Epilogue
QUINN
From the sound of Florence’s squeal, you would be forgiven for thinking she’s mortal.
She clambers closer to me under the layer of animal skins as a team of huskies pull our sled through the snow, her hair whipping and snapping in the Arctic breeze. Her gloved hands grip my arms, one leg twisting its way between mine.
It’s been over three years now, and though my transition has had its ups and downs, my relationship with Florence has been smooth sailing all the way.
I never tire of the way she feels in my arms, or the way she makes my still heart feel like it’s beating a riot in my chest. I’ve never felt more alive than I have in these past three years, which is ironic, since that was around the time that, technically, I died.
Every day with her has been an adventure, but our latest adventure has taken us further afield – to the Norwegian archipelago of Svalbard, in the Arctic Circle.
It’s late November, so Svalbard is just entering its period of polar night, and the twenty-four hours of darkness makes it the ideal holiday destination for a pair of vampires.
Even one who appears to be afraid of husky rides.
The dogs veer sharply to the left and Florence squeals again, as the movement of the sled flings her against my chest. I gather her up there and press a tiny kiss to her frozen nose.
I haven’t told her yet, but there’s an arc of the aurora just visible above us, the trail of green starting to ribbon its way across the night sky. I keep it to myself, for now, tucked in my pocket with the other secret I’m keeping – one that’s been with me for a while now.
I slip one hand out of its glove so I can run a finger down the edge of the velvet box. Florence doesn’t know this, but it’s accompanied us on almost all our adventures, hidden safely away until I put the ring inside on her finger.
She told me twice to wait, when I – albeit impulsively – tried to propose.
And in retrospect, she was right. It was a good idea to wait, what with everything that was going on then.
But it’s been three years of waiting now, three years since, only a few days after my transition, I bought this ring from a little jewellery shop near the 199 steps.
I’ve said the words in my head so many times, so often that they’re starting to feel like a habit.
I say them to her when she wakes beside me, and when she curls up against me at night.
I say them when she laughs with me, when she kisses me, when she holds me accountable, when she shudders around me.
I could say them at any minute of any day and mean them just as much every single time, but she told me to wait, so I waited.
We round another sharp corner, and our guide, Kjell, turns to talk to us very seriously about the dangers of polar bears and hypothermia, and keeping ourselves safe in the sub-zero climate.
We listen intently, but when Kjell turns back, Florence catches my eye and we share a secret smile.
It’s not something we need to worry about. Not anymore.
My fingers close around the velvet box again as I hear Florence’s soft gasp.
When I glance back at her, she’s looking skyward, the colours of the Northern Lights painting her face in shades of red and green.
My heart clenches, and for a moment I’m back under the aurora at Whitby Abbey, with Florence’s lips on mine and her hand pressed against my heart.
I’ve suspected she was it for me from the first time we spoke, but that was the first moment that I knew it for sure.
She told me to wait, so I waited. But it’s been three years of me reciting the words in my head over and over, and I can’t keep them in for another second.
‘Florence,’ I say, pushing down the rush of emotion that’s tightening my throat. ‘I need to ask you something.’
And she doesn’t ask me to wait.
Not this time.
Instead, she smiles at me, repositioning herself in the sled so she can give me her full attention.
It’s a good job I don’t need oxygen to survive anymore because she takes my breath away when she looks back at me, with her hair curling around her face and the starlight reflected in her eyes.
Her lips press together around a smile she’s suppressing, but despite her best efforts, it spreads across her whole face.
‘Ok,’ she says, tipping her chin up and meeting my gaze head-on. ‘Ask your question.’