Epilogue

“Did you know that when a male and female anglerfish mate, they melt into each other and share bodies forever? When the anglerfish bloke finds a willing participant, he latches and fuses with her. He loses his eyes and a load of his internal organs until they share a bloodstream.” Devon strokes my hand lovingly, peering at me from his seat by my hospital bed.

“Wow,” I say dryly, holding my breath to stop the pain. “Sounds familiar.”

I turn to Nurse Pretending She’s Not There, who beams at both of us like she’s just given birth, popping my chart back onto the edge of my bed. “I just felt another contraction, and this one was baaaaaad.”

So bad I thought my stomach was about to rip in two.

“When’s Doctor Bjorn coming?” Devon demanded, spurring into action. “My wife is in pain.”

“Your wife is not the first woman ever to give birth,” Nurse About to Get Punched notes mildly. She moves to re-fluff the pillows behind me. “Two different doctors came in for a checkup and said everything is perfectly fine. Doctor Bjorn is dealing with some light traffic. He’ll be here in a few minutes. You can always opt for an epidural.” She peers down at me, shrugging.

“Are you kidding me? I want this kid to know how much I suffered for her and hold it over her head for eternity.”

She laughs.

I don’t know why.

I am not kidding.

“Sweetheart, we’re fine. You’ve still got time,” Devon coos, stroking my hair out of my face. It’s all nice and romantic, and yet I’m about to push an eight-pound human out of me without any drugs. I slap his hand away. “Go get me Doctor Bjorn.”

“As you wish, Mrs. Whitehall.” He cannot speed out of the room fast enough, and I remain with Nurse Looking at Me Like I’m Crazy.

Devon and I married each other shortly after we came back from England. It was a small, intimate ceremony in Madame Mayhem. The bridesmaids wore red lingerie and garters and couldn’t say shit about it. My wedding—my rules. Sam Brennan almost punched the walls down in the room when he saw his wife ushering me across the aisle in lingerie.

Things have been really awesome between us. Almost too awesome. Sometimes I wake up in the morning and think, Today is going to be the day I screw this up and bail on him. Or more often than not, Today is going to be the day that he leaves me. That he finally understands that I’m too damaged, too broken, or simply too much.

But somehow neither of these things happen, and I finish my days in the same way: draped over my husband, sharing our stories and experiences from the day, watching TV, laughing, and unveiling piece after piece of one another.

I know there will come a day when I eventually stop worrying that he is going to break me too. That day might not be today, or even tomorrow, but it will arrive.

Devon Whitehall, after all, is the man who taught me the most important life lesson—that you can still believe.

“I got you a doctor.” Devon bursts into the room now, panting. “One you know, no less.”

“Is it Doctor Bjorn?” I bark, twisting in my hospital bed. “Is it just me or is the baby half-out?” Something’s going on between my legs, but for obvious reasons, I’m not in a physical position to bend down and check.

“Better,” Devon says, and he and Aisling appear in front of me.

My face falls. “I’m not letting this bitch see my vagina!”

But she is already walking over to the little sink and washing her hands, slapping on a pair of fresh plastic gloves. “I’ve seen worse.”

“Oh, I don’t mean that. It looks fantastic. I just don’t feel like I’m ready to take our relationship to the next level,” I huff.

But then there’s another contraction, and I scream, and Devon and Aisling rush toward me.

“Sweven,” Devon utters in pain, wiping the sweat from my brow lovingly. “I’m so sorry I put you in this position.”

“You put me in twenty-seven different ones. That’s why we’re here,” I quip.

“Still don’t want my help?” Aisling elevates an eyebrow. “Because I’m happy to call another doctor.”

“Doctor Lynne is here,” Nurse No One Asked You volunteers unhelpfully. I don’t know Doctor Lynne. And Doctor Bjorn is obviously too busy braving the Boston traffic.

“Fine!” I throw my hands in the air. “Fine. Just get this baby out of me, Ash!”

Devon snatches my hand, Aisling gets to business, and twenty minutes later—just when Doctor Bjorn enters the room full of apologies—Nicola Zara Constance Whitehall is born (and before you ask: of course I added Constance to make sure everyone knows she’s a royal).

I am not exaggerating when I say my newborn is the prettiest I’ve ever seen. With smooth, pink skin, bright eyes, and the pinkest lips. She is fragile, innocent, and perfect. I want to protect her from every possible harm. I know I can’t but at least for now, I can. But for later, when she grows up, all I can do is try and raise her to be as strong as her mother.

“My goodness, she looks just like her mother.” Devon kisses me, then Nicola, then hugs Aisling close.

With my beautiful baby in my arms, and my friends and family waiting outside, I know one thing—everything will not be okay.

Because it’s already perfect.

Six Months Later.

I donate Whitehall Court Castle to the English Heritage Foundation. It becomes a museum. A part of me—an extremely miniscule part of me—is sad that I’m giving up the marquess title. That I will not be in England to ensure Nicola inherits some sort of title. But most of me is glad I am out of this place I could never truly call home.

Nicola is growing at a fast pace. Currently, she is sporting a shock of white curls that look suspiciously like Ramen noodles. She tries to sink her gums into anything she can get her chubby hands on and is a complete delight.

Emmabelle got back to work a month ago. She appointed Ross the official manager of Madame Mayhem and is now focusing on her latest venture. She opened a nonprofit organization for women and men who have been sexually assaulted, providing therapy and help with finding work and getting back on their feet.

Her new secretary, actually—the person to replace Simon and do all the filing and administrative work—is Donna Hammond, Frank’s ex-girlfriend. She has a baby boy now. His name is Thomas and sometimes, when he and Nicola are in the same room, they stare at each other with wide, wait-you’re-a-tiny-human-too expressions.

Now I’m picking up my wife from her parents’. Nicola naps blissfully in the back of my Bentley. I catch my father-in-law watering the plants on the front porch and roll the passenger window down.

“Hey, John, would you tell Belle I’m outside?”

He looks up from the flowers, smiles, and nods. Dumping the hose on the grass, he walks into the house and comes back with my wife. Their arms are laced together, and he opens the passenger seat for her and kisses her on the temple before taking a step back.

“Drive safely,” he instructs, peeking at Nicola in the back seat, smiling. “She is growing so fast.”

“Don’t they all,” Belle murmurs.

“I love you, Belly-Belle.”

“Love you, Daddy.”

Belle and I drive to Logan International Airport. The entire journey, my stomach is in knots.

“It’s going to be fine,” Belle assures me, rubbing at my thigh.

“I know. It’s just been a while.”

“She’s still your family,” my wife points out.

I know that too.

When we reach the airport and unbuckle Nicola from her car seat and put her in the carrier strapped onto Belle, my wife automatically heads toward the stairway from the parking lot to the main floor.

“No.” I grab her hand, squeezing. “Let’s take the elevator.”

She whips her head around, frowning. “You sure?”

“Positive, darling.”

We wait at the appropriate gate, and even though I’ve put my family’s woes behind me, I’m still on pins and needles. The dumbwaiter had been sealed up shortly after I took control over the estate. It helped soothe some of my anxiety over my claustrophobia, but not all of it.

When Cecilia gave me a call and asked if she could come and see Baby Nicola, I said yes. She wasn’t, after all, my mother nor my father. She never tried to kill me. When I asked Belle if I should offer to pay for Cecilia’s flight and accommodations, she said, “Absolutely not. Let her show you that she’s changed.”

And she has. Cecilia paid for everything for this trip with the money she makes working at a library near the university she goes to. She’s a changed woman.

When I see my sister coming out of the terminal’s gate, I rush toward her, my heart feeling lighter. She looks the same—perhaps she lost a couple pounds—but her smile is different. Genuine. Carefree.

We meet halfway, share a bone-crushing hug, and she cries into my shoulder. I let her. I know she feels it too. Orphaned. After all, when it was all done and dealt with, Ursula turned her back on her too and went to live in London with a friend.

“Thank you for giving me another chance,” Cecilia murmurs into my shoulder.

“Thank you for wanting one.”

I feel my wife’s hand on my back, supporting me, hugging me from behind, making sure I’m never out of balance.

“Come on,” Belle says softly. “Let’s go make some new family memories.”

So we do.

The End