29. Epilogue
29
January
“Wait, wait, wait,” I urge, stopping Baxter on his way to the champagne cart. “Your tie’s crooked,” I explain, adjusting the knot. He lifts his chin, giving me room to fiddle. When I’m happy, I give him a pat on the shoulder. “Easy on the booze, Bax.”
He throws me a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
Looking around at everyone in the ballroom, I find it amusing how I can recognize every single PNZ member and their date, even with masks covering their eyes. Sending out the invitations for East End’s seventy-ninth annual masquerade ball had been an affair I struggled through, remembering receiving mine. I spent a week hammering everything out with Adeline, Wicker, and Rory Livingston, calling up the memories and trying to remember the good parts.
The throning has, obviously, been re-imagined into a much different sort of ceremony, and on my way to check in with Pace, I hear Gina, Heather, and Lakshmi gossiping about who has what it takes.
“She’s got great tits,” Heather says, glaring at one of the candidates, “but only because she’s overweight. I don’t think they’d choose someone without a waistline.”
The insecurity bubbles up, partly from the memory of them criticizing me in the same way, exactly a year ago. Another part is that, although I’m almost back to my pre-pregnancy sizes, I still look different.
“They probably want something new,” Gina is musing. “Do you think we’ll still get to wear the tiara?”
Nudging in, I say, “Yep.”
They jolt in surprise, turning to me. “Princess,” Lakshmi greets, and then stutters. “I mean, Queen.”
“Nervous about the announcement?” I ask, clasping my hands together. “We have a really impressive field of candidates this year.” My grin is pointed. “Finally.”
From the way Heather goes stiff, she takes it as the insult it’s meant to be. “Well, we were just discussing the,” her eyes dart down, “size of the pool.”
Smiling primly, I explain, “We’re looking at different qualities this year. Strength and resilience. Leadership.” Brains.
Heather nods at something behind me. “What about her? She has good, child-birthing hips.”
Twisting, I see a curvy girl dancing with one of the Prince candidates. What neither of them knows is that they both chose each other on the preference card attached to their invitations.
This year’s Princess and Princes will have a say in who they make a covenant with.
“That’s Sophia Lark,” I say. “She’s a graphic artist with a minor in visual. She’s definitely a creator.”
It hasn’t been lost on any of us that we’ll be sharing the palace with whoever is chosen. Quite plainly, none of us are willing to move out of the home we’ve made on the second floor. But the changes we’ve made for the new royalty are still fresh, and I want to keep an eye on them—to make sure they’re adhering to the new covenants—not the old. As a result, the new crop of East End royalty will be living downstairs, which has been empty for months.
Ever since Stella went missing.
Ever since Eugene got taken away.
Ever since Danner died.
I’m not sure if it’ll make it easier to have people in the house again or unbearably more difficult. Following that train of thought, I wave at the girls and continue my search for Pace. He’s not by the buffet table, nor is he at the door, covering security. I look for him for so long that by the time realization dawns on me, I’ve greeted every guest.
The air is crisp when I step out onto the balcony overlooking the grounds. I feel him before I see him, that inexplicable hum sparking over my nerve endings.
“Hiding?” I ask, turning to find Pace slouched low on the bench, his masked face tipped up to the starry night sky.
“Absolutely.” He rolls his head to the side, meeting my gaze. “I hate these things.”
Sighing, I approach when he holds out his arms, folding myself down onto his lap. “It’s only once a year,” I reason, worry building in my gut. “How’d it go?”
Pace had driven up to the Forsyth Pen this afternoon to visit with Eugene.
“Okay,” Pace says, looping his arms around me. “He’s angry.”
My jaw tenses. “He fucking should be.”
Pace shoots me an amused look at the language, and I shrug. The baby’s not here to hear it. “The lawyer is building a strong defense,” he assures, thumb rubbing soothingly against my ribcage. “Everything they have is bullshit. He just has to fight this shit.”
“He will.” This much is certain. “We’re West End. Fighting is what we do best.”
“And East End?” he asks, tucking my head against his warm neck. “What do we do best?”
“You glitter like diamonds, and you survive. But mostly,” I press a kiss to his pulse point, relishing in the thrum of his heart, “you love the hurt out of each other.”
There’s a long pause before he reaches up, fingering the jewel in my tiara. “Then you’re definitely one of us now.”
For a while, we just sit there in the cold January air, drinking in the night. “How do you think they’ll take it?” I ponder, thinking of the men my Princes chose to succeed them.
“They’ll probably cream their pants, wasting our precious Royal seed.” Pace laughs when I shoot him an exasperated look. “What? I did. Right here, in fact.”
Deciding that I’ve hidden for long enough, I push to my feet, extending a palm. “Will you come and watch over me while I glitter?”
“Always, Rosi.” He slips his hand into mine as he rises, using it to tug me close. His promise is made in an exhalation, warm and damp against my temple. “Always.”
When we re-enter the ballroom, Pace takes his spot against the wall, hands in his pockets as his dark eyes follow me from guest to guest.
I know it’ll take the rest of Forsyth a while to understand the changes underway. We’re still looking for creators, but breeding? Well, there’s only one Royal in West End who counts it as her job.
“Hey,” a voice comes in my ear, forcing me to spin.
When I do, I let out a low whistle. “Who might you be?”
Wicker shrugs, his blue eyes shining through the mask. “Just some regular schmuck. No one important.”
A mask, indeed.
I hum, flipping my hair. “That’s too bad. I have it on good authority that the masquerade ball is about finding the perfect connection between me and someone’s trust fund.”
He laughs, winding his arms around my waist and pulling me close. “No one’s trust fund is bigger than mine.” He punctuates this by pushing his crotch into my thigh. “Oh, wait. That’s my thrust fund.”
I groan, sagging in his arms. “Come on, really? Enough with the dad jokes.”
“Can’t help it, Red.” He pulls me into an artful spin. “I’ve ascended.”
“Where’s the baby?” I ask, fighting a smile.
He grips my hand, and idiotically, it takes me a moment to realize we’re dancing. “Lex is putting him down.”
Chuckling, I guess, “He’s hassling Adeline about the importance of the dinosaur blanket, isn’t he?”
“Tummy time isn’t for ducks,” Wicker mocks in a staunch, definitely not-Lex-like voice. “You know, I remember the first time I saw you.”
I search my memory. “Out on the dance floor?”
“At the Fury,” he corrects, “when I beat Oakfield into a weeping pulp.”
“Oh, right.” That night seems like a million years ago. “You upset a lot of DKS that night.”
He smirks charmingly. “I could tell you were the only prize worth winning, even before I knew your name.” He bends and tugs on the lobe of my ear with his teeth before whispering, “Maybe later we can head upstairs for some tummy time of our own.”
Leave it to Wicker to get my panties wet while I have actual work to do.
“If we can get through the night without any actual bloodshed, I think it’s an excellent idea.”
He kisses me, slow and lazy. When he pulls away he searches over my head and asks, “Have you seen the waiter? The little cakes are on-fucking-point. Highly recommended.”
I make a face. “My stomach’s been crazy with nerves all day. Could you pilfer one away for me later?”
He spins me. “Anything for the Queen.”
When he snaps me back, Lex is there, scowling. “I’m supposed to do that.”
Wicker smoothly spins me into his brother’s waiting arms. “Just limbering her up for you, caveman.”
Lex is stunning in this three-piece suit, the gold mask tied neatly around his loose hair, and not for the first time tonight, I feel my knees go a little weak at his touch. “Let’s see if I can remember how this goes,” he says, leading me into a waltz.
Rolling my eyes, I ask, “Who are you fooling? I know all your moves.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Do you?” Abruptly, he dips me, the move flashy and quick. I bark an embarrassing laugh, the sound inelegant but full of delight. His movements are just as exacting and confident as they had been that night a year ago. Back then, he’d seemed so stiff and cold. Scary. Now, he’s anything but. His amber eyes bore into me when he snaps me upright. “I know all of your moves,” he claims.
This time, I raise the eyebrow, winding my arms around his neck. “I’ve got a move you haven’t seen before.”
He nods, spinning us expertly past another couple. “Let’s see it then.”
Wetting my lips, I look around before straining up on my toes, pressing my whisper right into the shell of his ear.
Our movements come to a jarring and sudden halt as Lex freezes, jolting back to meet my gaze. “What?”
My heart hammers inside my chest, but I gather the courage to speak the words again. “I’m pregnant.”
His lips part on an aborted inhale, and then he glances down at my stomach, as if he could possibly see a baby there already. Skeptically, he asks, “Are you sure?”
Searching his eyes for a reaction, I assure, “I took five tests. But you can—” My words slip away when he yanks me into a hard, unyielding embrace.
He crushes me against him, breaths erratic. “Justice is going to have a brother or a sister?”
Laughing, I let the worry I’ve been carrying all night melt away. It’d be a lie to say I’m not scared. Carrying Justice was an experience that I haven’t even completely recovered from. It’s far too soon to create again.
But life is also far too short not to.
“Yes,” I say, breathing in the spicy, masculine scent of him.
He pushes me back to look at me again, this time with more assessing eyes. “How far along? When did you find out?”
“This morning,” I answer, excitement thrumming through my veins. I’d been feeling off for a few days, but when I couldn’t hold down my breakfast, I knew. “I can’t be more than four weeks along, which could mean…”
Understanding sparks in his wide eyes. “You think?”
The week Wicker and Pace spent at the tourney in Northridge was hectic for me and Lex. We’d fall into bed at night deliriously tired, doing a quick video chat with his brothers before settling in for sleep.
But sleep never came immediately.
Every night, he’d push inside me, amber eyes locked on mine as we fucked, sweet and slow, or hard and fast. We played it loose, never getting back on birth control. It took a couple of months last time, and I figured the next one would be the same, but apparently, Lex at full strength was more potent than we’d realized.
He cradles my face in his palms, staring at me with awe. “You’re saying it could be mine,” he realizes, voice thick and ragged.
“No, Lex. I’m saying it is.”
He presses his forehead to mine. “You haven’t told the guys?”
I smile so big that it hurts. “I wanted the dad to know first, but I figured we could tell them after the throning.”
I’d think this would crush Wicker’s plans about tummy time, but nothing makes my men hotter than a baby, even if it is faster than we thought.
“They’re going to flip out,” he says, and we both look over to where they’re standing, laughing with guys from the hockey team.
“Good flipping out, or bad?” I ask, suddenly unsure.
“Both,” he admits, pressing his hand to my stomach, “but this is what we do, Verity. This is who we are and building a family is our priority above anything else.”
A year ago, I never would have dreamed that I'd want to someday transform a group of hurt, angry boys into men. I never would have thought I'd want it so much, and so achingly, and so impatiently. It wasn't just because I became a woman in this beautiful, haunting place. It wasn’t even because I became a mother, and then a Queen.
It was the fierceness of Lex's soul, the blaze of Pace's devotion, and the ferocity of Wicker's heart that made me a creator.
And ours will be a legacy of hope.