Epilogue
FIVE MONTHS LATER
‘Scarlett, we’re going to the farm for a weekend; what the hell is in these bags?’
I strap my feet into my sandals. ‘The weather might change. I need clothes for every eventuality.’
‘Baby, the only thing you need to prepare for is being naked. A lot.’
I stand from the stairs and tuck my shirt into my skinny jeans before slipping my arms around his waist. ‘In that case, I should probably take the Mercy corset out of my bag.’
A low growl escapes his chest and he bites the tip of my nose. ‘You win. The bags can stay.’
‘I thought that might change your mind.’
‘Let’s go before I take you back up those stairs for a second breakfast.’
With my lips barely touching his, I move my hand to the crotch of his jeans, feeling him harden against me. He drops my bag to the floor and pushes me back against the door of the apartment. He kisses me with urgency, his hands pulling my long, dark hair.
‘I’m going to enjoy fucking you this weekend.’ His words are full of lust.
‘I look forward to you doing so, Ryans.’
He rolls his hips against me with a wink that liquefies me on the spot. ‘Let’s go.’
His square jaw is set the whole time he’s manoeuvring our bags into the small space in the DB9 but he doesn’t say anything.
I smile to myself as I sit in the car and he takes thirty seconds to cool off by the driver’s side door.
His counsellor has told him when he’s frustrated, he ought to count to thirty, so I count now in my head and sure enough, when I reach thirty, he climbs into the car.
He pulls out of the Shard’s basement and clicks the music to Oasis’s ‘Roll with It.’ As we drive out of the city, far too fast, we both shout the lyrics and I move my hands, dancing, twisting.
The July sun beams down on us as we leave concrete for greenery and head up the driveway to the farm.
We spend more and more time here now, our haven outside the city.
Since the kidnapping, Gregory does just about anything he can to keep stress out of my life – except lighten my GJR workload, that is – despite the fact I tell him I’m fine.
But this weekend is something of a celebration, too.
Nick Henshaw has finally been sentenced and put where he belongs: behind bars.
As Gregory pulls up outside the house, I turn down the ridiculously loud music. Kian is by the car before I’m even out of the door. He nods to Gregory with a grin and catches the keys Gregory throws to him.
‘It’s about time!’
I shift my focus to the door of the farm where Amanda stands, handing baby Penny to Williams, who carefully takes hold of her head and lifts her onto his chest. He’s still terrified of her.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask.
‘Ask him,’ she says, looking at Gregory, who shrugs.
‘A surprise,’ he says.
Amanda shakes her head then yanks my hand, pulling me into the house, dragging me upstairs to the master bedroom.
‘Surprise!’ Julia and Lucas squeal in unison. They look as glamorous out of work as they do in Harrods.
‘What on earth? What are you two doing here?’
Then I spot Sandy, holding up a large, cream clothes bag. Little men do jiggery in my abdomen.
‘Is that what I think it is?’
She grins and Amanda draws the zip of the bag to the floor. ‘Happy wedding day, bestie,’ she says, pulling out a wedding dress. My wedding dress.
After the shooting, I was covered in cuts and bruises; I didn’t want a wedding just weeks later like Lara had planned.
And that gave us time, me time to tell Gregory that I didn’t want a big wedding at all.
I didn’t want three hundred and fifty guests that didn’t know us and didn’t care whether we were in love or not.
I run my hand over the crystal-encrusted lace. Julia fans out the train so I can see the complete look: an intricate strapless dress with a small train.
I’d told him I’d plan but maybe next year. I didn’t want Lara to create some masterpiece that just wasn’t us and I wanted to be able to concentrate on my role at GJR for a while. We bickered just weeks ago because I hadn’t made any progress. He told me he wanted the world to know I was his wife.
Lucas holds up a cathedral veil on the opposite side of the room. ‘Let’s get you ready.’
I bite down on my lip, feeling and thinking too many things to get a hold on any single one. ‘I’m getting married?’
‘You sure are,’ Julia sings.
He wasn’t joking. He threatened to take it out of my hands, so he could make me his as soon as possible. Part of me wanted it to be true but I didn’t think he’d really do it.
‘Holy shit.’
‘Mouth, young lady,’ Sandy snaps.
‘Sorry. But holy shit!’
I should have known. When Gregory wants something, he gets it.
Julia, Lucas and Carrie – a beautician and stylist I’ve never met – work wonders.
When they’re satisfied with my complete look and leave to make their way downstairs, I’m left with Sandy and Amanda, now changed into dresses they picked themselves: Amanda in emerald green, Sandy in a deep shade of purple.
‘You look beautiful,’ I tell them.
‘Let’s get you in that dress,’ Sandy says.
They help me navigate my way, pulling me into the tight elastic of the bodice and zipping me up, before clipping on a chiffon train and pushing the cathedral veil into my pinned-up curls.
‘Gregory asked us to give you this.’ Amanda opens a large, navy velour box to reveal a thick diamond choker. ‘It’s your something new.’
I laugh because everything is new.
‘And, if you’d like to, I’d like you to wear this as your something borrowed and something blue.’ Sandy unhooks a delicate sapphire bracelet that my dad and I gave her as a gift for her thirtieth birthday.
I hold out my wrist, not able to speak and unable to fasten the bracelet with my shaking fingers.
‘Oh, and one more thing.’ She moves to the bed and bends to pull out a bubble-wrapped parcel.
I sit onto the edge of the bed, sticking my tongue out to demonstrate how tight my dress is when I bend. I take off the bubble wrap and turn over a photo frame so the picture is face up. And when I see it, my eyes fill with tears.
‘Oh, hell,’ Amanda says, rushing to get a tissue and handing it to me.
It’s the picture from my dad’s bedroom, blown up. My father, Sandy and me on Brighton Pier. I shake my head as I dab the corners of my eyes, desperately trying not to cry.
‘I love it, Sandy, thank you.’
‘Let’s get this show on the road before we all ruin our make-up,’ Amanda demands. ‘I hear there’s a groom waiting outside.’
Suddenly, nerves build everywhere in my body: my stomach, my chest, my weak limbs. I nod and shake or do something with my head.
I’m about to become Mrs Scarlett Ryans.
I can’t wait.
He’s thought of everything. We move outside as the thirty or so guests, all family and friends we love, stand from white linen chairs either side of a white aisle laid out on the grass.
A piano begins to play the first notes of Yiruma’s ‘It’s Your Day.
’ I glance to the pianist, who smiles back at me.
He hired the pianist from the charity gala who made me cry.
Now she does the same thing again. My eyes fill as Amanda kisses me on the cheek then sets off down the aisle.
He’s always said he wanted me to have the fairy tale.
He’s giving it to me.
‘Ready?’ Sandy asks as she hooks her arm through mine.
‘Ready.’
We walk the first section of the aisle behind one half of the guests, then turn left and I see him, standing next to Williams and Jackson, his back to me.
Williams turns to me then pats Gregory on the shoulder and whispers something in his ear.
Gregory stands in that pose I love. His hands by his sides in his black, perfectly tailored suit.
His legs parted, his shoulders tall and strong, his hips slightly forward. His hair is slicked back.
Blood pumps so hard in my veins that every single part of me might explode.
I want to see his face. I need to see him.
Sandy excitedly squeezes my hand and I look around our family and friends.
Luke smiles at me. Lawrence dips his head.
Lara wipes her eyes with a tissue and Stuart turns his lips in a half-smile that’s so incredibly familiar.
There’s one person missing but I know he’s looking in on us from his cloud and he’ll be content because his little girl is the happiest she’s ever been in her life.
Sandy takes my bouquet as I stand in front of the trellis archway and Amanda fans out my dress and veil on the floor.
Then I take the final three steps alone.
Towards the man I love. The man I couldn’t have dreamt.
He turns now, those mesmerising brown pools taking in every single inch of me. His. All his.
When our eyes connect, his chest rises with his breath and he presses his hands to his heart.
If it’s possible, I fall just a little bit deeper.