Epilogue
The brass band danced even as their music filled the air. Laughter and cheers followed the music…and the second line cascaded down the New Orleans street. Colorful umbrellas swirled in the air, and attendees waved blue handkerchiefs. The groom held the bride’s hand tightly within his grip. Her white dress twirled around her legs as she danced with him. Friends followed. Strong men in dark suits. Women in soft blue dresses holding flowers and laughing the night away. Tourists stopped to wave and cheer.
The wedding had taken place in the St. Louis Cathedral, and Royal still couldn’t quite believe it.
She’s mine.
I’m hers.
In the cathedral that he used to sneak into as a child…well, he’d gone in as a man and married the love of his life. And when Violet had walked down that aisle toward him—with her brothers at her side, she’d been smiling the whole time. Staring at him like he was the best thing she’d ever seen.
She looked at him like he mattered.
Like he was special.
Like he was a hero when she knew so much better.
And Royal knew he looked at her like she was everything…because she was.
Six months had passed since the attack in Punishment. He’d tried to court Violet. Tried to take his time so she could be sure of him.
And then she’d just popped the question one night in his club. They’d been dancing—God, he loved to dance with her—and she’d asked him to marry her.
Was he a fucking fool? He’d said yes immediately and went to work. He’d pulled every string he had and gotten the wedding set up three weeks later.
The brass band kept playing. The trumpet let out a joyous cry. The second line was going strong as tourists joined at the tail and the party kept moving. New Orleans was full of life and hope and love.
Royal Street waited not too far away. They’d go down that street. The place where his life had seemed to start so long ago. But his new life…
Oh, that life had started when he opened the trunk of a car and found an angel waiting for him.
You saved me. He told her that often, but he wasn’t sure Violet believed him. She should.
He scooped her into his arms. Kissed her with all the love and devotion he had.
His friends cheered. His brothers—Beau and Declan—slapped him on the back. There wasn’t any fear in New Orleans right then. No pain. No anger. No hate for what could have been.
Just hope.
He lifted Violet into the air and swung her around so that her dress streamed behind her. Her hands pressed to his shoulders as she smiled down at him.
Hope.
Life.
Love.
“I love you, sweetheart,” he told her. “I. Love. You.”