Epilogue

EPILOGUE

Xavier

“ Y ou’ve got the plushy ducks on the bed?”

Elsie nodded but didn’t look up from her phone, where she appeared to be checking things off with her stylus. “Yes, sir. All three.”

“The mum, the dad, and the baby?”

“Right there on her pillow. First thing she’ll see in her new room.” Elsie finally looked up at me over the rims of her thick acrylic frames. “I’m sure she’ll love them.”

I sat back in my seat of the Range Rover and pressed my hands together. It had been nearly a month since Francesca had agreed to bring Sofia and spend the summer with me in the UK. She’d asked for a few days to think about it, which only gave me a minor heart attack. But a few more nights together showing her that I loved her and our daughter more than anything on the planet had, in the end, convinced her to take the leap.

What was she going to do? Choose her brother’s stairwell landing over the love of her life?

Well, I hoped I was the love of her life. I knew without a doubt she was the love of mine.

Maybe that was why I felt so nervous now that I was about to pick her up from Heathrow. For the last four weeks, I’d been splitting my time between Paris and London, getting Jagger started on the next Parker Group location while preparing my flat for its two newest residents.

Meanwhile, my uncle was still missing from Corbray Hall, a fact that neither the police nor the private investigator I’d hired had any answers to. He’d gone stag hunting near Inverness at the beginning of May and had disappeared off the face of the earth. We shared no love, but I wouldn’t have wished the man dead. Particularly since he fulfilled nearly every role expected of the Duke of Kendal other than holding the title itself.

Now, that had to be me.

I shook my head. Somehow, I’d managed a few trips to Cumbria over the last few weeks. Enough to appoint a new steward and make sure the tenants were happy, nothing was burned down, and things were generally in order. So far, Freddy seemed to be doing all right. But I knew my stepbrother wasn’t a long-term solution.

I shook my head. I didn’t want to get sucked into the family drama right now. After five years, I was being forced to reacquaint myself again with what exactly it meant to be Rupert Parker’s son, even if he wasn’t around anymore. That in itself was hard enough without considering everyone else’s thoughts on the matter.

And right now, I had more important things to consider.

Two more important people, to be precise. Who were arriving from JFK in about thirty minutes.

I turned to my other side and nudged Jagger in the gut. God, I was nervous.

“I told you, I have to work up the numbers on Kendal before I can tell you whether or not we can reopen the pub there,” he said irritably. “It’s going to take some time.”

“It’s not that,” I said. “It’s the other…you know.”

I noticed Elsie stiffen. Shit. I should have waited until we were out of the car to ask.

Jagger glanced at me, then recognition dawned on his goateed face. “Right, right, right. Yeah, I picked it up. You sure you want it now, though?”

He nodded toward the front seat, where Elsie was clearly pretending not to listen.

I made a face. “Mmm. Maybe not. I want to be prepared, though. When the time’s right.”

Jagger nodded. “I’ll slip it to you when we’re out.”

“Oh, please.”

We both looked up to find Elsie spinning around in her seat to eye us both.

“I don’t know why you bother trying to hide things from me,” she informed me. “I saw the requisition form on your desk last week. So go on, then. I want to see it too.”

I drooped. I really couldn’t keep a secret from these two.

Elsie just pointedly looked at Jagger, who looked at me.

I shrugged. “Let’s have it, then.”

My best friend reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the small leather box I’d asked him to retrieve before picking me up. I took it from him, then held it out between the three of us. My stomach was in knots.

“Open it, then,” Elsie prodded. “We haven’t got all day.”

I flipped open the top, revealing the engagement ring I’d commissioned the day after I’d come back to New York. Not a week after Francesca had agreed to follow me here.

Elsie gasped.

Jagger hummed with approval.

I just nodded, satisfied with the result.

It was a nice ring. The best, in fact. I’d toured every major antique dealer until I’d found a setting that truly felt like Francesca—a Georgian cluster ring fashioned around 1800, right when her favorite novels took place. I could just see her looking at it, thinking of its history, fancying herself one of the characters from Jane Austen’s works . Elizabeth Bennett, probably. Although Fanny Price ran a close second.

Yes, I’d read both Pride and Prejudice and Mansfield Park . In fact, I’d read almost everything of Austen’s while I waited for Francesca to finish the school year and pack her things. I wanted to know why the woman was so bloody obsessed.

They weren’t half bad for something that old.

The stones of the ring, however, were new. They had been replaced with every pink diamond I—or at least the good men at Cartier—could track down. Forty-eight in all, clustered together like a bouquet of camellias and amounting to more than eight carats of pink stardust. It was perfect for her, and I couldn’t wait to see her wear it.

If, of course, she said yes.

“You’re not going to do it at the airport, are you?” Jagger asked.

I snapped the box shut and popped the ring into my jacket pocket. “Are you mad? I’ve had enough problems with the paparazzi without inviting them to my engagement.”

The tabloids had fixated on me after news of my uncle’s disappearance had hit the papers. It had been a few years since I’d been of interest. Errant dukes seem to do that in England, though once I faded out of the picture, so did their interest. But now that I was forced back into the position, the papers seemed to follow my every move. I probably should have sent Jagger alone to pick up Francesca and Sofia.

But I couldn’t. I needed to be the one to welcome my girls. Me and no one else.

The Range Rover pulled to a stop outside the terminal, and the three of us got out.

“Wait at the short stay car park, Ben,” I called to the driver. “Elsie will let you know when we’re ready.”

Ben nodded and pulled away.

I glanced around. We were at the far end of the terminal, away from the usual spot where the paps hung out, waiting for famous arrivals.

“There.” Jagger pointed to a man slouched against one of the big cement columns, a camera slung around his neck.

“Shit,” I muttered, turning away.

“I’ll talk to him,” Elsie said and immediately took off down the sidewalk. “Excuse me, sir!” she cried in her patented “old lady needs help” voice. “Can you please help me locate the departures for Valencia? I’m about to miss my flight, and I’ve no clue where I’m supposed to be!”

I smirked. Elsie visited her daughter and grandson in Spain at least once a month, and as a result, probably knew Heathrow better than most of its employees.

The photographer looked appropriately bewildered by being accosted by a shrieking twin of Dame Angela Lansbury.

On her cue, I followed Jagger into the terminal without being spotted. My height was always a giveaway, though right now I looked more like someone’s assistant than a CEO, dressed down in jeans, a T-shirt, and an Arsenal hoodie to cover my tattoos. Elsie could talk the ear off an elephant, but I’d likely be recognized again.

The ring in its box thumped against my chest with every step.

“Attention: Baggage from American Airlines Flight AAL124 from New York will be arriving at claim four.”

I turned at the announcement.

“Over there,” Jagger said, pointing to the stream of passengers appearing near the carousel just mentioned.

We walked toward them, and it was clear from their chatter that the lot of them were Americans. Francesca’s flight, no doubt about it.

“Easy.” Jagger laid a hand on my shoulder. “I know you’re excited to see your girl, mate, but you’re bouncing around like a boxer. Calm down.”

I stopped bobbing between my feet, but my gaze remained glued to the crowd. The passengers exiting customs were thinning now. Where was she? Fucking hell, this was exactly why I wanted to pay for a private plane. She wouldn’t let me, of course, stubborn minx. Barely allowed me to upgrade her and Sof to first class.

And then they were there. The security doors opened, and Francesca walked through carrying what looked like a month’s worth of luggage strapped across her chest, towing a booster seat in one hand and holding tightly to a bleary-eyed Sofia with the other.

She looked tired, of course. But still mind-blowingly gorgeous in a way she was never conscious of, and that only made her that much sexier. Casual as always in a pullover that fell off one shoulder and a pair of those tight yoga pants that made her arse look like it had been sculpted by Michelangelo. Hair loose and curly about her shoulders, she looked a bit like Jennifer Beals in Flashdance —one of my mum’s favorite movies. And, as it happens, my first childhood crush.

For a half-second, I could hear Mum teasing me after I’d watched the scene where she dances to “Maniac” for the thousandth time. I saw her smile when I swore up and down it was because I liked the choreography, not the way the actress looked in those legwarmers when she was running in place.

Not for the first time, I wondered what Mum would have thought of Francesca and the granddaughter we’d made her.

My chest squeezed so hard at the thought, I thought my heart might actually stop.

So this was what it felt like to love someone so much it hurt. Two someones, really. Fuck me, I really was done for.

“That them?” Jagger’s voice pulled me out of my daze.

He knew, of course. Anyone else would have known from the grin that was practically splitting my face in two.

My girls were here. Finally, they’d come home.

“Ces!” I shouted, unable to help myself.

I should have waited until she found me, of course, rather than calling any attention to myself in the crowded terminal. But instead I found myself jogging through the crowd, waving like a crazy man until Francesca and Sofia’s faces found me and promptly lit up like torches.

“Daddy!”

Most men might have had a heart attack when they heard that word used for them. But now, I’d never stop loving the way it sounded. Not coming from her. Not as she shook her mother off and darted through the crowd like a flea until she had the space to spring for me with everything her tiny legs could muster.

“Hey, peanut!” I caught Sofia’s flying leap into my arms, sweeping her off the ground and to my hip with ease. “You made it, did you? I’ve been waiting here for years.”

She’d grown over the last month. I was sure of it. Still tiny like her mum, but a father knows.

“You’re huge,” I informed her. “What’s Mummy been feeding you, eh? Super human growth juice?”

“She keeps trying to make oh-kimono-mocha,” Sofia informed me with her particular pronunciation of okonomiyaki that I’d never for the life of me correct. “But it doesn’t taste like yours, Dad.”

I grinned, touched my nose to hers. “’Course it doesn’t. That’s because Daddy’s got the magic touch.”

“I’ll say he does.”

We turned to find Francesca standing to my left, carrying the car seat, wearing her enormous backpack, and also towing the yacht-sized suitcase behind her.

“Shit,” I said. “You didn’t have to do that, babe. I would’ve gotten it for you.”

“I didn’t mind.”

There was no passive aggression in her tone. Instead of being upset I’d been too busy reuniting with my daughter to help with her bag, Francesca was watching the two of us with the same expression of a cat who’d just found a massive bowl of cream. Satisfaction, that’s what that was. And love.

Which reminded me of another kind of satisfaction I could bring her.

I leaned down and pressed a short but extremely thorough kiss to that heart-shaped mouth. Fuck, she tasted good. Even after seven hours on the plane, she still had the flavor of tea, honey, a bit of lavender, and something that was just her. Heaven, that’s what it was.

“God, I’ve missed you,” I mumbled against her lips.

They curved into that sweet smile, and if I wasn’t mistaken, those were her hands that reached around for a cheeky grab of my arse.

“Right back at you, chef,” she said.

And just like that, I was half hard.

“Fuck, you little minx. What do you think you’re doing?”

“Swear jar, Daddy.”

We broke apart to find Sofia, still perched in my right arm, holding out her little hand expectantly. With a sigh, I fished a pound coin out of my pocket and handed it to her.

She looked at it. “That’s not enough. It’s a dollar for each swear.”

“We don’t have those in the UK, babe. That’s one pound sterling—worth more than a dollar, I’ll have you know.”

Sofia shook her head, causing her shiny black curls to bounce around her face. “No, it’s not.”

I frowned. “Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not. It’s a coin. Dollars are paper. Everyone knows that.”

I sighed and swallowed back the urge to argue. Five seconds off the plane, and she was already at it. I’d give my life in a second for this tiny creature, but she already knew how to press my buttons like no one else.

“Let’s not start that again,” Francesca cooed, taking Sofia from me and dropping her to the ground. “This one barely slept on the plane. Can we get out of here? She needs dinner and a nap, pronto.”

“Absolutely,” I said. “My car’s waiting outside. Come on, girls.”

I walked them toward the exit, where Jagger was waiting, soon joined by Elsie. Both of them looked excited. But also a little worried.

“Jagger. Els. This is Francesca and Sofia. Girls, these are the people who make my life work, Jagger Harrington and Elsie Bledsoe.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Francesca greeted each of them warmly with a kiss on the cheek. “We’ve heard so much.”

Sofia hid behind her mother, though I could tell she was curious about both of them. She really must have been tired. Any other time, and she would have been interrogating them about their favorite Disney characters.

“Has Ben brought round the car?” I asked Elsie.

“He has, but, sir, you might want to choose another?—”

“Meet us out front,” I barked, unwilling to wait any longer.

“Mate,” Jagger said. “You should probably?—”

“Sir—”

Eager to be done with the airport, I grabbed Francesca’s bags with one hand, her hand with the other, and towed her and Sofia out the door, followed by Jagger and Elsie.

We only made it about five feet.

“Xavier!”

“Your Grace!”

“Your Grace, over here!”

Flashes went off everywhere, brighter than the sun and much more invasive. It seemed Elsie’s ploy hadn’t worked as well as I thought. Where there had been one photographer, now there were at least fifteen, all of them crowding the exit like flies to honey.

“Back off,” I snarled, trying, and failing, to see around them to the Escalade.

The paps, however, were ruthless, forming a wall of cameras and notepads as they continued peppering me with questions.

“Your Grace, is it true your uncle is still missing?”

“Is he dead?”

“Did you kill him?”

“Who’s that with you?”

“Why are you holding her hand?”

“How do you know the child?”

“Is that your love child?”

“Are you dating a single mum?”

“Mommy?” I heard Sofia wonder through a voice choked with tears. “Mommy, what’s happening?”

“I don’t know, baby,” Francesca murmured, picking her up and cowering behind me. “Xavi, what’s going on?”

I couldn’t answer, only because I didn’t know exactly what to say. More photographers were already arriving, and now other people were joining the fray, eager to learn what all the fuss was. The Escalade might as well have been on the other side of the world.

So I pushed myself in front of them silently and did whatever I could to shield them from the chaos, still wondering how the hell I could explain this once I had the chance.

Because how do you tell the people you love that you unwittingly just invited them to a scavenger hunt?

And what’s more, they turned out to be the vultures’ next meal?

To Be Continued in Then Come Lies

Out March 30th: Preorder here.

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