Epilogue
Bonnie
Three Months Later
Stella carefully applies the black kohl on my eyelid margins, ending with her signature winged tip.
It’s my wedding day and we’re at the Reed. The five-star hotel has a luxurious ground floor rectangular function room which is great for weddings because it provides a sufficient walkway for a bride with a long train, a large, airy anteroom perfect for pictures and confetti throwing, and several adjoining rooms, one of which was converted into a bridal dressing room that Stella and I are in now.
Ethan and I didn’t want an elaborate wedding and we would have been content with just going to court, having a small reception at home, and settling back into our very busy lives and weekly joint counseling sessions, but our family and friends were having none of it.
Xavier and Brooke pronounced it an absolute taboo to get married or host guests in our home, so they offered us the Reed instead. Stella declared she’d style me and everyone else in our group, Jordan and Sabrina are providing food, and my mom and the Hawthornes are sending us off on a mandatory honeymoon.
Even Giovanni pitched in with an elaborate cocktail menu served throughout the wedding rehearsal yesterday, to continue right up till the last minute of the reception tonight.
“Your skin is flawless, Bonnie,” Stella says, “I see why you never bother with makeup, but today we’re certainly going to give Ethan something to chew on.”
I can’t answer because she’s banned me from making any facial expressions until she’s done. Although I don’t have an answer for her anyway. I’m too busy imagining Ethan waiting at the end of the aisle, looking edible in his tux, and watching as I approach.
My heart rate kicks up. Ethan’s stare is something I still haven’t quite gotten used to, especially now that he’s ditched the glasses. His gaze feels like a physical caress, making me blush and squirm, especially when he does it in public when I can’t do anything about it.
Now it’s going to be a roomful of people, a long aisle, and his eyes on me in a wedding dress I know is liable to make him crazy.
And Stella is working on my face to further drive home that point. I don’t feel sorry for Ethan. It’s myself that I worry about and the possibility of having melted into a puddle of want by the time Twiggy and I finally reach the altar.
Stella has been so dramatic with her styling duties. First, she declared the dress a secret, and I was beginning to worry that I might not like the dress, or worse still have to pretend like I did in order to spare her feelings.
When I eventually got to see my dress dress two weeks ago, I cried. I didn’t think I’d ever worn anything that beautiful before.
Made of translucent tulle covered in tiny glittering stones and white silk applique petals, and styled into a sleeveless mermaid design with a deep vee neck and a sweeping train, it was a dream come true. It even hugged my small bump.
Since then, I’ve let Stella do exactly what she wants.
She finishes my lips in nude matte and lets me take a look.
I can’t believe my eyes. Well, my actual eyes. Dramatic and sultry, smoked in black kohl, and my eyelids are highlighted in an icy pink glow. The rest of my facial features are subtly enhanced, but I can’t stop going back to my eyes.
“Oh my God, Stella,” I gasp.
“Good right?”
“Geez, good how? It’s amazing!”
“Don’t you dare cry. The makeup is all waterproof but still, I don’t want anything messing with the contrast between the white of your eyes and that eye shadow, and if you cry, they’ll get red-rimmed.”
I pause, shaking my head at Stella. “What the…”
“Yes, I’m tight-assed with small details like that with my models.”
She gives my black curls a fluff. I’ve switched the purple for caramel highlights which set off my warm skin tone. We opted not to go for a headdress, not wanting to detract from the beauty of the dress. Diamonds glitter at my ears and throat, a recent addition to my steadily growing collection.
Ever since Ethan gave me his ultimatum about taking his money, he’s gone wild with gifts. It appears that is his love language, giving and receiving gifts. It’s so delightful to watch him blush over the smallest things.
The other day I gave him a pair of cuff-links I’d picked up when I went shopping and the way his face lit up was priceless, which in turn made me unbearably hot. The look on his face when he gets a gift, is just as potent to me as when he’s inside me, thrusting in throes of ecstasy.
“And that’s you done,” Stella announces, I stand and go to the floor-length mirror in the middle of the room, step on the raised dais, and twirl.
“I can’t get over this dress Stella.” It’s just so… me, and it fits like a soft glove, with no folds or blebs.
“You’re simply breathtaking in it babe.” Stella begins clearing up her makeup kit from the mirrored counter.
Breathtaking. That word reminds me again of the cryptic message Giovanni sent to me a few days ago in the dark web chat room. We were discussing security updates when he suddenly said, or rather chatted;
Until I find you a proper wedding present, will you be content with taking his breath away?
“Of course” I’d replied, not entirely sure what he meant.
But staring at my reflection now, I can see how Ethan might be awed. But then Giovanni hasn’t seen me in this dress before, so I can only conclude that he meant that no matter what I wore I’d still take Ethan’s breath away.
Whether one understands what Giovanni is saying depends on his overall mood. He has a tendency to switch to Italian when he’s excited or annoyed. Sometimes he struggles to find appropriate words and would make literal translations which don’t always make complete sense. And to add to the confusion, he can also be extremely articulate at other times.
“Now I wonder where that Twiggy is.” Stella interrupts my musing, pulling a snort of laughter from me.
“Somewhere far away from your grasp would be my guess, Stella. I’ve told you Twiggy will never let you near his hair much less let you curl it, babe.”
“But he said he’ll be here”
“Of course, he’ll be here, he’s escorting me down the aisle. Maybe you didn’t understand him.” I laugh
“Actually, that’s entirely possible,” Stella replies, “given the tickle in my ears when he talks to me. Fucking hell Bonnie, I’ve never wished to be a man more than I have in the past week!”
Stella is nothing if not dramatic. I know for a fact she’s not crushing on Twiggy, although the man does have a certain effect on people of both sexes. Perhaps because I’ve known him forever, I take how people react to meeting him for the first time for granted. He has strikingly attractive masculine and feminine features.
“Well, get in line, sweetheart.” In a pang of grief, I remember how Nan always nagged Twiggy to settle down. His last long-term relationship was ten years ago. I don’t know the details because he never talks about it, but I know his boyfriend was a model, and the relationship was so toxic that Twiggy spiraled into drugs and became homeless.
“There’s just something so…exotic about that man.” She sighs.
I conclude it’s the stylist in her that’s drawn to him. And no wonder Ryan hates Twiggy despite knowing the man could never be interested in Stella. If anything I’d say Twiggy might even be a little smitten by Ryan’s looks. A most moronic love triangle if I ever saw one.
I used to think Stella and Ryan couldn’t stand each other. But seeing Ryan’s dislike for Twiggy, I suspect the guy does like her, although whether Stella is the only woman Ryan likes remains to be seen. In the past month alone, he’s been linked to, and photographed with more women than I can count on one hand.
Now I know it’s Stella who can’t stand Ryan and it has to be his personality that puts her off, because looks-wise, Ryan and Twiggy could pass for twins. Except for Twiggy’s thick, waist-length wavy hair, the color of ripe wheat, which has understandably left Stella drooling since last week when she finally got to meet him.
“Exotic, shmexotic! You just like his hair, Stella,” I argue.
“Well, can you fucking blame me? In all my life, I’ve never seen hair like that, and I’ve seen plenty. I wish he’d let me play with it.” She sighs, running her hand through her own platinum-blonde hair, artfully teasing the wavy bob to perfection.
“You’ll get over it, babe.”
“Oh, it’s not just me. I believe Sabrina too needs to wind it in. She told me she’d asked Jordan if he could sketch Twiggy for her upcoming exhibition and didn’t quite get what Jordan was so pissed about.” Stella reveals, and I laugh.
“At least he gets on really well with the guys despite us girls being all giggly and breathless over him,” I say, not wanting to bring up the cold shoulder Ryan has been giving the man.
“True. Good thing also, that men can communicate with mere grunts because I’m sure they don’t get half the things he says. I know I don’t.”
Twiggy and Ethan have particularly taken to each other since they connected over their plans to destroy the Sect, which is going extremely well so far.
My father is in jail at the moment, with the other Sect masters, pending full investigation. Their plea for bail was denied because they are thought to be a flight risk considering the amount of hidden assets they possess. Also, the police feared that because of their master status, if granted bail, they would exert undue influence on potential witnesses.
The scandal had sent shockwaves through the media landscape, and even though the Sect reach was mainly in the provinces south and west of Ireland and not established as far as Dublin, it was consumed all over the country.
The fact that the Sect remained little known over the years, despite it spreading fast, pointed to an element of targeting of specific areas and groups of people. Twiggy stayed on the situation and took Ethan’s advice to leak information by piecemeal to ensure a constant media-feeding frenzy. More media interest led to public outrage and agitation, which would then put considerable pressure on the courts to give stricter penalties.
Grace Martinez hesitantly pokes her head into the dressing room. “Is the bride ready yet?”
Stella had ordered everyone out, claiming they would distract her. “I’ve got the bouquet– Oh my word Bonnie!” She exclaims when she sees me. Not minding to break Stella’s rule, she sweeps into the room looking awed. “You look a-mazing!”
Once the tech floor got wind of Zeus and Hera getting married, it caused no small stir. Grace, the closest to me, had been the go-between, and each time she’d come back begging with a few more names of those who wanted to attend. They didn’t even mind not being seated during the ceremony. They simply wanted to be allowed to throw rice and wish us well.
You’d think it was the Royal wedding the way they acted, but I couldn’t very well say no, so Acercraft folks form a large chunk of the crowd today.
The non-fraternization rule was thrown out, much to the relief of everyone. It turns out there were a few love interests that were being severely hindered by the rule. Notable of such, and to my utmost shock, was Grace and Mike Waldrow, who is almost twenty years her senior.
I’d literally sprinted to Ethan’s office with the information two seconds after I heard it, only to find out he already knew about it for weeks! I couldn’t believe he wouldn’t tell me. He’d said he didn’t think I needed to know, which led me to give him a piece of my mind about how he needed to take into account my expectations of him as my boyfriend to share juicy gossip with me.
Ingrid and Grant fully backed me up at the family dinner when I raised the issue of how much to tell your partner. Not that it got me anywhere. He’s still like a clam with information.
Grace stands beside me now, peering into the mirror, and my gaze snags on the large, exquisitely arranged bouquet of pink and white peonies with a dash of purple lilacs.
“I have no words Bonnie,” she hands over the bouquet, still looking at me. “It’s from Ethan.”
Oh wow. “Thanks Grace.”
“There’s a note too”
My heart flutters as I open the note and read out.
You had me spinning at hello, and now I don’t know where I stop, and you begin, Mrs. Hawthorne.
Grace ‘awws’ beside me, but I can’t hear her over the butterflies taking off in my belly. Suddenly, I can’t wait to get to that altar.
Stella shoos her away. “Grace, can you go get Twiggy, please, and tell the others to give us a few more minutes, we’ll soon be done.”
Grace makes to leave, then suddenly remembers, “Oh, I’m also meant to ask if Bonnie wanted something to drink before we start. You can have water, juice, or any virgin cocktail.
“Yeah, the virgin cocktail sounds great.”
“It has to be something she can sip out of a straw, please,” Stella amends.
“Noted,” she leaves, but I’m still staring at the note.
“Bonnie, I meant it about the crying,” She takes the note from me.
“Okay, I won’t." I change the subject so I can focus on something else apart from the tingly feeling coursing through me at Ethan’s sappy words. I hold the bouquet in one hand and cradle my fluttery belly with the other. The material clings to me like a second skin.
“You know Stella, I didn’t think baby bumps could be sexy, but the material and cut of this dress is so precise and flattering.”
“I know, babe, the belly area is literally my favorite part of the dress. Speaking of bumps, I was meaning to ask you something. If you were to pee on a stick now, would it still show two pink lines?”
That stops me for a second. “Why would I need to do that? I’m pregnant already,” I palm my belly for emphasis.
“Duh, I know, I just wondered if…” She pauses in thought. “Hmm.”
“Stella? If what?” I have no clue why she’s talking about taking a pregnancy test when I’m already five months pregnant.
“It’s nothing, it was just a weird thought. Sometimes I get them. Never mind.”
I want to pursue the issue but we can’t say more because Twiggy pokes his head in.
“Would ye look at that? Twiggy’s deep brogue fills the room. “Ethan’s done for, he is. Yer breathtaking.”
Breathtaking .
There’s the word that keeps snagging in my brain again.
He walks in, his tall, muscled frame in a tuxedo, his beard trimmed down to scruff, and hair in tousled waves over one shoulder. He drops a kiss on my head
“Aw thanks, Twigs”
“Hey Twiggy,” Stella starts, “I thought we agreed we were doing a father-of-the-bride style for you. We talked about this, right?”
“What’re ye plannin’ now? Dollin’ me up with makeup?”
“I was thinking we could curl–”
“Not on yer life, lass I told ye before.”
“He means no,” I interpret for Stella, who looks about to argue more.
“Twiggy, is that strawberry daiquiri that mine?” I gesture to the cocktail in his hand before Stella can launch into her argument.
“Aye, it’s virgin, but mind yerself now, only a few sips, and don’t be spillin’ it on yer–”
“Did you say strawberry daiquiri? Like real strawberries?” Stella’s brows are deeply furrowed in concern and she no longer seems interested in pestering Twiggy.
“Yes. Why?” I question.
“No, Twiggy I’m afraid Bonnie can’t have this. She’ll have just water.” She takes it out of Twiggy’s hand and carries the offending drink like an exterminator to the adjoining bathroom.
“Stella, I wanted that!” Her rules are getting out of control.
Stella returns with the empty cocktail glass and pushes it into Twiggy’s hand. “Please go get Hana and the rest and some water if you please.” She says in a tone that brooks no argument. I can’t believe she threw my cocktail down the sink!
“Aye, gaffer,” Twiggy tosses a mock salute and leaves.
“What is he saying now?”
“No, he’s just winding you up. He means ‘Yes boss’, but Stella, what the hell was that about the strawberry daiquiri, is that like a wedding superstition or something?”
“No, it is not. There’s such a thing as a strawberry allergy. It’s rare, but it exists, and it kills!”
“Um, Stella, I know about the allergy. But I’m not allergic, and neither are you, so I don’t see what the problem is.”
“Uh-uh, I’m not taking any chances, thank you. Gosh, have you not seen the news?”
“What news?”
“Apparently, somebody died of the allergy a few days ago. He was only twenty-eight and heir to a multimillion-dollar company in Ireland, which is a shame. The internet has gone bonkers over that news. It didn’t even happen here in the States, but try telling that to all the blogs. And the way it’s trending on social media platforms is unbelievable. Everyone suddenly wants to talk about anaphylaxis, and people are freaking out about having an allergy they’re unaware of and potentially dying of it. I know I am.”
Stella takes a much-needed breath while I rub away the goosebumps that have started racing down my arms.
She continues, “I’ll need to have a strong word with that wedding planner. I hope she has a few other cocktail options on the menu because, I’m telling you people will freak out. Unless she’s been living under a rock for the past week, I’m sure she’s heard about it. Even restaurants are starting to suspend strawberry from their menu…”
I’d stopped listening to Stella after the ‘ twenty-eight and heir to a multimillion-dollar company in Ireland’ part.
I know of one person with a severe allergy to strawberries. It was so bad that strawberries were banned in school and taken out of the canteen menu. He’s twenty-eight years old now. And heir to a business empire.
What are the odds?
“Stella. Who was this person? What’s their name?”
“Oh, you think I’m kidding? How haven’t you heard this news?”
Ethan and I have been particularly busy with our security work this past couple of weeks. There’d been a flurry of business activities in six different countries over the past two weeks, and Giovanni’s team needed extra protection to encrypt all their phone calls and emails to ensure they were untraceable. Over a hundred surveillance cameras were hacked at different times to distort their feeds to ensure none of them were spotted.
So no, I haven’t had time to catch up with the latest gossip blogs.
Stella’s phone appears before my face. “Hot guy right? And a playboy too. Too bad he can’t handle his strawberries. Looks like was in a hotel room with some random woman when he had some wine, and the next thing she knew he stopped breathing. Turns out there were large amounts of strawberries in it. The wine company is being called into account as well, sounds like they’re in the habit of putting undisclosed ingredients in their vintage. It’s been one big messy bust really.”
My ears are roaring but I have no time to digest what I’m hearing because Ma bursts into the room, carrying two-month-old Richard Farrington. She takes one look at me and starts to cry.
“Oh sweet Mary! Siobhán, me dear heart, look at ya! Yer a vision, truly. Ye take me breath away. I couldn’t be prouder.” She hugs me with her free arm.
Until I find you a proper wedding present, will you be content with taking his breath away?
I’m still trying to deal with the buzzing in my head, so I let Ma hold me for long minutes, enjoying her embrace.
On my mother’s heel is Sabrina, who is holding Renee Farrington, Richard’s twin sister, and Dalia.
They also marvel and sigh and comment on how breathtaking I look. By the time they’re done gushing, my heart is still racing a mile a minute. I focus on taking deep breaths and pasting a smile on my face.
Dalia still lives in Paris but has been heavily involved in promoting Grant’s work, which is gaining a lot of popularity in many areas of France. I wouldn’t expect less from Dalia since they’re now dating.
It only took Grant going to Paris for a few days for Dalia’s engagement to hit the rocks. Depending on how things go with his art, he might move to Paris, or she’ll come back to the States with him.
Twiggy returns with my water, and the wedding planner, who then announces it’s time.
Good, because I need to speak with Ethan right now. I drink gratefully, suddenly needing to wet my parched throat.
Stella makes a beeline for the wedding planner but I know the woman won’t have a clue about the cocktails.
It’s not the wedding planner she needs to talk to. It’s Giovanni, or maybe the person he hired to make the cocktails.
Walking toward Ethan on the aisle is twice as hard as I’d anticipated because not only am I burning up from the naked desire and adoration in his gaze, I’m also about to combust from the one question on my mind.
“Baby,” he rasps when Twiggy hands me over to him. “You’re so fucking beautiful–”
I hug him hard, not caring about the protocol we painstakingly rehearsed yesterday.
At least he didn’t say breathtaking. I hadn’t realized how overused that word could get on a wedding day.
Every time someone said that word, my heart skipped a beat.
When I don’t let go, Ethan pauses.
“Bonnie?” He knows something is wrong.
“I need to talk to you…to ask you something,” I say finally.
“Of course, baby. Would you excuse us a minute?” Ethan says to the bewildered officiant, then he takes my hand, and pulls me to one of the side rooms on the furthest part of the room, leaving the audience tittering madly.
As soon as the door closes, I push him against the door. I go on tiptoe and at the same time, pull his head down, and crash my lips to his. His groan reverberates through me, igniting a fire in my core and making me hungrier.
He takes over the kiss in pure Ethan fashion, plundering my mouth, his tongue boldly seeking mine and drawing it into his mouth. When he starts to alternate between suckling on my tongue and gently nibbling on my bottom lip, I can’t help but moan.
We’re both panting when he raises his head. “Baby, what do you need?”
I’m closely studying every nuance of his features when I ask, “Ethan, did you…do it?” His brow wrinkles in confusion, but when I add, “Jake Tyler?” I see his eyes flash.
He says nothing.
“He died a few days ago in Ireland.” I prompt.
“I’m aware of that,” Ethan says simply.
Okay.
“So, did you do it?” I ask again, my heart in my throat.
“How could I have done it Bonnie?” He says patiently, looking at me like I’ve lost my marbles. “The man died of a severe allergic reaction.”
“I see.” I release him and go to the window to stare unseeingly at crashing waves along the beach outside for a few moments, gathering my thoughts.
I’ve seen the way Ethan’s mind works and why his friends hold him in high esteem.
You ask Ethan a simple question and he comes up with an algorithm.
You ask Ethan for direction he gives you the entire city’s roadmap.
And as for Ethan and Giovanni, I’ve overheard their banter too many times where Ethan playfully plants or refines an idea in Giovanni’s head, Giovanni says how fucking idiotic he thinks that suggestion is. But then turns around and does it.
Because Ethan is incredibly good at putting complex and intricate moving parts of things together and making them work seamlessly.
Given half a motive, his mind is the perfect place to hatch a plot.
“Okay. I think that was probably not the right question. Of course, you couldn’t have done it.”
I already know the answer, but if I don’t ask him the right question, I’ll never connect the dots.
Ethan comes to slide his arm around me, holding my back against his front. I relish his solid warmth, taking the courage I need to ask the next question.
I turn, wanting to see his eyes when I say. “What I should perhaps ask is, Ethan, is there any chance that you knew Jake Tyler was going to die before it happened?”
I hold my breath while he pins me with his hazel eyes for long moments.
Finally, when I’m beginning to think he might not answer me, he says, “You could say that I had… a premonition of when it would eventually happen.”
I release the pent-up breath in an audible whoosh.
Stella said I mustn’t cry. I’m not going to cry I chant inwardly.
The knot of helpless anger and despair deep in the pit of my belly, the one that I could never seem to escape, no matter what, the knot that’s tortured me since that night ten years ago, starts to unfurl and dissipate.
“Anything else you want to ask me before you become my wife?” He takes both my hands and laces his fingers with mine.
“No, Ethan, that’s absolutely everything I needed to know.”
Ethan drew out the blueprint and nudged all the pieces in the right direction without lifting a finger. Jake was probably as good as dead the moment I mentioned his name.
My heart starts to pound. “Thank you.”
“For what?” Ethan deadpans.
“For everything. For nothing. For just being you. You were right when you said you’re not into showmanship. You’re a behind-the-scenes, in-the-dark kind of guy.”
“And you, my love, are the flash of fire that lights up my world.”
I feel my face heat under his gaze. He knows what it does to me when he talks like that, but I play it cool, and I roll my eyes.
“You’re getting all soft and mushy on me, and it’s not even day one, Harvard.”
“Well, in that case, I should be brutally honest and tell you that when I saw you coming down the aisle, I was gripped with an insane hunger for you.” His voice drops an octave, “Like I really, really wanted to eat you out. I still do.”
“Jesus, Ethan!” And I’m right there with him. “You’re so freaking disgusting.” I’m already lifting my dress. “Tell me that door is locked, pervert.”
He kneels before me, lifting my leg over his shoulder while I hold on to him, “You just worry about keeping your voice down. And the fact that you have approximately two minutes to come. Otherwise, I will leave you here to finish on your own, and you can meet me at the altar.”
“Great an ultimatum, and a threat. How utterly romantic– Ah! Oh God, Ethan…” I lose the rest of my words under his skillful fingers and tongue, and in less than two minutes, I’m trembling and groaning out my orgasm.
“Magnificent,” he praises, “always a fucking pleasure.” He gives me a handkerchief and wipes his hands and face on his.
We are all set to return when we hear a knock, followed by a growl, “Ye think ye could maybe come out and finish the ceremony first, so we’re not all sat here like muppets while yer off havin’ a bit of craic? Jaysus!”
Twiggy! My eyes pop, and my face is aflame with embarrassment. Did they hear me? I glare at Ethan and whisper-shout. “It’s all your fault, you started talking dirty and–”
“You’re the one who was so overtaken with need you had me dragging you into the broom closet to put you out of your misery.” He grins unrepentantly.
“I gasp. You’re–” I’m mortified. “I don’t even think I want to get married again.”
Ethan burst into laughter. “Oh yes, you are, if I have to drag you kicking and screaming.”
“Will ye get a move on lads!” Twiggy barks.
“And there’s our cue,” Ethan gives me a quick peck. “We gotta go now. By the way, baby, that blush looks spectacular on you.” He pulls me toward the door. “Come, let’s go make you an Ethan Hawthorne.”
“Eww.” I follow him, though.
“I know, I love you too.”
THE END
Thanks for reading!
If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving an honest review on your favorite lokepub store .