Epilogue 1 Selene
“Thanks for agreeing to come in, Selene.”
“I don’t think I had much of a choice, Torrance,” I pause, reconsidering the use of his first name in light of recent circumstances. “Or would you prefer that I refer to you as President Belford?”
He’s been in the chair for three weeks, and I happen to think the role suits him. Despite being Aubrey’s former VP, and something of a friend, he’s never been anything like the man. If I thought differently, I wouldn’t be sitting here with him today.
“Either is fine,” he says, wiping a bit of the dressing from the salad he’s having for lunch from the corner of his mouth. “Though, I think I might prefer Torrance.”
“Haven’t gotten used to the title?”
“Not yet. I know everyone thinks the VP is just chomping at the bit for the chance to drive the ship, but that’s never been me. I honestly had no idea Aubrey was…”
“Suicidal,” I supply, using my fork to push around the grains of my rice pilaf just to have something to do with my hand.
“Yes.” He frowns, looking at me the way everyone does now that Aubrey is gone. It’s a cross between curious and sympathetic, like they want to measure just how deep my sadness runs now that I’m a widow who was in the midst of divorcing her husband.
“I had no idea either, Torrance. Aubrey and I weren’t on good terms before I left him, and we certainly weren’t discussing his mental health struggles in the days leading up to his death.”
None of those things are a lie, but I’m still self-conscious about my delivery.
It was the same way when I talked to the FBI.
They’d brought me, Cal and Beck in, subjecting us to a round of grueling questions that centered around our relationship overlapping with my marriage.
Nothing came of any of it, but the investigation is still open, which makes me anxious.
“Yes, I was aware you two had ongoing struggles.”
“He was a habitual liar and cheater.”
Torrance shifts in his seat, uncomfortable with me disparaging the memory of his predecessor even though his legacy has already been well and truly tarnished.
The media is dragging his name through the mud, and Cordelia, Phineas and Langham are right there in pig sty with him.
Every day it’s something different, but today the story surrounding them is both scandalous and somber.
Scandalous because Phineas had his personal pilot prepare his private plane so the three of them, plus Garrison and Woodard, could flee the country and avoid being convicted of their crimes.
Somber because pilot—a known alcoholic who regularly flew without a co-pilot or crew—failed to notice when I remotely accessed the system and switched the cabin pressurization system into manual mode, placing the control of the plane’s airflow valve in his hands.
His ineptitude led to everyone on board, including himself, suffering from hypoxia.
According to everything I read in the months leading up to the last leg of my revenge tour, it’s not a particularly painful way to go.
I’ll always regret that, not making them suffer more, but I’ll take solace in the fact that their bodies were burned to a crisp by the blazing flames that engulfed the plane when it crashed.
“I want you to know I never condoned his behavior,” Torrance is saying now, covering his heart with his hand to indicate his sincerity. “And if I had known what he’d done to your son, I would have never agreed to be his running mate or called him a friend.”
“I know, Torrance.”
We discussed this over the phone when the news first broke.
He was shocked, and I had to pretend to be as well, sobbing like it was the first time I’d heard the truth.
I’ve gotten good at it. The acting. The lying, the turning old pain and hurt into fresh outrage.
I’ve done it for my parents and sisters and everyone else who can never find out what I knew, when I knew it and what I did with that knowledge.
“I’m sorry,” he says, a self-deprecating smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I didn’t ask you here to rehash things that have already been said.”
Laying my fork on the napkin next to my plate, I arch a brow. “What did you call me here for then?”
Images of federal agents rushing in and arresting me flash in my mind, and I push them away, refusing to believe Torrance would be this cordial if that was the case.
“To let you know I’ve decided to have the investigation into Aubrey’s death closed.”
A swift, dizzying wave of relief hits me, causing me to stumble over my words. “Oh..okay. Is that what…you think that’s for the best?”
Torrance nods. “Yes, after the discovery of Ms. St. James and Mr. Granger’s bodies and what’s happened to his co-conspirators, I think it’s necessary.
The longer it remains open, the longer our country is stuck looking at the ugly stain of his corruption.
We need to start the process of cleansing our collective soul. ”
“That’s a good line. Make sure they include it in your next speech.”
He blushes and laughs. “Yes, ma’am.”
The conversation is winding down, so I stand, extending my hand to him when he’s on his feet. “You obviously don’t need my approval or anything, but I agree that it’s time to close this chapter of our lives.”
“Your support on this matter means a lot to me,” he says, and I know he genuinely means it. “Take care of yourself, Selene.”
“You too, Torrance.”
I leave the White House for a final time with a smile on my face that only grows larger when I arrive back home and find Cal and Beck in the kitchen with the scent of my daddy’s chili recipe filling the air.
Since I didn’t eat a morsel of food during my lunch with Torrance, I’m starved.
My stomach growling announces my arrival before I can issue either of them a greeting.
Beck spins around in the barstool at the island and opens his arms to me. I kick off my heels and walk into his embrace, taking his mouth in a filthy, licking kiss that’s so good he growls when I cut it short. I dance out of his hold and over to Cal, who’s tending to the pot on the stove.
I wrap my arms around his waist, kissing his shoulder. “You know you’re supposed to just let it simmer at this point, right?”
“That’s what I told him,” Beck says.
“You’re supposed to be slicing jalapenos for the cornbread, Beckham, not worrying about what’s happening in my pot.”
“I did that while you were busy doing all that unnecessary stirring, Drake.”
Cal turns around to confirm his story, throwing me a distracted kiss in the process.
“Excuse me, sir.”
He pulls his attention from the cutting board in front of Beck and gives it to me. “Yes, pet?”
“Do you want to give me a proper greeting or should I just pack my bags now?”
Beck snorts a laugh while Cal growls his displeasure at the suggestion.
He scoops me up, plopping me on the island and positioning himself between my legs.
His hands move to my face, cupping it gently as he treats me to a tender kiss.
When it’s done, I feel like Beck did when I ended ours, squirmy and dissatisfied.
“No fun being teased is it, gorgeous?”
“Shut up, Beckham,” I gripe, squealing when his fingertips appear at my sides, poised for tickling. I immediately start laughing and trying to push him away. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I wheeze, and then when that doesn’t work, “I have news! Don’t tickle me. I have news!”
That does the trick.
He releases me and rounds the counter, coming to stand by Cal. “What is it?”
I split a wide grin between the two of their adoring, perfect faces. “They’re closing the investigation!”
Four arms reach for me, pulling me into an embrace where I can’t tell what hand belong to which man and it doesn’t matter because every touch, every squeeze, every second they hold me is filled with the promise of a future where there will always be enough time, enough light, and enough love.