Epilogue
The clouds rolled in on a whisper, tucking the noonday sun away for another day. Still, the overcast sky didn’t dampen the couple’s spirits.
Waist-deep in the salty sea, Angelica watched Garrett, sporting a tan, stroll toward the chair in his swim trunks, sand shooting out from behind his heels. God, this man was hot. And she had the luxury of loving him.
Six months ago, she couldn’t have imagined this day would bloom so quickly. Or that they’d be sharing a beachfront villa surrounded by palm trees, sago palms, and a riot of bold-colored flowers. Or that parrots would fly from tree to tree, sharing squawks.
Soon after Angelica moved in with Garrett, as they sat on the sofa one evening before a mesmerizing fire, she told him. Revealed her guarded secret. The pain she had endured and would forever carry within.
Garrett went silent. Too silent. He stood and kissed her on the head, his eyes burning. “I love you,” he said. “Stay right here. Don’t move. I’ll be back shortly.”
His feet pounded on the stairs as he raced to the second floor, and then she heard him rummaging in one of the junk rooms. He raced back down, his mouth twisted, and stormed out the kitchen door with a rattling slam.
Angelica’s heart sank. Garrett now saw her in a different light.
She wasn’t the innocent woman he’d assumed she was.
Suddenly, she heard gunshots. Oh my God!
He’s going to kill himself! She jumped up and hobbled to the back door.
With his legs spread in a marksman’s stance, Garrett furiously blew away aluminum cans in the moonlight.
Cans! Some flew skyward before plummeting to the ground.
Others, mortally wounded, keeled over instantly.
Then it hit her. Garrett’s rage wasn’t directed at her. It was directed at Nicholas. This was his way of dealing with his hostility rather than acting rashly and inflicting more pain on her.
To the sound of gunfire ringing in her ears, she went back to her seat on the couch and waited in explosive agony.
Fifteen minutes later, the longest fifteen minutes of her life, he came back in, closing the back door without slamming it.
She heard a heavy thump on the countertop.
The next thing she knew, Garrett was carrying her up to their bedroom.
Fully clothed, he laid her in bed and kissed her. “I’m so sorry, darling. I can’t imagine your pain. I wish I could kiss it away.”
Garrett nestled his face in her neck, and she swore he was crying, crying for her as he held her as if there were no tomorrow.
But Angelica didn’t want their tomorrows dictated by someone else, lurking in the foreground, with the tick of the clock standing still.
She owed that to Garrett. She couldn’t leave him hanging with a blank calendar, a calendar without dates.
She would go out on a limb for him. Stop cowering.
She made the phone call the next morning. That’s why they were here today.
Garrett dropped onto the striped, beach-towel-covered lounge chair and reached for the tall, ice-filled glass, slick with condensation, on a side table, its short plastic legs buried in the white sand.
“You’re a wimp,” Angelica yelled, bobbing on slow, rolling flutters in the tepid Caribbean waters.
He shook his head and waved to her. “If needing a drink of lemonade on a tropical island makes me a wimp … Oh, well, you’re stuck with me now, honey. Sorry.”
“All guys have faults, I guess.” She bellowed with laughter and dove headfirst into the water.
She was so cute.
All it took was a single phone call from Angelica to Ponte to clear away her burdensome baggage and set her new relationship on solid ground. What a little spitfire she is. She threatened to expose Ponte’s antics to the media, including what he forced an underage teenager to do.
The businessman suddenly saw the light in the face of her threat—the damage to his “stellar” reputation and wallet—and signed off on the divorce post haste.
She didn’t ask for a dime, but Ponte dropped five million into her checking account.
The price of silence. Angelica was no one’s fool. She held a Royal Flush.
Either way, the money was painstakingly earned and entirely hers.
Garrett wasn’t staking a claim to any of it.
In addition to her book illustration career, Angelica plans to open a gift shop and gallery to support local artists, using a small portion of the unexpected windfall.
She was living life on her own terms, not under anyone’s thumb or in anyone’s shadow.
As for him, he hung up the beer mug and the Glock the same week.
He’s Mr. Fitzpatrick, the 10th-grade American history teacher now.
No more calls in the middle of the night or on Christmas.
However, he had to separate two rivals over the “cute” girl in their class.
His “policing skills” will always be needed when boys are boys.
Garrett smiled as Angelica splashed around like a kid on summer vacation. She was a fish. Once her little toe hit the water, she didn’t want to get out. Ahh … except when he winked at her and said, “Well, what do you think, Miss?”
She winked back. “I definitely think this is the time, Sir.”
And boy, did they have a time of it.
Why shouldn’t they? They were on their honeymoon.
One week after Judge Manuel Rodriguez signed Angelica’s divorce papers, they gathered in the judge’s chamber, with Leah and Ed as their witnesses. Angelica wore a clinging, short pink dress and looked gorgeous, as usual, while he wore a gray suit with his tie properly tied.
The two mothers weren’t there. They’ll catch up with Garrett’s mom, no dad!
, at a restaurant when they return. As for Mrs. Maricelli, she needs more time to come to terms with the sudden change in her son-in-law.
Particularly a poor one! He and Angelica are praying and lighting candles for a quick divine intervention on that matter.
Although the ceremony was brief, it was poignant. They both wrote their own vows—A love that can’t be unbound—Two hearts forever beating as one—and he’d be a liar if he denied they were both teary-eyed by the time they exchanged rings and kissed.
Garrett married the woman of his dreams, and apparently, Angelica felt the same way about him.
Things work out well when you do it that way.
It didn’t take them long to realize they had the same taste behind closed doors, under the moonlit sky on the beach, and on their ocean-view balcony.
Much to their delight and exhaustion, they were in full accord in that department.
Garrett watched as his wife rose from the depths of the sea, seductive, her hair dripping wet, water beading on her skin. She braved it all in a bikini, her scars emerging from hiding for the first time. She wasn’t hiding much on top, either.
Oh, God, help him! What a figure. He felt a surge of heat, not from the sultry air.
Ever so carefully, she stepped onto the sand, her arms outstretched as if maneuvering on a balance beam.
“Let me help you, Baby,” he called, rising from his chair and trotting toward her.
“Thanks, darling.” Angelica beamed and took hold of his arm. “I have a hard time walking on sand.”
“That’s what I’m here for. I’ve got you, forever, sweetheart.” Garrett scooped her up and headed back to the two chairs on the deserted beach, their private hideaway for ten more days.
As Angelica snuggled in his arms, random raindrops slipped from the sky, tickling their cheeks and shoulders. Then the rain decided to do its thing and came down in earnest, big drops plopping onto them.
They both laughed.
“Do you see what I see, Mr. Fitzpatricks?” she asked, gazing lovingly into his blue eyes as she brushed aside the soaked hair clinging to her brow.
“I sure do, Mrs. Fitzpatricks. What do you think?”
“I think they’re playing our song.”
Garrett grinned from ear to ear, then set his wife down gently on the muddy sand.
With their lips locked in a fiery kiss and wrapped in each other’s arms, Angelica and Garrett danced barefoot, unaware of the sand sneaking between their toes, the palm trees swaying, or the doves breaking out in song, as the watery gift from the heavens christened and blessed them.