Fifteen Years Later

"Mom?" someone says, waking me from my sleep. I open my eyes and squint at the small slit of light coming from the door. Celeste peeks her head in, her eyes wide and nervous.

"Yes, honey?" I mumble, yawning in the process. I stretch and sit on, flipping on my bedside lamp. Celeste takes that as an invitation and walks up beside me, sitting down on the bed when I prompt her to. "What's wrong?"

"I'm scared, Mom. I . . . I don't know if I can do this," she admits, dropping her chin to her chest.

I wrap my arms around her and gently rub her back, resting my head on top of hers. "Oh, honey, there's nothing to be scared of. You're going to be fine."

"But what if I . . . I don't know, mess up or something? What if I trip and fall in front of everyone? Or say the wrong thing? Or what would happen if I— "

"Shhh," I whisper, kissing the top of her head gently. "You know, when I was in the Selection, messed up a hundred times. I said all sorts of horrible things on TV; I embarrassed myself a hundred ties and look where that got me."

"Yeah, but that's 'cause Dad loved you."

"Somebody will love you, too, you know."

"What's going on?" Maxon says groggily, sitting up and yawning, squinting at the lamp behind me. "Cellie? What are you doing up? It's . . . 3 in the morning!" he says, slightly started. I roll my eyes at him.

"Celeste is just a little nervous about tomorrow."

"No, I—" she starts, obviously embarrassed. Celeste has always been shy when it comes to talking to her father. She's so eager to fill his shoes, to please him and make a good Queen. Whenever she's nervous about something, she hides it from Maxon as long as possible.

"You're going to be fine, dear," Maxon says, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't call me that," she grumbles. Like mother like daughter, I think, smirking.

"What are you worried about exactly?" Maxon asks, looking our daughter in the eye. The whites of her eyes seem to glow in the dark.

"I just . . . what if none of them like me," she whispers, avoiding his gaze. I take her hand gently in mine and give it a squeeze.

"I thought the same thing when I was your age," Maxon starts. "I thought I'd walk in that room and find 35 girls who hated me. Instead, I only found one," he winks at me and I can't help but laugh.

"I didn't hate you!" I defend. "I just didn't want to be in the competition, that's

all."

"No, you hated me."

"That's not how I remember it."

"But can we really trust your memory, Mom?" Celeste asks, narrowing her eyes at me. I swat her away. Ever since the accident – which seems like forever ago – it's been a running joke in the family (hell, the whole country) that my memory can't be trusted. Which I guess is kind of true. After a few months, my memory came back nearly completely, but the details are still fuzzy. I can't remember tiny events, miscellaneous fact. I only remember the big stuff, the important things.

"True, but I do remember that day. And I did not hate your father," I say, giving her an intimidating stare. "I just . . . strongly disliked him."

"It was a total turn on," Maxon says, wrapping his arm around me.

"Ew!" Celeste says, shaking her head. I laugh at that, and Maxon swallows a chuckle.

"Anyway," I say, getting us back on track. "There were plenty of girls that loved your father; nearly all of them in fact."

"But what if . . . what if I don't love any of them?"

"Then we'll find someone else."

This gets both of their attention. "What?!"

"If none of the boys in your Selection are the right match, we'll find someone else."

"You can do that?" she asks, hope filling her face.

I look at Maxon, forcing him to give her an answer. She won't take me seriously if I say this. "Umm, yes, we can. We are the King and Queen, aren't we?"

"Yeah, but there are rules, right? It's a tradition. I can't just . . . break it!"

"Honey," I say, grabbing her hands in mine and looking into her eyes. My heart flutters as I remember the day I first saw those eyes (yes, I now remember her birth). It's crazy to think that she's grown up this fast. "We want you to be happy. If no one in the Selection is right for you, then we'll keep trying. You don't have to marry someone you don't love."

She nods slightly and I belatedly notice a tear running down her cheek.

"Don't cry, Cellie," Maxon says, looking at me nervously. I give him a slight grin. "It will be fine."

"It's not that," she whispers. "I just . . . I want to find what you two have. I want a real love. A true love."

I take a deep breath and kiss her forehead. "You will, honey. I promise." She nods and sniffs. "Now, go back to bed. You have a long day tomorrow and you need your sleep."

"Yeah . . . thanks, Mom. Dad," she says, climbing out of bed and shutting the door behind her.

Maxon looks at me and I can't help but frown. "I feel horrible."

"Why? You handled it just fine, dear."

"Yeah, but . . . This whole time she's been worried about her Selection because of us. Because she's scared she won't find what we have. We gave her too high expectations."

"Can you blame us?" he says, nipping at my neck. "I don't exactly regret falling madly in love with you."

I brush him off, fighting the blush that's rising in my cheeks. "Neither do I," I laugh. "But what if . . . what if . . ." I can't dare say it.

"She'll find someone. I know she will." I take a deep breath and nod as Maxon pulls me back down against the bed. He reaches over and flicks off my lamp before gathering me into his arms. He kisses the back of my head gingerly. "Celeste will be fine. She'll fall in love, just like we did. She'll get married and be happy and be the best Queen Illéa has seen." I raise my eyebrows. "Besides you of course. Now come on. We have a big day tomorrow, too."

He kisses me again and I snuggle against him. I close my eyes and remember our Selection so many years ago. And I remember everything that Maxon and I did together, all the tiny moments that made me fall more and more in love with him. And I fall asleep in his arms, remembering the one. Remembering Maxon and praying that our daughter finds her own love.

I'll admit: this was not the best ending. I don't think this story called for an epilogue, but a bunch of people asked for it so I hope it's alright. I'd like to thank each and every one of you for reading and review this story (as well as my other selection fics), especially the people who message me after every chapter (you know who you are!). You're all so sweet.

Unfortunately, as some people have asked, I will not be writing a sequel to this. However, I plan on writing a few more Maxerica one-shots, so keep a look out for those.

Thanks!