Extended Epilogue

Three Years Later

The late spring sun bathed the vineyard in a warm, golden light, and Emma couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty of the rows of vibrant grapevines, the landscape alive with wildflowers at their feet. She and Ophelia strolled slowly along the neat rows, their pace more of a relaxed wander given the state of their shared condition.

Ophelia adjusted her parasol slightly, a radiant smile gracing her lips as she rested her free hand over her rounded belly. “Massimo is going to be absolutely ridiculous when the baby arrives,” she gushed. “Not that he isn’t already. He insists I sit on the softest pillows, brings me every fruit he can possibly find, and keeps carving little figurines for the nursery. Honestly, I don’t know what I’ll do with a whole menagerie of wooden animals.”

Emma laughed softly, her hand brushing over her own growing belly. “He sounds like the perfect man to weather your pregnancy with. Though you do realize you’ve set an impossible standard for all husbands, don’t you? Evan thought he was doing well but if he hears about carved wooden figures, he will feel inadequate, I dare say.”

Ophelia grinned, her cheeks rosy. “I can’t help it. He makes it all seem so… magical. It’s funny, isn’t it? How everything fell into place so unexpectedly.”

Emma tilted her head, her smile both kind and curious. “And are you truly happy?”

Ophelia didn’t hesitate, her voice carrying a calm certainty. “Yes. So much so that it surprises me. I’d marry him tomorrow if I could, but—” She gave a small shrug, her expression peaceful. “I know it’s not possible. The world wouldn’t allow it, and I won’t risk uprooting the happiness we’ve created just to satisfy convention.”

Emma squeezed her sister’s arm gently. “You’ve built a life that works for both of you. There’s no shame in finding joy in the midst of challenges.” She gestured toward the endless rows of vines. “Besides, what could be more beautiful than living here with Massimo, raising your child in a place filled with so much love?”

Ophelia smiled wistfully. “You’re right. And I remind myself of that every day. It’s more than I could have dreamed of once, and it’s more than enough now.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. “But I will admit… I’m very glad you’re also pregnant. Our little ones can grow up together. Can you imagine the chaos they’ll bring us?”

Emma chuckled, her hand resting protectively on her belly. “It will be wonderful. They’ll be fast friends, no doubt. And I’m sure Massimo will happily teach them the art of winemaking before they can even hold a glass.”

Ophelia laughed, the sound full of warmth. “He would! I’d better prepare for that now.” She paused, glancing toward Emma with an inquisitive expression.

As Emma walked alongside her sister, listening to Ophelia’s joyous chatter about Massimo, her thoughts drifted, warmed by the knowledge that not only she but also the people she cherished most had found happiness in their lives.

She smiled to herself, her hand resting lightly on the curve of her belly. Their plan had worked splendidly. Jonathan and Brigitte had defied convention in their quiet, steadfast way. Living together at Jonathan’s townhouse in town, Brigitte officially remained his housekeeper, though Emma knew that their servants—all a handpicked group of trusted individuals—were well aware of the truth. They all knew their employer and Brigitte were deeply in love, and no one breathed a word beyond the household. In fact, the cozy simplicity of their arrangement seemed to have fostered an air of loyalty among the staff, creating a peaceful refuge for the two of them to share their lives without fear of scandal.

A similar kind of tranquility existed at the vineyard, where Ophelia and Massimo resided in serene contentment. Though the outward arrangement had been carefully orchestrated, with Jonathan and Ophelia dutifully attending events together when required, they both worked tirelessly to preserve the illusion of their “unhappy” marriage. They would exchange half-hearted barbs in public or make sour-faced expressions whenever questioned too closely about each other. Yet behind those performances, Jonathan and Ophelia coordinated seamlessly, each protecting the other’s happiness while managing to live their true lives.

Emma thought it miraculous how well everything had fallen into place. Ophelia and Jonathan maintained appearances, preserving the dignity of their family name, while Massimo lavished Ophelia with the quiet, profound love she deserved. Brigitte had not only secured a home at Jonathan’s side but had kept the close bond with Emma as her cherished friend and confidante.

Emma’s gaze softened as she thought of her brother, Alexander. Their relationship, once strained under the weight of grief and misunderstandings, had grown into something stronger and more unshakable than ever. He had been steadfast in his support during her own tumultuous journey to happiness with Evan, and now he regularly visited her, sharing news of his own expanding family and interests with the warm affection they’d once lacked.

Her smile widened as she reflected on how far they all had come. It was a beautiful thing, she thought, to know the people you love are safe and content.

Her beloved sisters, Ophelia, Alexander, Brigitte—all those dearest to her—had found happiness in their own ways, shaped by their own choices. What Emma treasured most was how they had done so without needing to break apart their bonds with one another. Instead, those bonds had grown stronger, rooted in the shared strength and understanding born of life’s many trials.

“And what of Rose? I hear her name so little these days. How is she?” Ophelia’s words drew her from her thoughts and Emma’s smile deepened, her eyes softening with a mixture of relief and affection.

“She’s well,” she said aloud. “She’s getting married this autumn, actually. To a barrister. A kind man who truly appreciates her.”

Ophelia’s face lit up. “Oh, that’s wonderful! I’m so happy for her. She deserves that kind of peace in her life.”

Emma nodded in agreement, but her thoughts drifted briefly inward, turning over the delicate dance that had been required to shield Rose—and Evan’s late mother—from society’s harsh judgment. To avoid scrutiny while still being able to stop Evan from having to hide Rose she had been introduced to the world as Evan’s distant cousin, a young woman of modest but respectable common birth who had been granted the family’s favor. It allowed Rose to become a larger part of their lives without scrutiny, her connection to Evan’s mother never questioned and her past safely concealed.

She and Mr. Hatfield, with whom she’d reconciled, were family now, Emma thought, her heart swelling with a protective tenderness.

“She’s happy, then?” Ophelia asked, drawing Emma from her musings.

“She is,” Emma said warmly. “And I have no doubt she’ll make a lovely life with her husband. I’m just grateful she’ll remain close to us.”

The friends walked in companionable silence for a moment, the peaceful sounds of the vineyard filling the air. At length, Ophelia said, “You’ve managed to keep so many threads from unraveling, haven’t you, Emma? I hope you know how much you’ve done for all of us.”

Emma looked down briefly, her smile modest. “We’ve all done our part to build something good out of what was broken. And isn’t that what families are meant to do?”

Ophelia’s hand brushed hers in a brief but affectionate gesture. “That’s exactly what families are for.”

As Emma and Ophelia made their way back through the golden-dappled vineyard, laughter rang out from the house. Sitting together were Jonathan, Brigitte, Massimo, and Evan, their silhouettes framed by the soft light.

Jonathan, as usual, appeared mid-sentence, his sharp grin betraying the smart remark he had just delivered. Brigitte tilted her head in mock exasperation, though her small, affectionate smile gave her away. Massimo’s hearty laugh rose above the hum of conversation, while Evan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed but eyes alight with quiet contentment.

“Ah, the ladies return!” Jonathan declared theatrically as Ophelia and Emma approached, drawing every gaze to the two women. “Ah, Evan, your wife truly is a unique gem and master of foresight, I dare say.”

Emma raised a brow, her steps quickening as she climbed the steps, a hint of playful challenge in her eyes. “Pray tell, what do you mean?”

Jonathan smirked, tilting his head in a way that showed he was well-prepared to back up his claim. “You must have the power of foresight, after all, were it not for you, none of this would be possible. Were it not for you, Emma, my dear fake wife might be unhappily wed to Evan, Massimo would still be languishing in the Mediterranean sun longing for his beloved, and—” He gestured vaguely to himself and Brigitte. “Well, we’d all still be quite tragically appropriate.”

The group erupted into laughter, including Evan, who shook his head in mock defeat. “Leave it to Jonathan to make our scandal sound like the setup to a comedy of errors,” he drawled.

Brigitte chuckled softly, a hint of color rising in her cheeks as she caught Jonathan’s gaze. “It does have a ring of truth, though,” she added, her voice warm and laced with affection.

Ophelia smiled as she eased into the chair Massimo had pulled out for her. “It’s true,” she teased, her eyes glinting. “Emma did orchestrate all of this, along with Evan. It might not have been her plan but it worked out well for us all. After all, none of us are exactly conventional, are we? But I suppose that’s what makes this family—” She paused to rest her hand meaningfully on her growing belly. “—so perfect.”

Emma seated herself next to Evan, whose hand found hers instinctively. She squeezed his fingers as she spoke, the laughter in her voice softening to a note of tenderness. “Unconventional, perhaps, but I wouldn’t change a thing. Would any of us?”

“Not a chance,” Massimo said firmly, reaching to clasp Ophelia’s hand. His gaze held hers for a brief moment, full of the love that made the challenges they’d faced worth it. “Besides,” he added with a grin, “this unconventional group has turned out rather well, if you ask me.”

Evan glanced toward Emma, a smile tugging at his lips. “Remarkably well,” he agreed quietly, the weight of those words meant only for her.

Jonathan leaned forward, his mischievous grin reasserting itself. “See, now this is why I always listen to the women. They have the uncanny knack of turning mayhem into miracles.”

Brigitte arched an elegant brow, the corner of her mouth curling in amusement. “And here I thought you listened to me because I keep your house from falling apart, monsieur.”

Laughter rippled through the group once more, and Jonathan threw up his hands in mock surrender. “Ah, ma cherie, I listen to you because every word out of your mouth is wise and brilliant.” He grinned at her and Brigitte rolled her eyes before smiling in return.

As the group fell into easy conversation, Emma’s gaze swept over them, lingering on each in turn. Massimo’s warm, teasing glance as he murmured something to Ophelia. Jonathan’s subtle way of leaning closer to Brigitte, his body language more eloquent than any declaration. And Evan—the steadfast love in his eyes as he looked at her, making her chest tighten with gratitude.

It was true - what bound them together was unconventional, yes, but also remarkable. Everyone seated on the porch had fought for their happiness, defied conventions, and built something unique. It wasn’t perfect by society’s rigid standards, but it was far more real than any artifice.