Epilogue
NINE MONTHS LATER
Thought of the day…
Trust your heart. It’s almost always right.
And if it isn’t, then at least you won’t spend the rest of your life wondering,
‘What if…?’
‘Well, this doesn’t suck,’ I say, turning my head towards Tommy. He’s stretched out on a sun lounger, a twin to mine, his eyes closed behind his sunglasses.
He lifts my hand to his lips and gives it a soft kiss. ‘It decidedly does not.’
I look down to the beach where aquamarine waves lap at the purest white sand I’ve ever seen, and palm trees sway gently in the breeze. Seriously, this view is ridiculous. It looks like a screensaver. On cue, a squadron of pelicans flies overhead, and I chuckle to myself.
‘What’s funny, my love?’
‘Nothing. Just a pinch-me moment,’ I reply, looking over.
He lifts his sunglasses, and we lock eyes, sharing a smile before he slides them back into place and continues soaking up the sun. My gaze drops to his chest, then to the ridges of his stomach, then lower where a muscular V points to his groin.
I look in all directions. The beach in front of our bungalow is technically private but the staff are never far away, always at the ready to meet any request we might have.
Still… we could chance it. I scooch down my lounger and roll onto my side, then slip my hand from Tommy’s grasp and lightly trail my fingertips over his pecs.
‘Mmm,’ he murmurs.
I follow the contours of his abs with whisper-soft touches, then slide my fingers under the waistband of his board shorts. He grabs my hand with a laugh, halting my seaside seduction.
‘Oh, please,’ I beg, and he looks over. I stick my bottom lip out, pouting dramatically.
‘There is nothing I would enjoy more than making love to my beautiful wife on this beautiful beach, but you know we’re waiting on a call. It could come any time now.’
‘I could come any time – if you’d make me.’
‘Ally…’
I huff with frustration. ‘What if we’re quick?’
‘I’d rather not rush it,’ he teases with a wink.
I snigger, conceding. Besides, pent-up sexual energy makes for wonderful foreplay.
My phone rings, drawing our attention, and I check the screen. ‘It’s Claude.’
‘Make it quick,’ says Tommy, and I nod.
‘Hiya,’ I chirrup.
‘Why did I let you talk me into this?’ she asks – no preamble, which is typical, but it sounds like she’s in a tizz.
‘If you remember correctly, you said it would be good for Divorced Diva.’
‘That was when you were the Diva, not me.’
I cover the handset and whisper to Tommy, ‘She’s having a wobble.’
He nods in understanding.
Claude has had many wobbles since we made her the new face of Divorced Diva. The choice was a no-brainer, really. If it couldn’t be me – and it couldn’t, not after Tommy and I remarried and I acquired a new… er, role – then why not the still-divorced woman who knows Divorced Diva inside and out?
We began with a glow-up to find a look that suited her and the brand. Claude’s always been a natural beauty but she’s even more gorgeous now, something she’s still getting used to. Particularly when people flirt with her.
With regards to the work itself, we eased her in by sending her to Aetheria for a week. Niki took Claude under her wing, showing her the ropes and ensuring she was pampered even more than I’d been.
Claude even got to meet Yiayiá and they hit it off, just like I knew they would.
Yiayiá was good for her, encouraging her to be bold, to take life by the horns – something she’s still working on.
But I’ve seen a lot of light in Claude’s eyes since she returned from Greece.
She’s getting back to who she was BG – before Gregory.
And while on Aetheria, Claude befriended Julian’s new girlfriend Camille, who is (shockingly) age-appropriate at forty-seven. I like Camille too, by the way – being with her makes Julian a better man.
And everything else? We’re making it up as we go and I am still around if Claude needs me.
‘Seriously, Al, what the bloody hell am I doing?’
‘You are embracing the new, Claude, moving forward with your life. And you’re growing our brand. I’m sure it will be lots of fun.’
The last part is an abject lie – I’m Super Famous, I Want Out is my idea of hell on earth.
‘But I’m not even famous!’ she wails.
‘Well, you will be after this,’ I quip.
‘Ugh,’ she groans.
Right, so cajoling her isn’t working – tough love it is.
‘Listen here. You are Claudia Jane Novak and you are clever and kind and brave. You excel at anything you set your mind to, Claude, and you’ll absolutely smash it, okay?’
‘If you say so,’ she replies with a sigh.
Not exactly a rousing cry of self-confidence, but I don’t get the chance to push further as my phone notifies me of another call. ‘Look, I’ve got to go, Claude. We love you. You’ll be brilliant.’
I end the call before she can reply – the last time I’ll speak to my sister for at least six weeks while she’s in the wilds of Borneo – then switch to the secure line and accept the incoming call.
‘This is Mrs Jones,’ I answer, giving my assigned pseudonym.
‘We’re expecting hail by sunset.’
‘And a typhoon, I hear – with hundred-mile-an-hour winds,’ I say, responding with the corresponding code phrase.
Tommy’s eyes meet mine as I listen to – and memorise – our orders. A short time later, the call ends abruptly without a goodbye.
‘Well, Mr Jones, we’re on.’
Tommy stands up and offers me his hand. I take it, and he helps me off my sun lounger, then dips his head, landing a soft kiss on my lips. ‘Let’s go, Mrs Jones.’
We share a smile, then return to our bungalow to change clothes and gather our equipment.
It’s showtime.