Epilogue

T he same preacher who married Ben and Lucy agreed to marry Junior and Isa after Christmas.

Isa expected Christmastime to allow them to express their love now that everyone knew about their surprise engagement. Instead, their upcoming nuptials gave everyone the incentive to meddle. Sol and Ben tried their utmost to keep Isa and Junior appropriately apart before their wedding. Sol took Isa to Huntsville for a Christmas shopping trip for their family. As soon as they returned, Ben spirited Junior away to shop for the Stones. Poppy was determined to make Isa's wedding gown, so Isa was obligated to assist with the children.

When Isa did see Junior, it was always in the company of several other well-meaning people. Her skin felt tight and hot when he looked at her, and it was obvious to everyone what he was thinking. She couldn't tease or laugh it off; she was too miserable. Now that she'd had his kisses, had felt the weight of his body on hers, had experienced the fullness of him inside of her…it was all she could think about.

She wanted him so much it hurt.

Christmas was to be held at Junior's house—her future home—this year, and already, she had plans to corner him and have her way with him. Plotting how to go about it in her finest dress, a dusky blue velvet that matched the Stone eyes, she mixed savory biscuits at Junior's kitchen table. Lucy and Poppy had just stepped outside for a cool breeze.

"What are you doin'?" asked a deep voice in her ear.

Every one of her hairs stood on end, and Isa suppressed a shiver. "Helping with Christmas dinner. What are you doing? Avoiding work?"

Junior nuzzled her sensitive neck, and her eyes drifted closed. Immediately, her body was heavy and painfully aroused. "No, I'm comin' in here to bother my future wife."

Isa turned her head, and they shared a hot, open-mouthed kiss that went on and on…until a child's shriek broke them apart.

"Uncle Junior is kissin' Aunt Isa!" shouted Samuel. When he caught the look in Junior's eye, he whirled and ran outside to tell anyone who would listen.

"Shit," Junior hissed. But, instead of clearing out, he turned back around, cupped the back of Isa's neck, and kissed her again with that same hungry ferocity.

"That's enough, you two!" Lucy shouted behind them. "I'm going to hear about this from Samuel for months."

Junior broke away with a reluctant groan. "But I have this." He held up a green sprig for Lucy's inspection.

Lucy smacked it to the floor. "That isn't even mistletoe, you scoundrel."

Isa laughed, and he turned on her, his darkblue eyes twinkling. "I figured you'd appreciate a little Christmas kiss."

She would appreciate much more than that, but now that Poppy was walking in, Isa wasn't about to announce her deepest longings before the sisters of her heart. "Well, you've had it. Now, make yourself scarce, or we're putting you to work."

"Aw, come on, Izzy—"

"Stop your whining." Isa laid her sticky, doughy hand against his mouth, effectively silencing him.

It was the wrong thing to do.

Junior grabbed her, snatched a handful of flour off the tabletop, and smeared her face with a streak of white. After that, it was pandemonium. By the time Ben and Sol burst inside the crowded kitchen to see what the fuss was about, Isa and Junior had fallen to the floor, coated with a fine dusting of flour and weak with laughter.

"I think they went crazy," Lucy muttered to Ben, her lips twitching.

"I'd be crazy, too, if I didn't get to touch you for weeks," Ben murmured back, dimples creasing his cheeks.

Suddenly, a wide-eyed Matthew appeared at the door of the kitchen. "Pa, some old lady is here sayin' she's Uncle Junior's mama."

The laughter ceased. Junior and Isa scrambled up, sharing a panicked look.

"I'm a fright," she hissed at him. She had never met his mother before, and here she was, looking like she had fallen face-first in a flour sack.

Junior patted her shoulders and wiped her face, helped by Lucy and Poppy. Then he abruptly stopped. "Stop. You're perfect the way you are. Look at us."

His grin made her wonder if he really had gone mad. "I see us. We look like bedlamites."

"No, we look crazy for each other. Come on. Meet my ma."

And so, Junior and Isa met Loretta Stone in the foyer, coated in flour and grinning ear to ear.

A change had come over the elder Mrs. Stone. A softness. Whether she was temporarily inspired by the holidays or moved by fear to make more of a conscious effort to be a part of Junior's life, Isa didn't know. All she knew was the woman looked half scared to death in her enormous hat and expensive dress, holding a large, wrapped parcel like it was a branch and she was swept up in floodwaters.

"Mother," Junior said simply. He held out his hand to take her hat.

"I'm not staying long, dear," Loretta said tremulously, her eyes darting to the open kitchen doorway where Lucy and Ben Stone stood. "I-I brought a present for the children."

Lucy's dark, winged brows shot up, and she stepped forward. "Thank you, Mrs. Stone." She accepted the package from the woman before falling back, shoulder to shoulder with her husband.

Loretta swallowed visibly and nodded her head at Ben. "Hello, Benjamin. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Loretta," Ben said gravely. Lucy slid her hand into his.

Finally, the woman's faded-blue eyes met Isa. "And you must be Isadora. How do you do?"

Isa didn't correct her. "Very well, Mrs. Stone. Merry Christmas."

"Please call me Loretta."

"Loretta, then." Isa's eyes skated to Junior, and he jerked out of his frozen gawking.

"Did you get our invitation to our wedding? It'll be in Dogwood this Saturday."

"I did indeed," his mother sniffed, and everyone held their breath, waiting for insult. Instead, a fire lit Loretta's eyes. "Your father shan't attend, but no old general or even an army could keep me from sitting in that first pew. When are you leaving for the Continent?"

"Right after the new year." Junior sounded as surprised as everyone felt.

"I expect a postal card from every country you visit, dear." She pecked his cheek, nodded once to everyone, and left.

"Well, I'll be damned," Junior murmured. "My mother just gave us her blessing."

"Let's hope her blessing doesn't curse us," Isa said thoughtfully, then squeaked when Junior pinched her.

The rest of Christmas was merry indeed. Junior gifted Isa a Colt revolver engraved with a sunflower on each side of the grip. When she opened it, she jumped in his lap, lamenting that she'd only bought him a traveling suit. He whispered in her ear that he loved it, and he expected her to take it off him any time she wanted.

Later, Poppy distracted Sol with the baby long enough for Isa and Junior to escape outside. They made it only to the nearest outbuilding, where Junior took her roughly against the wooden siding. It didn't last long for either of them.

"Merry Christmas," Isa breathlessly murmured against his lips, then opened her mouth for his plundering tongue.

They were married the next week, he in a black suit with an emerald vest and she in an intricate gown of the same green hue, her hair in cascading, ironed curls down her back. Loretta Stone dabbed her eyes on the first row, and Lucy dabbed along with her, accidentally letting it slip later that being in the family way made her leak like a faucet.

Isa couldn't remember ever being so happy.

JUNIOR COULDN'T REMEMBER ever being so happy.

The last seven months felt like a dream.

He hadn't realized the world was so big, so different, especially compared to small-town life in Texas. It made his problems feel small, made him feel small. The rigors of traveling in foreign lands had changed them. And yet, time flowed differently in Europe. Everything was slower. Leisurely. He and Isa shared how they felt like entirely different people, yet not. Junior loved the long days of hearing other languages and dialects, seeing unfamiliar animals, and gaping at extraordinary geography. One of the wedding gifts he'd received from Isa was a small, leather-bound sketchbook, and half its pages were filled with intricate drawings of architecture and landscapes. The most beautiful place he'd seen thus far was Switzerland. It was a place from a painting, otherworldly and vivid.

But his favorite place in the world, he discovered, was bedding down with the woman who had come to symbolize comfort and familiarity.

Isa had bloomed.

She smiled so big and often that seeing her gapped teeth was commonplace. At her breast lay a locket he'd gifted her on their wedding day. Inside was a miniature daguerreotype of them in their wedding finery, and even Junior was impressed at the handsome couple they made. It was no wonder they turned heads no matter the country they were in. Isa chalked it up to their uncommon height, but Junior knew it was because he walked arm in arm with the most beautiful woman in the world.

It was late summer, and they were spending steamy evenings in a rented villa in Tuscany.

"This is my favorite place," Junior mumbled around a crust of herb and oil-soaked bread. They lounged half-nude on the bed, the window opened to let in air fragrant from nearby olive groves.

"Shall we stay here forever?" Isa asked, lifting a hand to touch the white, gauzy curtain floating toward her in the breeze. Her golden wedding ring sparkled on her finger.

"Why not? The renters like us alright."

"Like us? We're practically family. You wouldn't invite strangers you ‘like' to your daughter's wedding," Isa explained, rubbing her bare foot along his hairy calf. She wore one of the silk chemises Poppy had sewn her as a wedding gift, and her nipples stood out against the cream material.

Feeling himself rousing—an hourly occurrence, married to Isa—Junior reached across the wooden tray for a grape they'd harvested just that morning. "I think they just wanted to show us off to their family members like a couple of circus performers."

"They do quite like when Mirage steals people's hats and gloves." She chuckled, then flinched. "What are you doing?"

Junior had pulled her chemise over her waist and set a grape in the exposed dip of her navel. It balanced there, lush, round, and purple against Isa's pale skin. The rest of her skin was just as pale; the tan on her arms and face had faded after a winter in London and France. While they traveled, Isa dressed piously to avoid cultural upset. Alone in villas and inn rooms, however, she lived in her little silken confections.

"Be still," he ordered softly. "Don't let it roll off."

Curious, Isa followed instructions. She'd tamed somewhat over the months. They hadn't fought since crossing the Alps when Mirage had turned up lame from the rough terrain, and another layer of depth had been lain over the foundation of their shocking marriage. Their passion wasn't just conflagrant—it had grown as deep as a Scottish loch. Junior had studied her body with a woodworker's intensity, running hands over every curve, memorizing every lush dimension. With that study came trust.

Isa held still while he carefully pulled the straps of her chemise down her shoulders, revealing her breasts. He grabbed two more grapes, bit each in half, and tried to balance them on her nipples.

She began to laugh, knocking them off completely. "What in heaven's name are you doing?"

"I'm trying to recreate one of those paintings where fruit and fig leaves hide the woman's private parts. Hold still, now. You're ruining my masterpiece," Junior said sternly.

Still laughing, but quietly, Isa lay motionless to his ministrations and allowed him to bare her completely until she was fully exposed except for an array of oddly placed fruit and bread.

"There. See? Bellissima ." He kissed his fingertips as he'd seen done on the streets of Siena.

Isa looked down, saw the strange assortment of antipasti on her body, and broke into laughter again. Everything rolled off, and Junior made an exaggerated noise of affront that sounded convincingly Italian.

"You ruined my art, madam," he growled. He replaced everything back on the tray and rolled atop her. He was already randy, but her whooping laughter didn't subside. It wasn't until he trailed kisses down the seam of her ribs, over her navel, and past the dark-blonde curls between her legs that she sobered. Their lovemaking never failed to be intense, often creative, and always shattering. Once she was properly subdued and making a different set of noises completely, Junior rose to his knees, twisted her body this way and that, and entered her in a slow, luxurious stroke.

"Oh," she moaned into the sheets.

Another bonus of this little sequestered villa—they could be as loud as they wanted.

Much later, the sun had sunk beneath the olive groves, and they were tangled up in each other.

Junior asked sleepily, "Where else do you want to go?"

"We could go home," she murmured against his neck.

He kissed the top of her mussed hair. "That's anywhere you are."

"Mm." Her arms tightened around him, and he felt her lips curl into a smile against him. "Rome, perhaps?"

Junior perked up a little. "The Colosseum?"

"It's the last thing on our list."

"The Colosseum it is." Tucking the sheets around them until they were enfolded like a large cocoon, he whispered, "I love you, Izzy Stone."

"I love you." Sighed against his skin the way it was, Junior squeezed his eyes closed and gave fervent thanks for all the beautiful things this woman had brought to his life.