EPILOGUE RIGGS

EPILOGUE

RIGGS

Emmett: Free for freelance work?

Riggs: Where?

Emmett: Croatia. Some of the shots require special skill, mountain climbing, etc.

Riggs: I’ll ask my wife and get back to you.

Emmett: Thanks.

Emmett: And Riggs? You’re missed.

Riggs: Don’t make me barf my lunch, Emmett.

A month after my reunion with Duffy in London, we both traveled to Alaska to fight my demons. We declared it our real honeymoon, the one that never was. We took the opportunity to spread Charlie’s ashes in Auke Lake, which—he told me on his deathbed—was his favorite place growing up.

We went to all the places my mother spent time in, and it also felt like coming full circle. It humanized her further in my eyes. To see where she partied, where she worked, where she fell in love.

Speaking of coming, we did a lot of that too. Which was good, because Duffy finally decided what she wanted to do with her life—become a mother and a newborn photographer. “They’re the best clients,” she explained. “Cute, sleepy, and never self-conscious about their bad angles.” I loved that she loved photography. And I loved that I was the one to introduce it to her. Of course, not everyone was dazzled by my wife’s mere existence.

“That’s your aspiration?” Arya bellowed while we were FaceTiming them from our Juneau hotel. “To become a mother?”

“Aren’t you one?” my wife asked briskly, shrugging Arya’s abhorrence off. “And aren’t you pregnant with another child right now?” Duffy added. She’d become pretty close with Arya and Winnie this past month, once they were both positive it was okay to get to know her without running the risk of my giving her the boot.

“Well, yes, but you need something for yourself that isn’t the newborn photography stuff.” Arya frowned. “You know I hear there are poop accidents on a daily basis? And some of those things they tuck the babies into are just ridiculous.”

“This is what I want to do for myself,” Duffy said with conviction. “I want to raise really great humans. And I think it’s a purpose just as high and good as becoming an engineer or a marketing manager or an architect.”

Attagirl.

Arya sighed. “I guess you could have your first client in me when that baby pops out.”

Winnie, who was also on the line with Arsène, giggled. “And I’ll be booking you right after. Three weeks apart, if my OB-GYN is correct.”

Duffy turned to Winnie. “By the way, Win, I wanted to say congrats on your pregnancy too.”

Winnie blushed deeply, ducking her head with a shy smile. “Thank you. I got your flowers and card too. I really appreciate it.”

Winnie and Arsène had been trying for a while. I knew because the bastard was extra butthurt about everything to do with his wife while they were trying to conceive. If I breathed the wrong way under their roof, he’d throw a fit, thinking it made her uncomfortable and gave her unnecessary stress.

“When are you coming back, anyway?” Arsène asked, sounding more put off by the idea than interested.

“Where are you going back to is the better question?” Christian added.

Duffy and I exchanged looks. I decided to do the talking, since Duffy still felt a little intimidated by Arsène.

“We purchased a condo in Chelsea,” I announced.

“New York or London?” Arya asked.

“Both,” I replied, slinging an arm over my wife’s shoulder.

When the coin showed tails, I think both Duffy and I knew that we weren’t ready to give up either of our favorite cities. Besides, now that I was getting into business with my brother- and father-in-law, I needed to take a closer look at the space we were renting for the restaurant in Covent Garden.

“So exciting!” Arya and Winnie cooed.

“Not too shabby for a gold digger.” Duffy pretended to dust off invisible lint from her cardigan.

“Gold digger, my ass.” I kissed her temple and rumpled her hair.

“Oh, that’s a good location.” Her eyes lit up, and I laughed. “Better than both Chelseas.”

In the end, Duffy got exactly what she wanted—a life of luxury—without even having to pretend to be someone she wasn’t, only to find out what really mattered was the person you shared the wealth with.

As for what she taught me, that would be that family came first.

And that for the right person? You would change your whole entire world.

DUFFY

Six months later

“I’m doing it.”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Poppins. I’m watching you.”

I leaned over the round table at the Manhattan café where we’d stopped for a quick lunch and slowly pulled a piece of pastrami from his sandwich. Riggs shooed my hand away with a napkin like a stern governess, then picked up the sandwich and shoved the whole thing into his mouth.

“What are you doing!” I groaned. That was half a sandwich. He could choke.

“Saving my baby. He can thank me later.”

Screw listeria. My love for cold meats knew no bounds, and it pained me to have to part ways with my favorite food while I was expecting. Especially now, when I’d passed the first trimester and was officially back in eating-everything-in-sight mode.

“You don’t know that it’s a he yet.” I munched on my grilled cheese reluctantly.

“Of course I do. Little Charlie.” He smirked.

“Charlie? Really?” My heart stopped beating for a moment. What a gorgeous homage.

“Fuck no.” Riggs snorted. “I just wanted to see your reaction. But I just think that, since Arsène and Winnie are having a girl, and Arya and Christian are having a girl, it’d be too much of a coincidence if we have one too.”

“I don’t want any gender disappointment.” I wiggled my finger in his face, taking yet another bite of my food.

“There’s never any disappointment where you’re concerned, Poppins.” He gave me a lopsided grin.

I was opening my mouth to tell him the feeling was mutual when someone stopped in front of us on the sidewalk eating area, blocking the sun from our faces.

“Riggs?”

My husband and I both turned to look at the person. A beady-eyed, slender man with freakishly long fingers. He was standing there with a pretty lady, staring at me like I was a ghost.

“Can we help you?” I asked in a crisp tone.

“She is English,” the man said, his jaw slacked with shock. “And she’s real. She really exists. Whoa.”

“Told you,” Riggs said smugly, leaning over to press a kiss on my mouth. I accepted the gesture greedily. I didn’t care who this man was—kisses from my husband were always welcome. “And I also said she was the most beautiful woman on Planet Earth. Did I not? Brutally honest.”

Riggs pivoted to look at the man, tipping an imaginary hat at the woman. “I assume you’re Mrs. Stauce.”

“You assume correctly.” She blushed under his sultry gaze.

Riggs nodded. “My condolences. Duffy, this is my former boss, Emmett.”

“You never did answer me about Croatia.” Emmett turned to look at Riggs, accusation carrying in his voice. “Why’s that?”

Riggs gestured toward me. “We’re working on our legacy and will be popping out babies for the next five years or so. Feel free to ask me afterward.”

After Riggs had come to London to confess his love for me, he quit Discovery magazine. Emmett had been trying to convince him to freelance for them ever since, with little luck.

“Five years is a long time,” Emmett said, looking extra surly.

Riggs shot me an adoring smile. “Not when it’s with the right person.”