Epilogue
EPILOGUE
ELLIE
D espite the street crowded with pedestrians, milling about from shop to shop on foot or racing straight down the middle, weaving between bodies on bicycles, I paused. The sea of people parted to move around, a few grumbling under their breaths about lazy Americans, but I didn’t care what they said or what they thought, because ultimately they were a blip on my radar. I’d never see them again.
That was the oddest part about leaving Orin. Seeing faces, meeting people you wouldn’t see day after day after day. Like now, all the tourists snapping photos and purchasing souvenirs probably didn’t even notice me like I did them, because to them, I didn’t matter.
What a glorious thought.
This was what freedom felt like. I could scream in the streets, cause everyone to look at me, and tomorrow it wouldn’t matter. Well, except to the man standing behind me, keeping a protective watch as I tilted my face to the late afternoon sun and closed my eyes.
I loved the way the sun felt against my skin in different parts of the world. For some reason, the heat mixed with the new environment made me feel more alive than ever.
A hand snaked around my waist, tugging me back an inch, sealing my back to his.
My wound, long ago healed, tugged like my skin was just a little too tight in that one spot, but after living with it for five months I hardly noticed the pain anymore.
“Want to grab something to eat, Mrs. Peters?” Chandler whispered into my ear.
I smiled at the sun. “Another apple strudel? But I want to run into this shop really quick.” I inclined my head to the small souvenir shop with racks of postcards stationed outside the door.
“I’ll grab your strudel and?—”
I arched a brow. “Get two. Last time you ate half of mine.”
“Lies,” he joked. “Fine. I’ll get two strudels and”—stretching his arm out in front of me, he pointed toward a stone wall that others sat upon, staring at the rolling river on the other side—“I’ll meet you over there.”
The metal rack squeaked with each rotation as I inspected every postcard available. Some were funny, things I could find back home, which wasn’t exactly what I was looking for. The last turn displayed the row of scenic postcards in front of me.
Bingo.
Thirteen in all, each beautiful in their own way. Some displaying the nearby Alps, the others with quaint Swiss villages similar to the one I received that very night my path crossed with the man who altered my destiny. For several minutes, I debated which one was the one , unable to choose my favorite.
“Get them all, Ellie.” I jumped at the breath ghosting past my ear. Chandler chuckled as he stepped beside me.
“I can’t,” I whispered for some privacy. “You know that.”
Even though he gave me access to his accounts the moment we said, “I do,” I still had a difficult time not overthinking every penny spent. Those two years working my ass off and living on nothing created a difficult mentality to break.
“I like that one.” He pushed a finger to the one I was leaning toward too, leaving a smear of?—
“Chandler Peters, did you eat my strudel?” I accused. He hid his grin and shrugged. “You owe me two now.”
Wrapping both arms around my waist, he pulled me to his chest. “How about I buy you every postcard in your hand and then buy you three strudels as penance?” Bending forward, he placed his lips against the shell of my ear. “And then tonight I’ll eat my favorite meal of all: you.”
“Deal,” I said breathlessly.
He tugged the postcards from my fingers and strode to the cash register. Minutes later, we were back on the street making our way through the crowd. Sitting me on the stone wall where we’d originally planned to meet, he handed me the thin brown bag and a pen. “I’ll be right back.”
As I watched his ass as he walked toward the small pastry shop, a content sigh passed my lips. I shook my head, a few blonde locks floating across my line of vision on a soft, cool breeze.
Free. I was free. With Jacob behind bars, and there for the unforeseeable future, and the Swann brothers dead, I had no one else to fear. I was free to live and that was exactly what I planned to do from here on out.
Pulling out the postcards, I found the one I wanted and uncapped the pen. Holding the end to my lip, I considered my surroundings, taking in every sense and storing it in my memory.
Smiling, I pressed the pen to the paper and began writing.
Dear Janice,
Switzerland is fantastic. The people are kind and warm, the air that kind of soft and cool that brushes against your skin like an almost kiss. Below me the river rushes, white caps forming on larger waves. It’s no doubt never seen a drought in its existence. The pastries are fresh, and everything is made with butter, which makes every bite delicious.
Wish you were here.
Ellie
PS – It smells like new beginnings, pine, and freshly melted snow.
PPS – I’m pregnant.