Epilogue
SILAS
Gordon Carlisle-Bent is a formidable old man.
When I take her to that beach to marry her properly, he’s there, medical staff in tow, the three of them looking more worn out than their patient.
He barks instructions at them as they carry him and his wheelchair to the waterfront, where he insists they take off his shoes so he can feel the water on his bare feet.
I stand watching, shaking my head.
Father Emiliano is at my side. He’ll perform the ceremony. Lourdes and Nigella will witness.
Flowers have been strewn along the steps of the property to the water’s edge where we will marry and when the violinist begins to play a version of the wedding march, I turn to watch Horatio step onto the sand and beside him stands my bride. My beautiful bride.
I smile, my heart full to overflowing, the only bitterness on this sweet day is that my mother couldn’t be here to witness it.
Ophelia begins to walk toward me. She’s barefoot, wearing a simple white dress, her hair loose, the curls wild in the sea air, big glasses on her face, her lips a glistening peach, those honey-colored eyes wide and brimming with tenderness. With love.
When she gets to me, I take her from Horatio, who sets his hand on my shoulder and squeezes. He nods and smiles.
Ophelia and I turn to Father Emiliano as the violin quiets, and just as he begins the ceremony, something catches my eye.
I look up and Ophelia glances at me, then follows my gaze and we watch as, out of nowhere, a white feather floats down from the sky and lands right inside Ophelia’s outstretched hand.