Epilogue
ZINAIDA
“Uncle Luke!” Ollie, Luke’s ten-year-old nephew, launches himself from the side of his father’s boat.
“Watch me!” Turning a neat somersault, he lands in the crystal West Australian sea in an enormous splash that drenches me from head to toe and adds a decent dash of salt water to my spicy margarita.
“Me!” Max, Ollie’s eight-year-old brother, leaps up onto the side of the boat. “Watch me, Uncle Luke!” Throwing himself off the boat sideways, he hits the water with a hard crash that makes us all wince.
“Ouch.” Tommo, the boys’ father, grins as the two heads emerge, spluttering, from the water. “That one had to hurt.”
“Here you go, mate.” Luke hauls first Ollie, then Max from the water. Chuckling at the red mark down the right side of the latter boy, he tousles his hair. “Might want to try actually diving next time, Maxie.”
“Nah.” Max gives the red mark an assessing look. “I’ve had worse.”
“Well, next time,” Liana says, casting them both a remonstrative look, “jump off the front, not the side. You put half the Indian Ocean in Auntie Zin’s glass.”
Two sets of bright green eyes turn to me. “Sorry, Auntie Zin,” they both chorus, not looking it at all.
“It’s fine,” I say as Luke slides down onto the seat next to me.
Liana takes my glass and holds it out with her own to her sons. “But since you ruined it, boys, you can go and make us both a refill.”
Their eyes light up like Christmas trees. “I’ll do it,” Ollie says, grabbing my glass.
“No!” Max makes a lunge for Liana’s. “Me!”
They disappear down the hatch into the galley, still squabbling, until several moments later, the sound of an ice shaker comes, accompanied by stealthy giggles.
“I’m sure some judgmental Karen will curse my bad parenting for allowing you to teach my underage sons to make a perfect spicy marg.
” Liana smiles at me from beneath a large floppy hat.
“But to be honest, I wish I’d thought of it years ago.
Not only a time-saver, but you have them eating out of your hand to learn the entire Pigalle cocktail menu.
” She gives me a mischievous smile. “They’ve been googling it, just so you know.
They’re apparently both obsessed with one called”—she taps quickly on her phone, then holds it up, frowning, to read—“the Green Whisper.”
Luke’s explosion of laughter almost makes him lose his mouthful of beer. “Let me guess,” he says as he recovers, wiping his eyes, “they think it’s something to do with a superhero, right?”
I bite my lip, shaking my head warningly at him.
“So not a superhero reference, then.” Tommo lowers himself down beside his wife and draws her legs across his lap.
Tall and burly, with a staunch belly and perpetual smile, Tommo is the most genial, easygoing person I think I’ve ever met.
It’s easy to see why he and Luke are as close as brothers.
They seem to always be working on some DIY project with a beer in hand, music playing, and almost no conversation.
He grins at me from beneath a battered old peak cap bearing some kind of fishing logo.
“Now you have to spill the beans. What is it?”
I shoot Luke a wary glance, and he puts his arm around me, pulling me in close in a way that makes every muscle in my body go limp.
“The Green Whisper,” he explains, grinning, “is described as a cocktail for ‘seduction and surrender.’ The legend—for customers, at least—is that the Green Whisper was first poured ‘in the mirrored boudoir of a courtesan who could make kings confess their sins and was served only to those who dared to dream—and to sin beautifully.’” He raises his beer to Tommo.
“Yeah, right,” he says, looking unimpressed.
“Oh,” says Liana dreamily. “How divine.”
Tommo cocks an eyebrow at Luke. “And the truth?”
Luke nudges me. “Tell them.”
I give Liana an apologetic shrug. “The truth is that we ran out of alcohol after our first Winter Ball and found ourselves on Christmas Day with no suppliers and a bar that was virtually empty except for random ingredients like vintage green absinthe, vanilla liqueur, and a fridge full of truly terrible prosecco we’d been meaning to return.
Charlie and Rocco got to work—et voilà, the now-legendary Green Whisper, which was the only drink we served until Anatoly managed to bribe a local supplier away from his Christmas dinner to restock the bar. ”
“By which time,” Luke adds, grinning, “everyone was so high that they thought the Christmas fairy was floating around. Not to mention the orgy going on in the back rooms of the Quartier—”
“Shh!” I jab him in the ribs as Tommo and Liana explode into laughter, casting a warning look toward the galley, where the boys are still occupied.
“I said vintage absinthe,” I explain to Liana and Tommo.
“I found cases of the stuff hidden beneath the Quartier when we renovated the theater. The original Green Fairy, as it was known, contained a powerful hallucinogen called thujone. Unfortunately,” I say as they start laughing again, “none of us actually knew about thujone on the night we mixed the first Green Whisper. But as you can probably imagine, chaos ensued. And a legend was born.”
“Oh, my goodness.” Liana wipes her eyes. “Honestly, it all sounds so fabulous. I can’t wait to visit.”
“You’ll love Pigalle Mayfair,” I say, smiling at her. “It’s an absolute haven for women.”
“I’m sure I’ll love it.” She gives me a wicked smile. “But it’s the Quartier I want to see.”
“Oh!” Rather taken aback, I glance at Luke. “I’m not sure—”
“Not a fucking chance.” Raising his beer, Tommo gives me a huge grin. “VIP booth, champagne on ice, and the full burlesque experience. Oh,” he adds, pointing his beer at Luke, “and one of those back rooms as well, thanks very much. We’re going the full bloody monty.”
Luke grimaces. “That’s my sister you’re talking about, you reprobate.”
“So take the night off.” Tommo spreads out over the boat, his arm lying behind his wife’s shoulders, other hand possessively on her leg. “Haven’t seen that Irish prick Paddy in a while. He can look after us.”
“Oh, Christ.” Luke shakes his head. “I think I might leave the country.”
The boys choose that moment to emerge, Ollie balancing two margarita glasses on a round tray. “Be careful,” Max hisses from behind him.
“Auntie Zin.” Ollie carefully presents me with the tray. “Did we get it right this time?”
“Hmm.” Picking up my margarita glass, I inspect it, warily noting the faint greenish tinge. “Let’s see.” I touch a finger to the salt mix on the rim. “I’m tasting sea salt, cayenne, paprika, and—” Pausing, I frown, looking up at the boys. “What’s that you’ve added?”
“Chili lime seasoning,” Ollie says proudly. “I found it in Dad’s fish spice cabinet. You said that if we want to create a signature cocktail, we need to get inventive.”
“Wow!” I give them an admiring glance. “Definite points for creativity, boys. Now for the taste test. Liana?”
Clinking glasses, we both take a sip.
And then we both almost choke.
“Is that”—Liana stares at her glass in horror—“green cordial?”
“Yes!” The boys high-five each other. “We made a cross between the Green Whisper and a spicy marg,” Ollie announces proudly. “We’re gonna call it Spicy Whisper. What?” he says, frowning as all four of us spit out our drinks at the same time. “I don’t get it.”
“Nope.” Tommo stands up, still laughing.
“And you bloody won’t, either, for at least the next decade, hopefully.
Right, you terrors. Enough cocktails for today.
Let’s go throw a line in and teach Uncle Luke how to actually catch a fish.
” Pulling the boys up with him, he leads them down to the cockpit, Luke following behind, all four of them bantering happily as they take up seats and start casting lines.
Liana stretches out on the cushions laid across the prow, looking unhappily at her glass. “This doesn’t solve our lack of alcohol problem,” she grumbles.
“Allow me.” Taking her glass, I head down to the galley and make a jug of decent margarita. “It saves us the walk,” I say as I emerge, then fill her glass.
“Excellent idea.” Liana touches her glass to mine. “And you just officially became my favorite sister-in-law.”
“And your only one,” I say, laughing.
“Well, that too.” She props her sunglasses on her head and smiles at me. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”
I duck my head, mildly embarrassed.
“Thank you for getting married over here,” she says quietly. “It meant the world to Tommo and me.”
“Oh, not at all.” Now I’m definitely embarrassed. “Neither of us wanted a big wedding. The beach was perfect, with just you two and the boys. It was exactly what we both wanted.”
“I doubt that.” Liana touches my hand. “But thank you, anyway, for doing it.”
I’m being entirely honest. Three days ago, Luke and I stood on a remote Australian beach at sunset, surrounded by nothing but white sand, red stone, and turquoise water the color of Luke’s eyes, and said our vows before his family and a civil celebrant called Turbo, who also happens to be a bikie and one of Luke’s oldest friends.
I wore a simple silk slip. Luke wore an open-necked suit that made me want to devour him.
Liana played cello, Tommo rigged up fairy lights that twinkled on the beach long after dark, and the boys made spicy margaritas.
It was the most perfect wedding I could ever have imagined.
I still can’t stop looking at the photos of us all on my phone.
There we are, on the beach at dusk, sun-kissed and windswept, laughing into the camera as the sun sets over the water and a full moon rises over the dunes behind us.
Never, in my wildest imaginings, could I have pictured myself in a shot like that even a few months ago.
“Did Luke ever tell you,” I say, turning to Liana now, “about when I first saw your photo in his apartment?”