Epilogue
Amara
Six months later…
I’m standing in the cottage studio, surrounded by case files. The faint smell of sea salt drifts through the open window. Beyond, I can see the ocean waves sweeping in and out on the pink sand of the shoreline.
This is my life now.
Not temporarily. Not a six-week pilot that kept extending indefinitely. Genuinely, permanently mine.
The Eleuthera Legal Access Program files are spread across my desk.
We’ve got a rotating fellowship now that brings young lawyers from across the Caribbean.
Real lawyers who look at me like I’m some kind of legend because I once dismantled a corrupt board member using nothing but archived documents and sheer force of will.
Legend might be overselling it.
“Mildly competent attorney who got lucky” is probably more accurate.
But still. The program is fully funded. The clinic has real staff. We’re making a difference.
And I get to do this from a cottage with an ocean view that makes my old Gramercy apartment look like a prison cell.
Which, if we’re being honest, it essentially was.
But the icing on the cake?
Billionaire Corin Saelinger is my boyfriend.
Through the window, I can see Corin now, on the beach with Marisol. They’re discussing the new community center he’s funding. His sleeves are rolled to his forearms, and even from here I can see the way his hands move when he talks, the way his muscles—
God.
Six months, and the man still makes me forget how to think straight.
I force myself to look back at my case files.
I’m a professional.
Ysela’s car pulls into the gravel drive just as I’m closing out a client file. She emerges with a matching pair of canvas grocery bags.
We’ve developed a friendship over the past few months. Ever since Corin gave up The Westlight and moved into the cottage with me.
She catches my eye through the studio window and gives me a knowing look. It essentially says, “I knew you’d stay.”
Everyone knew I’d stay except me.
My phone buzzes.
A text from Jess.
Marco and I are coming to visit next month. Ben’s excited to see the ocean. Also, I’m pregnant. Don’t tell anyone yet.
I read it twice. Three times. My face splits into a grin.
Oh my god.
Oh my GOD.
I type back immediately: Congratulations! Your secret’s safe.
Then I add: Also I’m screaming internally right now. You’re going to be the best mom. Again. Technically. You know what I mean.
She responds with a string of heart emojis and a crying face and something that might be a baby bottle or a rocket ship. Emoji interpretation is not my strong suit.
Jess is going to have a baby of her own.
Wow.
I set down my phone and stare out the window again, but this time I’m not looking at Corin. I’m looking at the ocean, thinking about how much has changed since that New Year’s Eve.
Corin turned out to be the love of my life.
The love I’d already lost once and was too scared to keep.
The thought reminds me of how grateful I am that things turned out the way they did.
How grateful I am that I decided to stop running.
That evening, Corin and I have dinner on the cottage terrace.
Before we start, he presses a button on the railing, and fine mesh screens descend from hidden tracks overhead.
They’re part of a custom retractable barrier system he had installed specifically to combat the no-see-ums that turn every sunset into a blood drive.
It’s so smooth and silent I barely notice it happening. The mesh is dark enough that you’d think it would block the view, but somehow we can still see the ocean perfectly. Special weave or coating or some other billionaire-engineered solution I don’t fully understand.
I’d mock him for it except I’m the one who gets to enjoy bug-free dining with an ocean view.
Corin is barefoot on the terrace with me. And his shirt is unbuttoned two extra buttons this evening. His hair is slightly disheveled from the beach, and he smells like sea salt and cedar smoke, a scent that’s become synonymous with “home” in my brain.
“You know you hate the spotlight,” I say, poking at my grilled fish. We’ve been talking about an upcoming conference. Some big ethics-in-philanthropy thing in Geneva where Corin’s been invited to keynote. He only accepted on the condition that I co-present.
Which is flattering.
But also terrifying.
And also deeply attractive.
He shrugs, and I watch his shoulders move under the linen. “But I’ll love having you there.”
God, he says things like that so casually.
Like he’s commenting on the weather instead of making me swoon.
“You just want someone to handle the Q and A when the journalists get aggressive,” I counter.
“That, too.” He grins. “You’re very good at making people regret their line of questioning.”
“It’s a gift.” I reach for my wine glass. “Also a professional requirement. Corporate litigation is basically just organized combat you know. With better suits.”
Corin laughs.
Six months ago I told him that I rarely saw him laugh. Now I see it all the time.
I did that.
I helped him find that.
The thought makes me feel all warm and tingly inside.
I notice my legal pad sitting on the chair beside me. The edges are curled from the humidity, and the margins crowded with my shorthand notes. It followed me from Manhattan to Eleuthera to the clinic to this cottage, and now it sits here like a record of everything that’s changed.
Material evidence of personal growth.
The court would be impressed.
“We did it,” I say quietly.
Corin looks at me in that way he has of making me feel seen down to the very core of who I am.
“We’re doing it,” he corrects. “Present tense.”
I smile. “I like that better.”
My throat feels tight, but it’s the good kind of tight. The kind that comes from being so full of something you can barely contain it.
And in this case, that something is love.
Then Corin does something unexpected.
He pushes back from the table and drops to one knee.
For a second I just stare at him, my brain short-circuiting completely.
What is he doing?
Why is he on the ground?
Did he drop something?
Oh.
OH.
He pulls a small box from his pocket. He opens it.
Inside is a ring.
It’s simple and elegant, with a single stone that catches the last of the sunset light like it was designed specifically for this moment.
Oh my god.
“Amara.” His voice is steady, but I can see his hands shaking slightly. Just a little. Just enough to let me know this isn’t easy for him either. “I spent five years trying to become someone you could respect again. Someone worthy of a second chance I wasn’t sure I deserved.”
My eyes are burning. I am not going to cry.
I am absolutely going to cry.
“You showed me that accountability doesn’t mean annihilation,” he continues. “That I could be honest about my mistakes and still be loved. You stayed when it would have been easier to run. You fought for me when I couldn’t fight for myself.”
A tear escapes. Then another. And another.
“I don’t want to spend another five years wondering what we could have been,” he says. “I want to spend the rest of my life finding out. If you’ll let me.”
His eyes are wet, too, now, and a tear trickles down his cheek.
The man who never cries is crying.
For me.
“Will you marry me?” he says.
My heart is pounding so loud I can barely hear. I’m full-body trembling like I just ran a marathon.
“Yes,” I manage through the tears of joy. “Yes, you ridiculous man. Of course yes. Yes yes yes!”
He slides the ring onto my finger with shaking hands, and then he’s standing and pulling me into his arms and kissing me like we have all the time in the world.
Which I guess we do.
When we finally pull apart, I’m laughing and crying at the same time, which is very attractive I’m sure.
“I love you,” he says, pressing his forehead against mine.
“I love you, too.” I grip his shirt with my ringed hand, still not quite believing this is real. “Like I told you before, I never stopped. Not really. Not even when I was trying to.”
He kisses my forehead. My nose. The corner of my mouth. “Neither did I.”
We stand there on the terrace as the sun finishes setting, wrapped around each other like we’re afraid to let go.
The ocean crashes against the rocks below.
Somewhere in the distance, I can hear music from the village.
I think about all the times I almost left.
All the moments I convinced myself that staying was too risky, too vulnerable, too likely to end in disaster.
I almost missed this.
I almost ran from the best thing that ever happened to me.
But I didn’t.
I stayed.
And now I get to keep staying, every day, for the rest of my life.
The verdict is in.
The court rules in favor of happiness.
Thanks for reading!!
- Catto