Epilogue

EPILOGUE

EVANGELINE

I ’ve missed the dry Arizona air and today the clouds string patterns over the blue sky, making it at least bearable to hold an outdoor press conference.

“I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for my husband, who supported this project from the minute I told him about it, and all the generous support I’ve received from donors,” I say to a group of local news reporters and then catch Darren’s eye front and center. He gives me a proud smile as he squints into the sun. “I’m proud to be able to open the first Mirabella Mitchell House for battered women, named after my grandmother, who taught me what it truly means to be compassionate.”

I grab the huge pair of scissors to cut the red ribbon that’s tied to both posts on the front porch. After a few tries, it finally cuts through and everyone claps.

“Mrs. Walker,” one of the reporters calls out. “How many women will be moving in?”

“Great question. We renovated the house so there are eight bedrooms and two bathrooms with a shared kitchen and living room. But the great part about Mirabella House is that it’s meant to be temporary, and that’s why we’ve partnered with the Arizona Coalition for Domestic Violence.”

The house has been restored back to its original beauty that I remembered from my early childhood with the help of some old photos that were left behind. There are plans to partner with local business to help the women get back on their feet and find jobs. I saw how much good Compton House did for battered women and wanted to do the same for women in Arizona.

“Will you be staying and managing the house?” someone asks.

“The house will be managed by a wonderful volunteer from the Coalition. I haven’t convinced my husband to move to Arizona yet,” I joke.

“Too hot!” he yells over the crowd, and they laugh.

“Does your husband have any plans to widen the scope of his political career?”

I look at Darren, and he gives me one of his wolfish grins. “He’s still settling into his role, and there’s still a lot of work to be done in the fifth district of Virginia,” I respond.

“Would you like to see what it looks like inside?” I ask the crowd and get a unanimous yes by way of clapping.

I walk into the house with Darren while everyone else follows. The coverage this gets will help to get the word out and help our funding to grow. We’ve already received some great donations and grants, one of which was from Catharina Hale.

Through the crowd, I see bright red hair. “Belinda!” I give her a big hug and then notice the nice-looking older man standing at her side.

“This is my husband Bobby,” she introduces us.

“So nice to finally meet you,” I say, shaking his hand.

“Darren,” I grab his arm and pull him over. “You remember Belinda, and this is her husband.”

“I still got mace in here and I know how to use it,” Belinda expresses, patting her purse with a smile.

Darren laughs nervously. “Is she always this scary?” he questions Bobby.

“No comment,” Bobby offers with a laugh.

“I trained him well,” Belinda whispers to me but loud enough for us all to hear.

Eddie walks tentatively into the kitchen, his hands in his pockets. “You came!”

“Well, I figured, since I donated the coffee and the pastries,” he grumbles.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Darren snakes his arm around my waist and pulls me into him. “I am so proud of you,” he expresses.

Looking around the house, an overwhelming sadness comes over me, and Darren notices. He rubs my arms. “There’s a lot of people that should be here with us today,” he acknowledges, and I drop my forehead onto his chest.

I knew today would be emotional. I guess I just didn’t think it would hit me so hard.

“I have the plane ready for us to leave right after this,” Darren announces.

“I wish we didn’t have to leave so soon,” I tell him.

“Special session.’ He shrugs apologetically and then releases me as one of the reporters heads in our direction.

T he clouds turn a dark pink and orange as the sun sets. Darren takes my hand and leads me up the stairs of the jet. It’s been a long day and I just want to sink into Darren’s lap once the plane takes off and fall asleep on his chest. We get to our seats, and I see a book resting on the cushion, A Moveable Feast .

I pick it up and turn it over in my hand, smiling.

“Can I get you something to drink?” the stewardess interrupts.

Before I can answer, Darren suggests, “Two champagnes.” He gives me a wink.

“Are we celebrating something?” I inquire.

“We have lots of things to celebrate.”

I hold the book out. “I already have a copy,” I explain, even though my copy is falling apart.

He smiles, running a hand through his hair.

“This one’s special,” he says.

“I know I ruined the other one you gave me, but you didn’t have to replace it,” I hold the book out to him, but he shakes his head.

“Maybe you’ll want to read it on the flight,” he offers expectantly with a nervous smile, and that’s when I notice how odd he’s acting.

The stewardess returns with two champagne flutes and sets them on the table in front of our seats. “We’ll be ready to taxi shortly,” she smiles.

I tuck the book under my arm and take my seat next to Darren. He reaches over and pulls my seatbelt tight. “For safety,” he says.

He keeps looking at the book in my lap. “Are you okay?” I ask.

“Fine, why?” he adjusts the collar of his shirt.

“You’re being weird.”

“What should we toast?” he ignores me and picks up the glass, handing it to me.

I bite my lip. “To surviving being married to you,” I tease.

He laughs. “How about to the opening of the Mirabella Mitchell House?”

“I will drink to that.” I clink my glass with his and take a sip. He peers at me over the glass with his greenish gold eyes and dark hair falling into his face.

“You need a haircut when we get home.” I push the stray pieces off his forehead.

“I’ve been too busy to make an appointment,” he explains, and it’s true.

“Ever since you won the election it’s been non-stop. I feel like we’ve barely seen each other,” I say, placing my hand on his thigh.

“Which is why we need a vacation.”

“That sounds nice, but how are we going to manage that? You said you have a special session, and I have meetings,” I ramble, and he places a finger to my lips.

“Aren’t you going to open the book?” he requests.

“Why? Did you get Hemingway to sign it to me?” I tease. “Dear Evangeline, your husband is relentless, and I came back from the dead just to sign this book to you…”

“Don’t be a smart ass,” he cuts me off and I giggle.

“First editions aren’t worth that much you know.” I turn it over in my hand.

“That’s not the point,” he replies.

I roll my eyes. “Has anyone ever told you how pretentious you are?”

“Many, many, many times,” he teases back.

I shake my head, laughing.

“Just open the damn book already,” he demands.

I look at him skeptically before flipping open the cover. The pages have been hollowed out to contain a small velvet box. I close the book quickly and look over at him.

I shake my head in confusion.

Darren slides out of his seat and kneels in front of me. I can feel my chest expand and tears prick at the corners of my eyes.

“Darren?”

“Open the book,” he requests quietly, and I carefully open the cover again as if there’s a live bomb inside.

He takes the ring box out.

“But we’re already married…”

“Just let me do it the right way this time,” he says, with a nervous tremble to his voice.

He opens the box to reveal a thin antique band with a pink stone at the center surrounded by diamonds.

I put my hand over my mouth because I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. I play nervously with the cheap gold-plated ring he purchased from the chapel in Vegas. I’ve become attached to this ring.

“You didn’t have to get me a new one. I like the one I have. It’s special,” I say, holding out my hand between us to show him.

He looks up at me with watery green eyes and I can barely contain my own tears. Sentiment threatens to unravel me.

He takes the ring out of the box and holds my hand. “It was my mother’s.”

The tears blur my vision and spill over onto my cheek.

“If there is one thing I know for sure, it’s that my mother would have wanted you to have this,” he explains, and slides the ring on my finger.

“Evangeline Walker, will you do me the immense pleasure of becoming my wife—again?” he asks with conviction.

I nod my head, unable to form the words. The seat belt prevents me from sliding out of my chair and onto his lap. I struggle to get it unclasped and once I do, I wrap my arms around him and he lifts me up.

I take his face in my hands and look into his eyes. He’s my safe space, my comfort, my everything.

“Thank you,” I say.

“For what?” he asks.

“For loving me the way you do.”

“Is that a yes?” he asks.

“Yes,” I whisper.

He runs a hand over my hair, his thumb brushing against my wet cheek. “You’ve ruined me, Evangeline. There’s no one else in this lifetime that could ruin me the way you have.”

I kiss him with a slow and steady fervor, like the kindling of a fire that burns through me.

“If two people love each other, there can be no happy end to it,” he whispers against my lips.

“Hemingway.”

The door to the plane opens and Alistair barges in. “Que la fête commence!”

We both glare at him.

“Did I interrupt something?” he asks innocently.

I laugh and shake my head.

“I waited as long as I could,” he explains, plopping down in one of the chairs.

“I didn’t know you spoke French.” I say, planting my hand on my hip.

“I am a man of many talents. Besides, I need to practice before we get to Paris,” he explains and then inspects his fingernails.

I turn to Darren. “What’s he talking about? And why is here?”

Darren pinches the bridge of his nose. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

He glares at Alistair.

“What?” he asks innocently.

“Are we going to Paris?” I ask Darren.

“Oui?” he answers tentatively.

“I can’t believe you planned all this.” I say excitedly. “But Alistair?” I whisper, giving Darren a face.

“I heard that,” Alistair observes.

There’s a ruckus on the stairs of the plane and then Cleo bursts through the door with her leopard print bag, holding a book in her hand. “Ugh!” she drops her bag. “Fucking traffic and some asshole cuts me off and then has the nerve to give me the finger. I thought I was gonna miss the flight,” she says in a huff.

I cross the distance and give her a tight hug.

“I thought you couldn’t make it to the opening of Mirabella House,” I accuse and give her a friendly punch to the arm.

She shrugs. “I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“Very sneaky, Darren Walker,” I tease, and he winks at me.

“I wasn’t gonna miss this wedding,” she comments.

“Wedding?” I ask, looking at Darren.

“Oops.” Cleo places a hand over her mouth.

“Now I know the two of you can’t be trusted keeping anything a secret,” Darren accuses, and both Cleo and Alistair glare back at him.

“What does she mean wedding?” I ask Darren.

He gives me a bashful smile. “I wanted to give you a real wedding and maybe convince you there is no such thing as the Paris Syndrome, because I will make sure it is everything you hoped it would be.”

I think I might cry all over again. “I don’t have a dress or anything.”

“Already taken care of. All you have to do is show up,” he smiles.

Cleo plops down in the seat next to Alistair and opens her book.

Alistair plucks it from her hands. “Is this a French translation book?” he inspects it.

“Yes,” she plucks it back out of his hands. “I’ve been studying.”

“You can’t learn French from a book, you have to immerse yourself,” Alistair starts to explain.

“Not everyone has the luxury of skipping off to Paris and immersing themselves , Frenchie,” Cleo exaggerates. “Besides, I took French in high school,” she offers.

“Oh yeah?” Alistair lifts an eyebrow.

“The only thing I remember is voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?” she says, and Alistair chokes on the glass of champagne he snatched.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have invited them,” Darren questions.

I laugh. “Darren Walker, if you bought me a Jessica Rabbit wedding dress I will not walk down that aisle.” I would walk down that aisle wearing nothing at all if he was waiting for me at the end.

With cool confidence, he walks me towards the back of the plane where the bedroom is.

“Darren, we have guests,” I laugh but the minute he opens the door, there it is and my eyes immediately well up with tears.

Inside the clear plastic bag is the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen.

“It’s the dress from the bridal shop in Vegas. I can’t believe you remembered that.”

“I remember everything,” he answers, his hazel eyes holding me captive.

As he kicks the door shut behind him, I wag my finger in front of him. “Ah, ah. Not before the wedding,” I tease.

“You should know by now, Mrs. Walker, I’m no virgin.” He gives me that wolfish grin and picks me up in his arms.

“You know it’s rude to leave your guests unattended!” Alistair calls from the other side of the door and I laugh against Darren’s lips.

“Fucking Alistair,” Darren groans.