EPILOGUE
SOPHIE
Ilook around the great hall of the Chateau d’Arcy, filled with music, light and people—just the way it was built to be—and grin, satisfied.
It’s been an eventful couple of months for Noah and me.
Zach had surpassed himself in Strasbourg, scoring like a madman.
Not just Zach—every single player did his darnedest to help the club snag the gold medal.
Problem was, they couldn’t be as focused on offense as in the previous games because the substitute goalie needed more help than Noah to block the opponent’s incessant attacks.
Strasbourg had won gold for three years straight for a reason.
At the end of the last quarter the score was tied, and the referee announced a penalty shootout.
Under normal circumstances, that would’ve been a perfect opportunity for Noah’s perfect saves. But he happened to be across the ocean at that moment, trying to make an entirely different kind of catch.
His club lost.
Back in Paris, Nageurs was still celebrated for the silver—a first for the city—but all the players could think of was how close they’d been to the gold.
Strasbourg’s coach retired in late January, just as he’d been planning to, and Lucas succeeded him as head coach for the national team.
The day after we landed at Charles de Gaulle, Noah showed up for the workout at the pool. He was fully prepared to be roasted by Lucas and his teammates and kicked out of the club.
He did get roasted, but in the end, Lucas chose to give him a second chance.
“If you pull another stunt like that on me,” Coach said, “you’re dead.”
Noah swore he wouldn’t.
Seeing as he had absolutely no intention of proposing again.
Seeing as his first proposal got accepted.
And that brings me to the reason why the great hall is bustling with smartly dressed people on this frosty late-February evening.
Noah and I are celebrating our engagement.
Everyone’s here.
My mom, looking young and flirty in her shimmery red dress.
My dad, tall and fit and all Denzel-y.
Marguerite, making eyes at him.
A bunch of philanthropists and high-level officials Marguerite has invited so she can tell them about the foundation.
Noah’s brothers Raphael and Sebastian, their wives Mia and Diane, babies Lily and Tanguy, and some of their in-laws.
Sue and two other friends of mine from back home.
Uma, dazzling in a gold and silver embroidered sari.
Jacqueline and the rest of the estate staff.
Noah’s entire team with their plus-ones.
The Derzians.
Oscar.
Jazzy music is playing in the background, and several couples are dancing.
Noah is talking with his brothers whom he’s been spending a lot of time with lately.
Raphael says something funny or—judging by the mischievous expression on his face—naughty, and both Noah and Sebastian burst out laughing.
It’s incredible how thick the three of them have grown over just a few months.
Of course, the two older brothers had been close from the start, but Noah had barely spoken to either of them since Marguerite whisked him off to Nepal when he was eight.
I guess blood is thicker than water.
Their blossoming bromance aside, the trio is easy on the eyes, with Noah being the tallest, brawniest, and blondest of the lot.
I really should stop ogling my fiancé like that—there’ll be plenty of time for it when the guests are gone.
With an effort, I peel my eyes away from him and look for Diane’s sister, Chloe, who’s an architect and property flipper. I want to consult with her about the renovations we’re planning in the spring.
As I scan the crowd for a petite woman who meets her description, I catch sight of Marguerite sashaying toward Dad.
“Ludwig!” She touches his arm. “Finally, we can catch up.”
“How have you been?” he asks politely.
When I’d learned about Dad’s involvement in what Noah and I now refer to as the “Parents to the Rescue Conspiracy,” I cold-shouldered him for a week.
Then I forgave him.
He’s my dad.
I know he sent a fat check to Nepal last month, and Marguerite wrote back that she’d like to show him how grateful she was, when they met in person.
Ugh.
“I’ve been busy,” she says, “but also thrilled to launch all those new health, housing, and literacy programs with the money that came in over the last few months.”
“I’m happy to hear that.”
“Now, Ludwig,” she says in a husky voice. “About that promise I made in my letter—”
“Ah, there she is,” Dad interrupts her, waving to Mom. “Cat, over here!”
When she’s close enough, he grabs her hand and pulls her to him.
“Comment ca va, Marguerite?” Mom asks with a tight smile.
The other French woman’s smile is just as cursory. “Très bien, Catherine.”
“Cat is my girlfriend,” Dad says to Marguerite.
Oh. My. God.
I knew he’d taken Mom to dinner a few times, but him calling her his girlfriend means that the rekindled relationship has progressed to a whole new level.
A mischievous smile dances in Dad’s eyes.
Oh, how I love that smile.
Marguerite turns to Mom. “I thought you were divorced.”
“We are,” Mom says.
Dad lifts her hand to his lips. “I hope we’ll put an end to that unfortunate situation soon.”
What?
I freeze.
Mom gasps.
“Am I a fool to hope for that?” Dad asks her.
She narrows her eyes at him. “Are you asking what I think you’re asking?”
He nods.
She screws up her face. “What if we botch it again?”
“We won’t,” he says. “I promise. And just so you believe me, I’m no longer the manager of my agency. My new associate Doug Thompson will take care of the day-to-day business so I can spend at least half the year in France with my two beauties.”
This is too good to be true.
Mom’s face expands into a beaming grin. “Then it’s an oui.”
“Congratulations,” Marguerite mutters and retreats hurriedly.
“Whee!” someone squeaks in delight, clapping her hands.
It may or may not be me.
I dart to them and pull both into a big hug.
“Guys,” I say. “You just made my most cherished dream come true.”
Mom and Dad gaze at each other, eyes glistening.
I smooch each of them on the cheek. “Will you lovebirds excuse me for a moment? I need to share this scoop with my fiancé.”
As I make my way to Noah, who’s now discussing something with Zach, he turns to me and looks into my eyes.
A little miracle happens.
Despite all the laws of physics—quantum or otherwise—despite the distance between us, I feel him touch me in the deepest, most intimate way.
Soul to naked soul.
>>>