course you can. Just not to the point that it causes the rest of us to be sick to our stomachs," Brooke teased.

Peyton somehow suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. "So, is that bottle of wine all for you or are you willing to share?"

Brooke stared at the half-empty bottle of wine before her. "I was toasting to you and Luke… only neither of you were around."

"Are you feeling left out?"

Brooke nodded, reaching for the bottle of wine. "I'm the last single friend. I'm going to be spinster Aunt Brooke, the one that scares all the children and hands out raisins and peanuts for Halloween."

"You're being ridiculous. You're dating a great guy who wants to marry you."

Brooke scoffed. "Sure, he does. After he divorces the woman he's already married to. By the time that happens I'll be a dried up old maid with a broken uterus." Brooke uncorked the wine bottle, refilling her glass, feeling Peyton's gaze on her as she did so.

"You will not be the last. After all, there's Rachel." Peyton figured it was best to keep it to herself that Rachel's Hollywood boyfriend had been photographed ring shopping. That would do nothing but douse Brooke's already precarious esteem.

However, it brightened Brooke right up. "You're right! Rachel's a slut and it takes sluts forever to find men that appreciate that quality in a wife."

Peyton's lips thinned into a firm line. That wasn't quite what she meant when she mentioned Rachel, but at least Brooke didn't look so somber now. In fact, it seemed that the wine was beginning to affect her in a big way, if the flush in her face, the sway of her body was any indication.

All of a sudden, Brooke's hand shot across the table, covering Peyton's own, startling her. "I am happy for you, Peyton. You know that, right?"

"Of course I know that," she assured Brooke. Squeezing her hand, she said, "At your wedding I'm going to do exactly what you're doing—I'm going to sit alone at a table and get drunk, toasting my best friend's good fortune."

Brooke shook her head. "You will not. At my wedding you will be pregnant, I have no doubt. You can get drink all the sparkling water that we'll have at our disposal—" Frowning, Brooke began looking around, exclaiming, "Where the hell is Evan? I haven't seen him since—"

"You threw him over for the wine?" Peyton laughed softly at the annoyed look that Brooke shot in her direction. She shook her head, stopping a passing waiter to grab a flute of champagne off his tray. "I haven't seen him for a while," she admitted, settling back in her chair. "The last time I saw him he was disappearing outside with Fergie and Skills. To decorate the car, I'm sure."

"They're probably corrupting my boyfriend, telling him all kinds of stuff about me from high school." As that statement festered, Brooke grabbed Peyton's arm, shrieking, "Oh, God, what if they're telling him all kinds of stuff about me from high school?!"

"They wouldn't do that, Brooke," Peyton reassured her. Then, wrinkling her face, amended, "Well, Fergie wouldn't, but Skills totally would." Brooke nodded, frowning anew.

Brooke glanced at the dance floor where Lily and James were dancing. Until James began running in circles, prompting Nathan to storm the dance floor, snatching his son off the floor by the collar of his tuxedo jacket. For a second sheer terror entered the little boy's eyes, until Nathan set him back on his feet, ruffled his hair and left him to his dancing with a stern, "Don't run around girls in pretty dresses. It's not polite. Or attractive."

Jumping to her feet, it took Brooke a moment for the room to stop spinning. She waited until there was only one Peyton in her periphery before she informed her, "I'm going to go find him."

"Are you sure that's wise?" Peyton asked, concerned. Brooke swayed from side to side, clearly affected by her alcohol intake. "You don't look too steady on your feet."

"Just gotta walk it off is all." With a wave of her fingers, Brooke took herself off, leaving Peyton by her lonesome… and her glass of champagne. For a while she sat there, turning in her chair to watch the couples on the dance floor. After a while she grew restless and headed outside for a breath of fresh air. That's where she finally found Lucas. He was sitting on a bench with Lily on his lap.

"… so she's not going to be my mom now?"

"Peyton will be like your mom, but she won't be your mom. She'll do your hair and watch Hannah Montana with you and do those girly things with you—"

"—like the tea parties and dress up?"

"Yeah. Like those things—"

"—but I can't call her mom."

Peyton felt so dejected for the little girl. They were kindred spirits, having both lost their mothers at such young ages. She wanted to interrupt Lucas and tell them both that of course Lily could call her mom. Especially if it made her feel better. But she wouldn't tarnish Karen's legacy that way. Karen had been a wonderful mother to both Lucas and Lily; she would've been a wonderful mother-in-law as well.

Before Lucas could answer, Peyton intervened. "I think you can call me whatever it is that you want, Lily."

Lucas raised an eyebrow at Peyton, a smirk playing at his lips. "I think Peyton was spying on us, Lil," he told his sister as Peyton settled on the bench beside them.

"Lucas said that you're like my mom now, Peyton… except you're not."

Peyton heard the sadness and disappointment in the little girl's voice. Patting her leg, she urged Lily onto her lap so they were face-to-face. "Your mom was the best mommy ever. You wouldn't want to replace her with someone like me."

"But—"

Peyton shook her head, continuing, "We only get one mommy. And it hurts when she goes away. But you can't replace her. Not with me, not with anyone. I don't know why you'd even want to. Just because you don't have a mom, doesn't mean that you don't have plenty of people that love you. Like me and Luke. And Nathan and Haley, Skills and Bevin. I won't be your mom, but I can be like your mom."

For a moment, Lily just stared at Peyton, not moving, not talking. Then she threw her arms around Peyton's neck, hugging her tight. "I love you, Peyton."

"I love you, too, pumpkin."

They were all startled from the moment they were sharing by the double doors being pushed open behind them. Spinning around, they found James standing there, breathless. "Lily! Fergie's playing Miley! Come on!" he shouted, dancing from one to the other in obvious excitement.

Lily bustled off of Peyton's lap, running to meet James at the door. Together they ran back into the ballroom, leaving Lucas and Peyton alone.

"Thank you for that," Lucas said, pulling Peyton against him.

Peyton smiled at him, nodding. "I would never want to replace your mom."

Lucas patted her knee. "I know."

"I think she's just confused, you know? You're like her dad but not. And I'm the woman that's just married her like-dad. In any other situation I'd be her step mom and she's just trying to understand. It'll get easier."

Lucas expelled a deep sigh. "I know. I know I have to be patient. Just… what about when we have kids, our own family? She's going to be their aunt, not their big sister."

Peyton saw her opening. This is when she should broach the subject, tell him of her anxiety of that morning. How would he react? Would he be relieved? Would he share her longing for children? It was a subject that they'd never talked about, a subject that they had postponed until they married. Well, they were married. No time like the present. Swallowing past the lump that had lodged in her throat, she murmured, "Luke…"

But he was so busy talking, that he didn't hear her. "—I guess we'll just have to deal with that when it comes," he rambled on, oblivious to her distress.

"Lucas!" she said, a little louder, punctuating it with a tug on his shirt sleeve.

He immediately turned his attention to her, his body toward her giving her his undivided attention. "Huh?"

"Speaking of us starting our own family… there's something… I, um… this morning… see, the thing is… I thought…"

Touching her chin, Lucas lifted her face to him. "Hey, you've never been nervous to tell me anything. What's up?"

"I thought I was pregnant," she blurted without ceremony.

Lucas blinked, completely devoid of speech. It took him a few moments to find words to express himself. "But you're not?"

Peyton smiled at him and slowly shook her head. "I'd thought so, hoped so, really. I was late and that's just not usual for me." She sighed, an action that beheld her true feelings. "I took a test but it was negative." Lucas started to say something, but she stopped him. "I'm relieved because we never talked about this, whether we were ready, whether we wanted kids. I mean, I do, I just didn't know if you—"

"—of course I want kids."

"We don't have to discuss this now—tonight. I just wanted to tell you before anyone else had the chance to." His eyebrow shot up, but other than that he had no other reaction, no questions. Good thing. She'd explain the whole Evan thing later; he'd understand.

They sat silent for a few moments before Lucas asked, "Are you disappointed?"

She tried to smile at him, but just… couldn't. She couldn't lie to him even if she wanted to. Which, she didn't. "A little." It wasn't a huge disappointment. Somewhere deep inside her heart she knew that the test was going to be negative. Afterward when she'd gotten her answer, she had cried, glad for Evan's presence for he consoled her. Then he told her to buck up, that Lucas had an entire lifetime to get her pregnant. That had cheered her right up, however crass it had sounded coming from Evan.

Lucas pressed a kiss to her temple. "You know, we can start working on getting you pregnant right away if you want."

Laughing, Peyton buried her face in his neck. "See, that's why I love you."

Standing up, she grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet beside her. Arm in arm, they returned to the party. However, once they entered the ballroom they found that no one missed them, that the party was going on without them. "You would think they would've sent out a search party for us," Lucas said, frowning.

"Well, you know we don't have to stay."

Lucas eyed her curiously. "Blow off our own reception? Scandalous."

"Wait until you hear what I have planned," Peyton whispered, pulling him back out the door.