Epilogue
Natalie
"No, this one makes me look like a frosted wedding cake."
"The back slit on this dress—what, am I supposed to do a striptease in front of the priest?"
"Jesus, this veil weighs enough to stop a bullet."
"Pearls? Seriously? I look like a supporting character from a 1950s movie."
After trying on what had to be the seventeenth—or maybe eighteenth, I'd lost count—gown from various top-tier designers, I collapsed barefoot onto a sofa soft enough to swallow me whole.
I announced my defeat to the row of consultants and assistant designers whose expressions were growing increasingly stiff.
"Forget it. I give up. Maybe we should just throw on some jeans and get this done at city hall.
The baby's already here, I've got my awards. Who cares?"
Emma rolled her eyes dramatically while directing the staff to pack away those wedding gowns worth the price of a sports car.
"Natalie, you're about to become Mrs. Winston—again—in front of the whole world.
And your groom is Richard Winston. You want to wear jeans?
Unless you're hoping to see The Wall Street Journal and People Magazine dedicate their front pages to mourning the death of fashion. "
"Let them mourn." I rubbed my ribs, still aching from the tight corset. Post-pregnancy recovery had gone well, but certain curves were definitely different now, and these dresses... well, I just didn't like how I looked in them.
That evening at home, I complained to Richard about it. He was leaning on the study sofa, fumbling with the complicated snaps on Leonardo's onesie, his movements clumsy in an endearing way.
"Not one you liked?" Richard didn't look up, still battling the snaps with furrowed brows, like he was navigating a difficult merger negotiation.
"Nope. Either too much, too conservative, or..." I sighed and walked over to take over, undoing the snaps in seconds and changing Leonardo into comfortable pajamas. "Something's just missing. Maybe I'm being too picky."
Richard watched me lift the little one into my arms, gently patting his back. His gaze lingered on me for a moment. "Then stop looking."
"What?" I froze.
"I said, stop looking." He stood, walked to his desk, pulled out a thick sketchbook from the drawer, and handed it to me.
I took it, confused, and opened it. Inside were page after page of pencil sketches.
Mermaid cuts, ball gowns, A-lines... Each page had a small date in the corner.
The earliest was from my second trimester, back when Richard and I were still walking on eggshells around each other.
The last few pages showed a nearly complete wedding dress design.
Strapless, incredibly clean lines, but the bodice was lace with vine and star patterns spreading from the chest to the shoulders.
A deep V-back, cinched waist, and a multi-layered tulle skirt.
"Richard, you drew these?" My voice came out hoarse.
"Just something I sketched in my spare time." He leaned against the desk, hands in his trouser pockets, tone casual.
I stared at those drafts, my fingers tracing the pencil strokes he'd left on the paper, my heart turning to mush.
"Richard Winston," I stood on tiptoes and kissed his jaw, "you're a goddamn romantic genius. This is the one. I want this one."
His tense shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly, and his lips curved into a genuine, satisfied smile. "I knew you would."
On the wedding day, we only invited our closest family and friends. When I walked down the path in Blackwood Manor's back garden—paved with fresh white roses and baby's breath—in that one-of-a-kind dress, I could feel every eye fixed on me, filled with wonder.
Then I saw Richard, standing under the white flower arch.
He wore a perfectly tailored black tuxedo, his posture straight, hair slicked back to reveal his broad forehead and deep-set eyes.
He watched me from afar, his expression one I'd never seen before—an almost breathless focus mixed with undisguised awe and bottomless tenderness.
God, Richard looking like this was devastatingly handsome.
The traditional, slow Wedding March was playing.
But as I reached the middle of the path, about to approach him, the music subtly shifted.
I looked up in surprise to see a white grand piano beside the flower arch.
And sitting at it, long fingers moving across the black and white keys—was Richard.
When had he left his spot and gotten to the piano? I hadn't noticed at all.
Richard tilted his head slightly, his gaze meeting mine, a faint smile of triumph playing at his lips. God, I loved Richard like this.
Gina laughed softly in my ear and squeezed my arm. "See? I told you he'd learn."
The ceremony was officiated by a kind-faced old priest.
Sunlight filtered through gaps in the white flower arch, casting warm patches of light on us. The air was fragrant with roses and grass. Guests sat quietly in white chairs, their gazes focused on us with warmth.
The old priest opened his heavy Bible, his voice gentle yet solemn. "Richard Winston, do you take Natalie Green to be your wife, to love her, comfort her, honor and protect her, as you love yourself, in sickness and in health, in wealth and in poverty, remaining faithful to her until death?"
Richard turned to me. His gray-blue eyes were like a calm ocean in the sunlight, clearly reflecting my image. He looked at me without hesitation, his voice clear and firm.
"I do."
The old priest smiled and nodded, then turned to me. "Natalie Green, do you take Richard Winston to be your husband, to love him, comfort him, honor and protect him, as you love yourself, in sickness and in health, in wealth and in poverty, remaining faithful to him until death?"
I looked at the man before me—the man who'd once scared me, who I'd run from, but who I'd ultimately come to love deeply, rely on, and want to spend my life with.
He gazed at me intently, his usually stern face impossibly soft now.
I could see the undisguised anticipation in his eyes, and a barely perceptible nervousness.
I took a deep breath, keeping my voice steady but unmistakably sincere.
"I do."
The old priest smiled warmly. "Please exchange rings as a witness to your vows."
Emma stepped forward with a deep blue velvet tray.
Richard took the brilliant pear-shaped diamond ring and carefully, reverently slid it onto my left ring finger.
The cool platinum circled my finger, the diamond refracting dazzling light in the sun.
Then I took the men's ring and placed it on Richard's left ring finger.
"Now, united by the sacred bond of marriage, the husband may kiss his wife."
Richard stepped forward. His left hand gently cradled the back of my neck, his right cupped my face, thumb tenderly stroking my cheekbone. Then he lowered his head and kissed me.
The dinner and dance were warm and lively. Richard's arm was around my waist as we danced slowly under the string lights hanging in the garden. Leonardo, held by Gina, watched the spinning lights and crowd with curiosity, giggling.
"Tired?" Richard asked softly, his breath brushing my ear.
"A little, but happy." I leaned on his shoulder, breathing in his familiar woody scent mixed with faint traces of wine. "Today was perfect. Thank you—for the dress, for the piano."
"As long as you're happy." He paused, his voice dropping lower. "Tonight, we could..."
My face heated and I pinched his waist. "Mr. Winston, mind the occasion."
He chuckled low, his chest vibrating. "I was just going to say we could head home early, check on our son. Where did your mind go, Mrs. Winston?"
God, Richard was still the same bastard I knew and loved.
Late that night, after all the guests had left, we returned to our redecorated master bedroom, red rose petals scattered across the bed.
I lay in Richard's arms, my fingers unconsciously tracing the vicious but healed scar on his left forearm. He gently lifted my left wrist, the one I always covered with bracelets or watches, revealing the somewhat ugly old mark beneath.
"Does it still hurt?" he asked quietly, his fingertip stroking the scar with extreme gentleness.
I shook my head. "It stopped hurting long ago. It's just... not pretty."
"I don't see it that way." Richard lowered his head and kissed the scar solemnly. His warm lips pressed against the cool skin, sending a shiver through me. "It tells me how brave my girl once was, and how much loneliness she endured that I need to spend the rest of my life making up for."
Richard lifted his head and gazed into my eyes. "Natalie, I swear on my life that from now on, I will use everything I have to protect you and Leon, until my last breath."
I kissed his lips, my actions replacing words.
After the wedding, Richard remained busy but no longer treated work as his entire life.
He adjusted his schedule to ensure he could come home for dinner with us at least three days a week.
Unless absolutely necessary, he never scheduled work on weekends.
He began looking for a new home—one with more natural light, a safe lawn for Leon to crawl on, soundproofed rooms for me to practice singing, and close to good schools.
He even started deliberately delegating some non-core business to trusted deputies and board members.
In his words, "I need to save time for when Leon can kick a soccer ball, so I can practice with him. And to attend Natalie's concerts."
A month later, I released my first post-pregnancy single, titled "Second Sunrise.
" The melody was bright and cheerful. I shared the song on social media with a photo of me in the manor garden, holding Leonardo, laughing at the camera.
Sunlight spilled over us, my wedding ring and diamond award ring sparkling.
Soon after, Emma was shrieking on the phone. "Baby! Your new song hit number one! The streaming numbers broke records! Everyone's saying it's the happiest song they've ever heard! God, Natalie, you did it!"
I looked at the soaring data and screen full of congratulations on my tablet. Success was still exciting, but it was no longer the only measure I used to prove my worth. I knew who I was. I knew who loved me. That was enough.
On Christmas Day, Blackwood Manor was decorated like a scene from a Christmas card, with a massive spruce tree covered in shiny ornaments and warm lights.
We hosted a small, intimate family gathering.
Gina and her new boyfriend Anthony—a gentle-looking documentary filmmaker—arrived early with gifts piled high.
"This is for my godson Leon," Gina said, shoving an enormous, garishly wrapped box at me. Then she leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "By the way, Anthony proposed last night. God, you know what? He hid the ring in a burger. I almost swallowed it."
Her dramatic tone made me laugh, but I still hugged her excitedly. "That's wonderful! Congratulations!"
At dinner, the long table was laden with food, the fireplace blazing. Leonardo sat in his special high chair, wearing a red reindeer onesie, excitedly waving a silicone spoon, trying to grab at food that wasn't there. Richard and I sat side by side, his hand naturally holding mine under the table.
Just as we raised our glasses to toast Merry Christmas, the little guy in the high chair suddenly stopped waving. His bright eyes looked at me, then at Richard, and then his little mouth opened, producing two crystal-clear syllables.
"Ma...ma?"
I nearly dropped my glass.
"Did he just..." I looked at Richard in disbelief. Richard was clearly stunned too.
Leonardo, seemingly pleased with the attention, turned to Richard and grinned with his few little teeth, calling out even more clearly, "Da...da!"
"Oh my God!" Gina was the first to scream, jumping up and clapping.
"He's talking! Leon can say mama and dada!" Emma shouted excitedly.
Tears poured from my eyes without warning—tears of joy. Richard set down his glass and carefully lifted our son from the high chair, cradling him close, lowering his head to nuzzle the little one's tender cheek with his forehead.
He said nothing, just opened his arms and pulled Leonardo and me both into a tight embrace.
In that moment, with the firelight dancing, the Christmas tree lights twinkling, the air filled with the scent of food and pine, and the sound of friends and family's kind laughter and blessings around us, I held the two most precious people in my life.
I had never felt so complete, so secure, so. .. happy.
Late that night, after seeing off the last guest and putting an exhausted Leonardo to bed, Richard and I stood side by side at the bedroom's floor-to-ceiling window, watching the quiet manor grounds dusted with fine snow.
"Today was great, wasn't it?" I leaned on his shoulder.
Richard nodded, his arm around my waist, fingers gently tracing the silk of my robe. "I've been thinking about something. Wanted to run it by you."
"What?"
"Starting a foundation focused on mental health support for teenagers, especially kids with self-harm tendencies or family issues.
Another part would fund talented young female artists who lack resources, providing training and platforms to showcase their work.
" He paused, turning his head to look at me.
"We'd name it after Leon. The Leonardo Hope Foundation.
Take some of the attention and resources we've received and put them toward something more meaningful. What do you think?"
I turned to face him directly. The snow's reflection shone in his deep eyes.
I cupped his face and kissed his lips.
"I think that's the best idea I've ever heard, Mr. Winston."