Epilogue
INDIA || three years later
“I have regrets,” Felix says from next to me.
“Well, sure,” I say. “We all have regrets. I shouldn’t have written that article about you way back in the day, but there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” he says, glaring at the screen.
“Shh.” I pat his knee as the music starts. “This is going to be really good for you. You’ll see.”
“It’s six hours,” he says, letting his head drop back on the couch cushion. “Six. Hours.”
My husband is a whiner when being forced to watch movies he’s not interested in. Luckily our couch is comfortable; I moved into his townhome after we got married, but we did replace some furniture.
I love him dearly, but we will not be sharing a double bed.
“But this is the best adaptation,” I say patiently. “So really, six hours will feel like thirty minutes. The time will fly by. Also, Colin Firth as Darcy is exquisite ?—”
“Hey,” he says, frowning now.
“Oh, stop.” I lean over and kiss him, slide my hand into his hair and taste him for just a moment. “You’re still my favorite. See?”
“Meh.”
I grin and kiss him again, with more feeling this time. “My very favorite. You’re worth ten of Colin Firth as Darcy.”
He catches me as I’m turning back toward the screen, his gaze far more interested now than it was two seconds ago. “Show me again,” he murmurs, pulling me close and brushing his lips against mine. “Sunshine Darling.”
I love that name, almost as much as India Caine. So I press pause on the movie, wrapping my arms around my husband’s neck and sliding onto his lap as his kisses turn hungry and yearning.
The movie will still be there later.
“I just think the other one is better,” Felix says several days later. His hair is mussed, his eyes faintly bloodshot, and somehow he’s gone from I don’t want to to Just one more episode . As a result, we’ve binged three Jane Austen adaptations in a twenty-four-hour period.
I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…I think three adaptations in twenty-four hours might be too much Jane Austen.
“You’re kidding,” I say with a scoff. I hold my hand out for the popcorn, gesturing wordlessly.
He holds the bucket closer, and I grab a good handful. “Look,” he says. “Is it as true to the book? No. Maybe not. But the spirit is closer?—”
“It’s more cinematically pleasing,” I cut him off. “But if we’re talking about Jane’s actual vision?—”
“I’m going to be honest with you, Sunshine,” he says. “I couldn’t care less about Jane’s vision. I just want something that’s nice to watch.”
“Right,” I say. “You want cinematic beauty.”
“Sure, if you want to call it that,” he says. He lets his head drop back, his eyes fluttering closed. “I am so tired. This might have been irresponsible of us.”
I snort a laugh, and he grins.
“You’re cute when you look like a zombie,” I tell him, poking his chest.
He swats my hand away, his grin widening, his eyes still closed. “Yeah?” he says. “It turns out zombie men were your type all along, huh?”
“Yep,” I say. I pause, debating silently, and then make up my mind.
I’ve been trying to come up with a way to tell him for days, and I still don’t have anything. I might as well just drop this bomb on him.
So I speak again. “Zombie women should probably be your type, too.”
He’s silent for a brief second, and then his eyes pop open; he must be able to tell from my voice that I’m not joking. His brows furrow as he waits for me to explain.
“We’re not going to be getting much sleep from now on,” I say. My pulse jumps, my heart beating faster as Felix stares at me.
And he must be really tired, because it takes a second. I can see exactly when he understands; his eyes widen, his jaw dropping.
“You—we—” he says, breaking off. Then he points at my stomach. “Are you—are we?—”
“We are,” I say. “We are going to have a little zombie baby.”
“Wait. Really?”
I laugh at the look on his face—disbelief, hope, pure joy. “Yes,” I say. “Really. So let’s go to bed so we can watch more Jane Austen tomorrow. We’re running out of time to be irresponsible sleep-shunners.”
“I—how?”
“Well,” I say. “Usually when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much?—”
“That’s not what I meant,” he says with a laugh. “I mean—you’re sure? When did you take the test? How far along are you? When is the due date?”
“I’ve known for about a week,” I admit. “We won’t know the projected due date until the eight-week appointment. But it should be sometime in the spring of next year.”
“Spring,” he repeats, his eyes wide with awe as though this is the first time he’s ever heard of spring. Then he scoops me up into his arms, before I can even respond—somehow he’s already cradling me close, clutching me to his chest.
“Make a list, Sunshine,” he says. “And we’ll watch every Jane Austen.”
“There’s one called Pride and Prejudice and Zombies .”
He snorts as he maneuvers us up the stairs. “That will obviously have to be at the top of the list.”
“Obviously.”
“And we obviously have to name our child after me. Felix, Felicia, Fillip?—”
“With an F ?” I say, wrinkling my nose.
“Of course.”
We reach the bedroom, where he settles me gently on my side of the bed.
And I love him. I love this man. I love his good days and his bad, his strengths and his weaknesses, all his fears and his joys. I love the way he loves me.
I love the ways he’s changed me, and I love the ways he’s changed himself—not because I asked but because that’s what our blossoming relationship required.
“So a zombie woman, huh?” he murmurs as he climbs in bed next to me, scooting up behind me and wrapping his arm around my middle. I can tell by his voice that he’s already half asleep. “I bet you’d be a sexy zombie.”
I snort. “I will not be a sexy zombie. I will not be a sexy anything.”
“You,” he says into my neck, “are a big, fat liar, India Caine. You’re a sexy everything.”
I mean to respond; my words are on the tip of my tongue. But I’m so comfortable, so content, so secure, that my body melts into his, our shapes contouring?—
We’re asleep in no time, and there’s still a faint smile on my face when I drift off.
Thank you for reading ALL’S FAIR IN LOVE AND BLACKMAIL!
Happy reading!
Love, Gracie