Epilogue
JULIETTE
T his isn’t the first funeral I’ve ever been to, but it is the one with the most people.
My hand grips Roman’s as we sit in the front row, listening to the minister talk about legacy and friendship, about the founding family and all that it means. About passing the torch and never forgetting who came before.
I’ve cried a few times, but I’ve held it together pretty good other than that.
Everyone who is anyone is here, and it’s crazy to me how out of control things can be one second, and then, with a little bit of money and influence, glossed over and pushed under the rug. Molded to fit the narrative instead of the truth.
Frederick Lawrence died as a disgrace.
I look to my right, my chest growing warm when I see Tyler—still recovering from his wound—his arm draped across the back of Rosalie’s chair. He must sense my gaze, because he looks at me and winks.
There’s not a day that goes by where I don’t thank God that he made it, that he survived. There’s still a lot of bad blood between him and Roman, but time heals all wounds. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.
If my dad can bury the hatchet enough to be here attending Marcus’s funeral, then I have hope that the rest of my family and Roman can one day mend the rift and forgive each other for being manipulated by the people who were supposed to love them.
I’m not holding my breath, but at least everyone is alive.
And now the feud between Montgomerys and Calloways is being buried with Marcus. I guess when a man throws himself into danger to save your daughter’s life, it becomes clear that some grudges shouldn’t be held on to simply because of the blood that runs through your veins.
Roman is the Montgomery empire now. And Paxton’s set to take over for my dad, although I’m not convinced it was entirely voluntary on either of their parts.
They’re going to work together—Roman and him—even though Roman is in over his head. Paxton said he’d help him navigate the business waters. It’s not like I have any idea of what the hell everyone does.
My mother is another story, but she doesn’t really get a say in my life anymore. Not since I moved out and took up residence with Roman at Montgomery Manor in the HillPoint.
Besides, now that my father is retiring (being pushed out), the two of them have decided to go on a perma-vacation. Sail around the world or something.
I wouldn’t know, because I haven’t spoken to them.
I wish I could say that everything is better, but I still have so many questions about that night and about the people involved.
Beverly—Cassandra—is still missing. And so is Roman’s mom.
My heart cramps when I think about her and the trauma that she’s left him with. He hasn’t told Brooklynn about any of it yet, and honestly, I don’t blame him. How do you tell someone that their mother allowed you to be an unwitting pawn in a fucked-up person’s scheme?
Benjamin is next to Merrick, both of whom are sitting on Roman’s other side, and while I don’t relish the idea of any of them being close to Roman, he seems to want them there, and I trust in his choices.
And then there’s Lance, sitting next to Alex and Art, that bartender girl Ginny—who I know for sure now is Art’s girlfriend—from the Round Table on Art’s other side.
Again, I have a lot of questions, especially after Roman filled me in on everything that I missed while I was passed out on the ground at Upside Down Rock.
But there’s time for that later.
My gaze lands on my father, something unsettling rolling around in my gut.
There’s still something sinister happening in this town, and my dad is far from innocent.
I can’t help but think about the fables that Beverly used to tell us when we were kids. About how the foundation of this town was built on broken hearts and buried secrets.
Civil blood stains civil hands.
Who was she, really?
My spine prickles with anxiety when I think about how effortlessly she embedded herself into our lives, and I wonder if she was planted there on purpose, or if she was manipulated like everybody else.
Hopefully, she stays wherever she ran off to, and I never have to find out.
Roman’s hand slides over my thigh and rests possessively on top, squeezing. I lean into him, giving him the support he needs. He said he isn’t sad about his father’s passing, that he expected it, but I know it still has to hurt. Especially since he didn’t get much closure, in the end.
Whether he admits it or not, he was thrust into this life without a choice, and knowing your father won’t be around to guide you would be a heavy weight on anyone’s shoulders.
But it’s like he said: sometimes we don’t get our happy endings. Sometimes the bad things win.
And life is life, you have to work through the shit that doesn’t go your way and figure out how to heal through it.
The minister finishes his speech, and there’s a somber feeling in the air. I look around one more time, and my eyes snag on someone standing off to the corner.
It’s a man. He’s tall, tan, and lanky. Sunglasses hide his face, and black hair that can be tucked behind his ears whips in the breeze. There are two others behind him. All three of them dressed in suits. Like they’re here for Marcus’s funeral, too.
I squint, trying to get a better look, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen them before. The man in front gives a short dip of his chin, and then he spins around and walks away, the other two following him like guards.
When I move my gaze to where his face was angled, it lands on Lance.
He’s staring after them, a frown on his face. Ginny is worrying her bottom lip as her gaze bounces between them.
I don’t miss how their eyes meet behind Art’s head.
My heart pinches tight, and the hair on my arms raises, but I shelve the feeling for now.
Today is a day of mourning.
Tomorrow, I’ll worry about the rest.
And I know I won’t have to do it alone.
Roman has half the reins to Rosebrook Falls now, after all. And secrets can only stay buried for so long.
Roman
TWO MONTHS LATER
We’re at the Round Table, Juliette tucked perfectly under my arm, her body relaxed and her cheeks flushed from the alcohol she’s been sipping.
Felicity’s perched across the booth, swirling a glass of wine while she listens to Alex rant beside her, flinging dramatic hand gestures.
“I’m just telling you,” Alex says, his voice rising above the guitar player crooning in the corner. “I need something with roots.”
Juliette scoffs. “You’ve literally lived here your entire life, Alex.”
“And?” He glares at her. “Maybe I’m getting tired of pretending to be someone else all the time. I want to be someone. Me. Alex Calloway.”
He drums his fingers on the table.
“Maybe I’ll start a theater company. Or a coffee shop. Or…a theater company inside a coffee shop.”
Felicity snorts into her wine. “You could call it Bard & Beans .”
“Yes!” Alex snaps his fingers, eyes lighting up.
He grabs her face, pressing a quick kiss to her lips.
They both freeze, Felicity’s eyes going wide.
Juliette stiffens underneath me.
I smirk, leaning back, enjoying that for once, the drama isn’t concerning us.
Before anyone can adjust to the very clear shift in the air, a shadow falls over the table.
Lance.
He’s been making more of an effort lately, especially since Juliette is around the HillPoint now, living with me, but their relationship is still tense. He’s cagey, and disappears for days, and then shows back up and acts like nothing’s wrong.
He’s wearing all black, rain from outside speckled across his shoulders, and his expression is unreadable and calm in that unnerving way only Lance can manage.
Still, when his eyes meet mine, he gives a jerk of his chin. There’s an unspoken bond between the two of us, ever since we saved Juliette.
Merrick glides around him with a fresh round of drinks, and slips in the booth next to Juliette, raising a brow toward Lance. “Well, well, look what the dark and broody wind blew in.”
“You just missed Alex’s midlife crisis,” Juliette chimes.
“Tragic,” Lance mutters, plopping down next to Alex, squishing him closer to Felicity. “Was he crying again?”
“Almost,” I say.
Alex huffs and points his glass at no one in particular. “Epictetus would say true strength is mastering your emotions, not being ruled by them.” He pauses and then adds, “Which is why I’m only crying on the inside.”
Felicity rolls her eyes. “Would he also say you’re a drag?”
He frowns at her. “That’s hurtful.”
“Philosophy is boring . I prefer it when you’re acting out lines from something fun.”
Across the bar, someone laughs. It’s warm and melodic, and Lance’s eyes flick toward the source like a moth to a light.
Genevieve.
He doesn’t say a word, and when I glance around the table, nobody else is paying him any mind.
But I see it. Because I’ve felt it.
The twitch in his jaw.
The way his fingers curl like he’s holding himself back.
The way his gaze lingers too long before he forces himself to turn away like it didn’t mean anything.
He looks at me now, maybe recognizing I’m the only one who noticed whatever the hell that was.
I raise a brow, and he frowns before he looks away from me, too.
And just like that, whatever tension was pressing at the edges of the room dissipates, folded back into the warm haze of clinking glasses and laughter.
Merrick’s trying to convince Alex that opening a theater-coffee hybrid would make him hemorrhage money.
Felicity’s scrolling through a menu, even though the only food they have here is already half eaten on the table.
And Juliette’s leaned against my side, her head resting just below my shoulder, a soft smile tugging at her lips like the world’s finally righted itself enough to let her breathe.
For the first time in a long time, I’m not thinking about what’s coming next.
I’m just here.
With her . With family.
The only person I’m missing now is Brooke. She’s still in Cali, doing her own thing, although she said she’s looking into VU as a potential college. Something about their Comparative Literature program being one of the top in the nation.
I close my eyes, wrap my arms tighter around Juliette, and breathe her in like she’s the only thing I’ve ever known.
Somewhere across the room, a glass drops. Someone shouts too loud. The guitar player singing on the stage fumbles over a chord.
The world keeps turning.
But this feeling?
This is ours .
And I’ll spend forever painting it across the sky.