Epilogue Two
ANYA
Six Months Later
There would be defining moments—happy, sad, tragic, quiet—that I would never forget.
The day I met Jetmir.
The day he told me he loved me. Those days we danced in the rain.
The day we got married. The day we chose each other over everything else.
And as I stood at the top of the staircase in my papa’s home, my hand resting in his, I knew this would be another. In fact, every other memory might revolve around this one.
Today, Jetmir and I would be renewing our vows and getting married for all intents and purposes the right way. Surrounded by our family and friends. Surrounded by so much love, I feared I’d burst from happiness.
Our home had never looked more beautiful.
Golden afternoon sunlight spilled through the tall windows, turning the polished hardwood floors into ribbons of amber.
White roses and gardenias filled every room with their soft fragrance, while the warm breeze drifting in from Biscayne Bay carried the scent of salt and summer through the open French doors.
Somewhere below us, a string quartet played a melody so achingly beautiful that it wrapped itself around my heart before I could take my first step.
Everything felt suspended in time, almost as if heaven itself had paused its activity to watch us tie the knot one more time.
I looked around the hallway one last time.
The family photographs were evidence of a happy childhood. My parents on their wedding day beneath this very roof. Family vacations. Christmas mornings. Birthdays. A lifetime of ordinary moments that had quietly become extraordinary simply because we had lived them together.
And soon this wall would show one of a happy life for both my brother, Gabriel, and myself, and our families.
When I was a little girl, I used to trace my fingers across Mama and Papa’s wedding photograph and wonder what it felt like to stand where they had stood—to promise forever to the person God had chosen for you.
Back then, forever had seemed like such a grown-up word. Now it nestled against my heart.
Papa covered my hand with his. When I looked at him, his eyes were already shining.
“My little girl,” he whispered, his voice breaking before he could say anything else.
This wonderful man—the man who had been the center of my universe until Jetmir showed up—had fussed over my scraped knees and my broken heart.
He was the one who’d forged the way for impossible dreams and fairy-tale love in the future he believed I was worthy of.
This was the man who had carried me on his shoulders when I was too tired to walk.
The first man who had loved me and showed me what true love was every day by the way he treated my mama.
“Are you ready?” His voice cracked.
“I am. I love you, Papa.”
He blinked his eyes and swallowed hard. “I love you too, my baby girl.”
My eyes burned with emotions and I struggled to keep tears at bay. It would ruin my makeup.
I nudged his side.
“It’s a happy day. No tears allowed,” I said in a trembling voice.
He laughed softly and said, “Roger that. Now let’s do this.”
He brushed away a tear slipping down my cheek.
“He better be everything my little girl deserves or I’ll…” He trailed off at my scolding look and sighed. “Okay, okay. I won’t kill him, but he better be good to you every day.”
My heart clenched. “He will be.”
The music shifted and he smiled.
“It’s time.”
Papa offered me his arm, and together we stepped toward the staircase.
Dozer trotted behind us as we made our way across the elaborate ballroom toward the terrace.
There were rows of seats, filled with people who would witness the most important day of our lives.
I saw every person who had helped shape both Jetmir and me. Friends. Family.
These people had witnessed the hardest chapters of our lives and stayed with us through it.
My attention landed on my brother who watched my movements, grinning. Our gazes met and he mouthed, “Go get him, sis.”
I smiled, my eyes darting to the most important person in my life at the end of the terrace where Jetmir was waiting for me.
He was standing beneath an arch woven with white roses and olive branches. It was a cloudy day, but everything seemed so bright that I swore there were rays silhouetting him.
Our eyes met and I drowned in his possessive, obsessive, loving gaze.
Everything around us disappeared. The music. The guests. The flowers. The ocean beyond the terrace. There was only him. Waiting for me.
He must have been impatient because he met us halfway, taking my hand into his. His thumbs brushed across my knuckles.
“My angel.” I felt my heart surrender all over again.
Papa stood there, lingering for a moment, almost as if he didn’t want to let go and it was somewhat symbolic. My past. My present. My future.
Papa looked at Jetmir. “She’s my greatest blessing.”
Jetmir swallowed hard. “She’ll be mine too. I can promise you that.”
Papa kissed my forehead before stepping away.
I watched him return to Mama’s side, and saw him reach for her hand. She smiled at him exactly the way she always had. She leaned over and kissed him, patting his hand gently. They didn’t need any words.
Life—both good and bad—had happened to them.
And somehow they still looked at each other with as much love as the day they were married. I silently prayed that after forty years together, Jetmir and I would still reach for each other’s hands without thinking, just like them.
The officiant spoke, but his words seemed to drift around us. The only voice I truly heard was the quiet one inside my own heart.
This is what heartbreak prepared you for. This is what a happily-ever-after is.
When it was time for our vows, Jetmir looked at me and said in a trembling voice, “Thank you for loving me. For giving me another chance. You and me, my angel. Forever.” His fingers tightened around mine. “I love you.”
A tear slipped down my cheek and onto our joined hands.
“I love you too, Thorne. I promise I’ll choose you for the remainder of our lives. Every minute, every hour, every day. You and me. Until my last breath.”
I could barely breathe when the ceremony was over. Fresh tears blurred my vision.
He lifted my hand and kissed my knuckles, then slipped my wedding band onto my finger.
“So this is forever,” he whispered.
I smiled.
“No.” I gently touched his cheek. “This is just the beginning of our forever.”
A cheer erupted and we turned to our family and friends.
Mama buried her face against Papa’s shoulder, overcome with emotion.
My brother locked eyes with me from across the room and winked.
His little secret sign that if my husband ever made me cry, he’d murder him.
There was a lot of that going on, but I wasn’t worried.
“You may kiss the bride.”
I lifted on my toes and reached for his lips.
Just as our mouths met, the roaring thunder rumbled through the sky and the first raindrop hit. Then another. And another. Soon, we were drenched while our guests and priest rushed to find shelter inside.
He cupped my cheeks and we kissed, deep and passionate and wet, but lost in our own world where nothing and nobody mattered.
It was just the two of us, beneath the thundering sky, as he held me close and I clung to him. This man was my rock amidst the waves, and as long as we were together, we would weather any storm.
BONUS
LOVE AT FIRST… SWING
Jetmir
I tended to stir trouble or punish those who dare touch—or look—at any member of my family. Gabriel Santos had been eyeing Amara, my adoptive baby sister for years now and I decided to put an end to it because I knew there was one weakness the entire Santos family had.
The baby of the family: Anya Santos.
It was why I found myself in Connecticut on St. Jean D’Arc’s campus. I was going to teach Gabriel how it felt to have someone gawk at your sister.
Unfortunately, things did not go as planned.
I had barely parked my non-conspicuous black Bugatti in front of the dorm building—after all, this campus was lined with expensive vehicles—when my target exited.
My breath got stuck in my chest, and my heart had to thump twice for it to get back to normal. I tapped my chest, certain it was the result of a long travel day or jet lag. I’d flown back from Albania only to deal with this shit.
“Fuck, that silver-blonde hair color,” I muttered as I swiftly existed the car. “Her pictures didn’t do her any justice.”
I made a beeline for my victim, all the while staring at the slim, petite figure who seemed more interested in whatever she was holding than the world around her.
I couldn’t help but admit—somewhat begrudgingly—that Gabriel’s sister was a lot prettier than her asshole brother, and her Instagram photos were clearly not photoshopped.
An image flashed in my mind with those long silky strands wrapped around my fist. Almost as if she heard my thoughts, she laughed, a soft silvery-bell kind of chuckle that traveled on the breeze.
My heart made a weird kind of shudder. It had never happened before, and for a moment I wondered if it would fail me as I watched that angel who had no idea a devil was on her heels.
Damn it, I had to get it together. What in the fuck would happen if she smiled at me or looked at me?
Luckily for me, her eyes never wavered from her device. She was five feet away. Four, three, two, one… and she bumped into me.
“Ouch.” A set of ocean eyes lifted and she frowned, rubbing her forehead, but her gaze wasn’t exactly focused on me.
“Where did you appear from?” My attention was caught by her shirt and my lips curved into an amused smile.
It said, “Fuck normal. I want magic.” I could certainly give her plenty of that.
My eyes continued its path down her body and noted a Kindle in her hand.
The girl was reading. “And what the hell is under that suit, freaking armor? "
My eyebrows arched. “No, it’s—”
But she was already sidestepping me and leaving me in the dust while I stared at her in shock.
No fucking way!
A girl just walked away from me without flirting?
My gaze was locked on her as she walked on, eyes fixed on her Kindle, oblivious to the world around her. She didn’t look up once, continuing straight toward the woods. Only when she disappeared among the trees did I snap out of my stupor and hurried after her.
“Thank fuck I wore my combat boots,” I grumbled as I followed into the woods, watching her figure move between the trees like some woodland mythical angel.
She kept going and going, oblivious to my boots snapping branches, birds chirping trying to warn her of a predator behind her. Eventually, she got to a clearing and she finally stopped, looked up, glanced left and right, then headed left.
Is she meeting a boy? I wondered, the idea sitting all wrong in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t like the idea of anyone touching that translucent silvery-blonde hair that shone like pale gold under the sunrays.
Then to my surprise she stopped again at the very edge of the clearing, where a lone swing set sat and sat on one, then slowly started swinging; her eyes never leaving that damned device.
I studied her with disbelief. How was it possible for someone as beautiful as that to be related to Gabriel Santos? Or be a member of the Santos family in general? They were Colombians, for Christ’s sake. By default, her hair should be dark. Not… this.
And all the while, I lurked in the shadows like a devil, watching and stalking my angel. I studied every inch of her, those lush red lips as they smiled, frowned, and let out frustrated breaths.
Nobody came.
Hours and hours passed while I watched seated under the tree, her long, silvery hair, her ocean eyes, red lips, and pale skin that flushed pink every so often, making me wonder what exactly was Anya Santos reading.
I didn’t wonder why I was curious. I didn’t question why I didn’t snatch her nor my motives as I stood here hours later.
There was one thing I knew: I’d found my angel and I’d make sure she would fly straight into my arms.
THE END