EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE

Juliette One year later

T HE VIbrANT BLUES and bright yellows of van Gogh’s The Starry Night light up the wall in front of me. It is a stunning sight, one I’m finally glad we were able to see. Gavriil surprised me with a re-creation of our honeymoon for our first anniversary. We celebrated that first night in Paris by tossing the contract I’d signed into the fireplace.

The rest of it has been a blur of good food, exploring the sites and long nights spent losing ourselves in each other. The few times I’ve managed to tear myself away from him, I’ve been out wandering, snapping photos, jotting down ideas.

I smile. In the next town over, I’ll be sitting down for an interview later today with a survivor of the French Resistance from World War II. My human-interest stories have been well received this past year. I’m open to taking on an occasional investigative story in the future. But these interviews, bringing attention to not only the survivors of trauma like the women rescued in Texas, but the average person one passes on the street, has brought me a sense of fulfillment my investigative work never did.

My hand slides down to my still-flat belly. My new line of work is also far less stressful. Something I’ve been grateful for the past ten weeks as exhaustion has settled in, along with severe bouts of nausea at night. I always thought morning sickness occurred in the morning. However, as I learned the hard way, it can happen at any time. It didn’t stop Gavriil from insisting I go to the doctor to get checked out and make sure everything was well. The one positive was that we got to hear our baby’s heartbeat again.

Our baby. It still doesn’t seem real. I’m married to a man I love and who loves me deeply. I’m doing a job I love. Dessie, who’s now going on almost a year with no relapse, is thrilled that she’s going to be a grandmother. That Gavriil and I have been splitting our time equally between Malibu and Washington has also made her very happy.

Grey House has a nursery set up, along with renovated guest quarters to accommodate the growing Drakos family for family events and holidays. I’ve told Gavriil I want to spend as much of the baby’s first years there as possible, reclaiming some of the innocence of childhood that I lost. He’s come to love Rêve Beach, too. He still prefers the finer things, and always will, as evidenced by the teddy bear he already bought from Tiffany & Co.

But he’s happier, more content. He’s still very involved with Drakos North America, especially now that the deal with Paul Properties went through. Just like Gavriil predicted, the neighborhood is experiencing a resurgence, with Gavriil’s property in high demand. I love watching him work, appreciate that he comes to me and asks for my opinion, my insight.

It’s not perfect. There are still moments where he hesitates, when he struggles to share and open up.

But he does it. He does it and we make it through all of the good and the challenges.

The lights on the wall shift, making it appear as if the stars are falling straight from van Gogh’s painted world into ours. An arm wraps around my waist and pulls me back against a solid, muscular chest.

“I wondered where you’d wandered off to.”

“Worried about the baby?” I tease as I turn in the circle of his arms.

“My child and my wife.”

He says this with unmistakable pride.

“I’m here,” I whisper. “Always.”

He smiles down at me, his eyes warm as his hand settles on my belly.

“I know.”

We share a kiss and then walk hand in hand on to the next chapter of our lives.