Epilogue

EPILOGUE

Elise

Twilight drapes over Montmartre. Strings of flickering lights hang from the iron posts that hug my courtyard.

That’s all I have for my wedding decorations, and that’s all I want. With the soft light fading above us in the sky, and the curving cobbled street beyond the front yard, this is the ideal setting.

Christian taps a spoon against a champagne glass, and all our guests quiet down. I stand next to him at the top of my steps, my arm around his waist. “Thank you so much for coming today and for joining us as we tie the knot again,” he says.

Our friends and family cheer, and the ceremony begins. There is no aisle to walk down, no flower girls tossing petals, no string quartet playing tunes. This is a simple ceremony, but already it’s my favorite one.

Because everyone who matters is here. Gathered in my small front yard, which blooms with August’s soft pink and pale-yellow snapdragons, are all the people who matter most to us. Joy holds hands with Griffin, Erik stands next to Veronica, Oliver is here too, my family is gathered close, and Christian’s mom is here as well as his father and his wife. Christian’s not close to his dad, but it still feels right that he’s present.

The officiant clears his throat and marries us once again. This ceremony is nearly as fast as our first one, but it’s better because we can finally say out loud how we feel.

“I promise to love you, cherish you, and adore you for as long as we both shall live,” I tell him, and Christian says the same words to me.

“Kiss the bride, finally, will ya?”

Christian laughs at his brother’s directive, then says to me, “I’ll keep doing that for the rest of my life.”

He kisses me under the twilight sky on our street, in front of my home, where we now live together.

I loop my hands around his neck, and I’m still holding a bouquet of flowers, tied together with a slim rope. It’s a true hodgepodge, with a few roses, some stargazer lilies, a couple of daisies, and some zinnias. This melting pot of petals is courtesy of my new blog readers, the ones who follow my occasional posts about flowers. They didn’t send me a perfume bottle, and I didn’t want one. Instead they chose the flowers for my bouquet. Lilies for beauty, daisies for innocence, roses for love, and zinnias for lasting affection. I love that it’s completely haphazard and completely meaningful in a whole new way.

Most of all, I love that the promise of the zinnias feels possible as I kiss my husband once more.

Later that night, we all go out to dinner down the road, where we pretty much take over the five-table bistro, toasting with endless glasses of champagne and wine. At one point, Christian grabs me as I walk by and pulls me into his lap. He wraps his arms around me and nuzzles my neck. “At last. I can finally be a kept man.”

I laugh and drop a kiss to the end of his nose. “You know what that means, if you really want to be my trophy husband?”

“What does it mean?”

“It means you have to service my needs, any night, any time I request.”

He puffs out his chest. “I believe I do that already.”

“And I think you’re pretty damn good at it.”

Christian is anything but a kept man. He’s his own man, carving out the life he wants, picking up the jobs he wants, whether it’s talking all day for dignitaries or businessmen, or advising top companies on entering new markets. He makes his own choices, and most of all, he doesn’t let it demand all his attention, like he did in his twenties. He’s learned how to take in work at a pace that makes him happy.

As for me, I’m still working hard, and hope to for a long time, since I love my job and taking care of my employees. Most of all, I love having the kind of relationship that consumes me at night and brings me peace during the day.

I suppose it was fate that brought Christian into my life one fine summer day on a boat tour, but it’s not going to be fate that keeps him in it.

It’s going to be me, loving this man, and giving him my heart all the days of my life.