Epilogue #2
We stepped through the doors and into the late December sunshine. It was mild, one of those perfect California winter days that made you forget the season. The garden was in full bloom thanks to Patrick’s insistence on hiring a team of landscapers.
And there, at the end of the aisle, was Patrick.
The look on his face—the way his eyes widened, the way his breath visibly caught—grounded me. He looked devastatingly handsome in his tailored tuxedo, his ginger curls neatly combed, his blue eyes never leaving mine as I walked toward him.
Standing beside him was Duncan MacLeod, who had flown in from Scotland to serve as best man.
As Michael placed my hand in Patrick’s, I felt the last lingering doubts dissolve. This was right. This was where I was meant to be.
“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Patrick whispered.
The ceremony itself passed in a blur. We had written our own vows, simple promises to love and support each other, to honor the past while building a future together, to raise our kids with patience and understanding.
When Patrick slipped the wedding band onto my finger, joining it with the sapphire engagement ring I already wore, my hands were trembling.
“By the power vested in me,” the officiant said, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Patrick’s kiss was gentle, reverent, but with an undercurrent of passion that promised more. When we turned to face our guests, the applause was deafening.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the officiant announced, “I present to you Mr. and Mrs. McCrae!”
The reception was held in a massive tent set up on the lawn, with long tables arranged to accommodate our large guest list. Kids darted between the tables, their formal clothes already rumpled. The catering staff looked simultaneously impressed and alarmed.
I spotted Duncan MacLeod near the bar, looking relieved to have a glass of scotch in hand. I made my way over to him.
“Duncan,” I said, smiling. “Surviving the Carideo-McCrae madness?”
“Just barely,” he laughed, raising his glass. “Though your father has some fascinating theories.” He sobered slightly. “I wanted to congratulate you, Theresa. And not just on the wedding. My legal team confirmed it—the revised CFIUS filing was approved without a hitch. The partnership is official.”
“That’s the best wedding gift I could ask for,” I said. “Thank you for sticking with us through the turbulence.”
“Worth every bump in the road.” He clinked his glass against my champagne flute. “To the future.”
“To the future.”
I left Duncan and scanned the crowd for my husband. I found Patrick near the edge of the tent, deep in conversation with a man I recognized from photos but hadn’t formally met yet—his cousin, Callum MacKenzie.
As I approached, I caught the tail end of their conversation. They stopped abruptly as I reached them, smoothing their expressions into matching masks of innocence.
“Plotting something?” I asked, slipping my arm through Patrick’s.
“Just catching up,” Patrick said, kissing my cheek. “Theresa, you remember Callum?”
“The cousin who knows everything,” I said, extending my hand. “Patrick told me you were the one who helped us... untangle the Arthur situation.”
Callum took my hand, his grip cool and firm. “I just helped out a family member in need. That’s what we do.”
“Well, I hope you’re not persuading my husband into any secret heists today,” I teased lightly. “We have a honeymoon to get to.”
Callum’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes—it was sharp, assessing, and full of secrets. “Don’t worry, Theresa. I’m not collecting yet.”
“Collecting what?” I asked, frowning slightly.
“Just a figure of speech,” Callum said smoothly, releasing my hand. He clapped Patrick on the shoulder. “I’ll let you two get back to your guests. Congratulations, Patrick. She’s formidable.”
“I know,” Patrick said, watching his cousin disappear into the crowd with a thoughtful expression.
I looked at Patrick. “What did he mean? Collecting?”
Patrick hesitated for just a fraction of a second, then smiled, pulling me closer. “Just family nonsense. Ignore him. He likes to be dramatic.”
I wasn't entirely convinced, but before I could press him, I looked over at the head table and had to stifle a laugh. My mother had cornered Mrs. Kowalski and was currently trying to read her palm. The General looked like she was debating whether to pull her hand away or organize my mother’s bracelets by color.
Meanwhile, my Dad had cornered Duncan MacLeod again. I could hear snippets of Dad explaining the spiritual benefits of biodynamic farming, while Duncan nodded politely, looking like he desperately wanted another scotch.
After the meal, Patrick stood to make his toast. He looked out over the gathering, his expression one of profound contentment.
“When Shannon passed away,” he began, his voice steady, “I thought that was the end of my story. I focused on my work, on simply getting through each day. I didn’t believe I would ever find joy again.” He looked down at me, his eyes soft. “And then I met Theresa.”
He raised his glass. “To my beautiful wife, and our ten children!”
The guests laughed and applauded, and I felt a rush of courage. Now was the moment.
I stood and took the microphone from Patrick, smiling up at him. “Thank you for that lovely toast, my love.” I turned to address our guests. “I, too, never expected to find love again after losing Marco. But life has a way of surprising you.”
I placed my free hand on my stomach, the gesture deliberate and unmistakable. “And speaking of surprises... Patrick, darling, I hope you’re ready, because there’ll soon be twelve children in this family.”
Patrick’s face went blank with confusion, then dawning realization, followed by pure, undiluted shock.
“Twins,” I confirmed, unable to keep the grin from spreading across my face. “Due in June.”
The tent erupted in cheers and congratulations. I saw my mother throw her hands in the air and shout, “I knew the fertility stone would work!” while Mrs. Kowalski immediately pulled out a notepad, presumably to start rescheduling the entire year.
But I was focused solely on Patrick. He stood frozen for a moment, then let out a whoop of joy that could probably be heard all the way in San Francisco. In two strides he was beside me, lifting me off my feet in a careful embrace.
“Twins?” he repeated, his voice cracking with emotion. “We’re having twins?”
I nodded, laughing through my own tears. “Confirmed last week. I wanted to surprise you.”
“Mission accomplished,” he said, setting me gently back on my feet. His hands cradled my face as he kissed me, oblivious to the cheering crowd around us. “I love you, Theresa McCrae,” he whispered against my lips. “More than I ever thought possible.”
“I love you too,” I whispered back.
As the celebration continued around us, I looked out at our gathered family—and now two more on the way. Twelve kids. It was madness. Beautiful madness.
But looking at Patrick’s face, alight with joy as he celebrated our news with Duncan and his other friends, I knew with absolute certainty that this was where I was meant to be.
This was my legacy—not just CarideoTech, though the company was thriving, but this family we had built from the broken pieces of our previous lives.
Scotland, August 1995
“Sean, sweetheart, please don’t put that in your mouth,” I called, hurrying across the great hall of Eidheann Castle to retrieve what appeared to be a centuries-old quill pen from my three-month-old son’s determined grip.
Sean gurgled happily as I scooped him up, his tiny fist still clutching his prize. His twin brother Xander, nestled in Patrick’s arms across the room, watched with curious eyes that seemed to take in everything.
The twins had been born on May 29th, perfect and healthy despite arriving four weeks early. Sean Marco McCrae and Alexander Patrick McCrae had Patrick’s hazel eyes and my dark hair, a natural blend of us both.
“Everything all right?” Patrick asked, crossing the room to join us. He easily balanced Xander in one arm while gently extracting the quill from Sean’s grasp with his free hand.
“Just saving another family heirloom,” I replied, pressing a kiss to Sean’s chubby cheek.
It was August, and we had brought the entire family to Scotland for a month-long stay at Eidheann Castle.
The massive stone structure had proven surprisingly accommodating.
The kids had spread out across the many bedrooms, formed alliances and exploration parties, and treated the place like the world’s most elaborate playground.
Through the arched windows of the great hall, I could see Alec leading Austin, Rome, and Paris across the lawn toward the stables.
At ten years old, Alec had appointed himself official tour guide for his American siblings, showing them the secret passages and hidden rooms of the castle with growing confidence.
The change in him over the past months had been remarkable—from the sullen, angry boy who had resented our relationship to a thoughtful, engaging preteen who seemed to have found his place.
“Alec’s taking them riding,” Patrick said, following my gaze. “He’s really coming back to himself, don’t you think?”
“He is,” I agreed. “This place is good for him. For all of them.”
The sound of laughter drew my attention to the far corner of the hall, where Michael and Shelly sat with their boys, playing some sort of card game.
Shelly seemed to glow from within, her hand often resting protectively on the swell of her belly.
They had announced just last week that they were expecting a girl, to be named Rose.
“Lunch is served in the garden when you’re ready,” Mrs. Kowalski announced, appearing from the direction of the kitchens. She seemed happy to be back in the castle, quickly re-establishing a working relationship with the small staff Patrick maintained here. “I’ve set out a proper Scottish picnic.”