Epilogue
AMELIA
“What are you doing?”
I freeze, caught in the act of standing on a chair and reaching up to the top of the Christmas tree. I smile at Declan and pretend I have no clue what he’s talking about.
“I’m putting the fairy on the top of the tree.” I smile. It works every time, and I still have my ace to play. “I couldn’t let Orla do it, and a Christmas tree isn’t a Christmas tree without a fairy.”
He limps across the living room and holds the chair steady for me.
He doesn’t tell me to get down. His eyes are drawn to the fairy in my hand, the one that Orla said has been in the family since Ruairi was born.
When the boys were little, Niamh would hold them up, and they would take turns in putting the fairy on the tree.
It’s a tradition that I already know will continue when there is another child in the house.
“You shouldn’t be stretching… or climbing.” Declan tries, and fails, to be stern.
“And you shouldn’t worry about me so much.”
I set the fairy, resplendent in her shimmering white gown, snowy feathered wings, and silver halo, on top of the tree, and Declan places his hands around my waist and lifts me down. He doesn’t let me go, and I’m not complaining.
“I’ll never stop worrying about you. It’s my mission in life.” He kisses me on the lips.
I slant my eyes. “I thought it was your mission in life to keep me satisfied.”
“That too.” He chuckles. “I think I can manage both though. I’m not past my sell-by date yet.”
“Hmm.” I wrinkle my nose. “You’re getting close.”
“You cheeky minx.”
He slides a hand underneath my sweater and tickles the side of my waist, the spot that he discovered about a week ago when he touched it by mistake and I dissolved into a messy heap of giggles.
“No, Declan, stop.”
I try to wriggle free and stumble over his feet. I would face-plant the floor if Declan didn’t catch me easily, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me against his chest.
“Much more of this and I’ll be forced to lock you in the bedroom until you promise to be on your best behavior.”
I chew my bottom lip. “Will you let me out if I promise to be good?”
“Maybe. At mealtimes. And when we have visitors.”
This is how it has been since Declan rescued me from Michael Morran’s warehouse. He needed surgery on his leg to repair the damage caused by the stabbing, and although he is still limping, the surgeon said that he will make a full recovery.
But Declan was more concerned about me and the baby. He refused to let the hospital staff treat his wound until he knew that we were both okay. I will never forget coming around to find him sitting in the visitor’s seat next to the hospital bed, hugging my hand the way he did when I first met him.
“Amelia, baby, it’s okay. I’m right here.” He kissed my forehead, his tears mingling with mine. “You’ve got a concussion, but you’re going to be fine. The baby is doing well too. You’re both my little fighters.”
He placed a warm hand over my belly and kissed me. And that’s when I knew that we would be okay. I knew that he intended to keep all those promises that he made.
“I’m sorry, Amelia. For everything. I let pride get in the way. I gave into my aching heart, instead of realizing that you’re giving me the greatest gift that a man could ever want.”
My jaw was swollen, and it hurt to talk, but I had to ask. “What if this baby is Ruairi’s?”
“Amelia…” He stroked my hair; his eyes filled with love. “This baby is ours. Can you forgive me for not accepting this sooner?”
I managed to smile. “There’s nothing to forgive, Declan.”
Only then, did he give into the pain and allow the doctors to treat him.
“Speaking of visitors,” I say now. “They’ll be here soon.”
It’s Christmas Eve, and my mom and Carol are coming to spend the holidays with us in Ireland. Declan sent the private jet for them; I can’t wait to see them, but I also can’t wait to hear what Carol has to say about crossing the Atlantic in a private jet.
I stand back and survey the tree. “Do you think it’s wonky?”
“It’s perfect, just like you.”
I bat his arm playfully. “You’re not even looking at the tree.”
He grins at me, his entire face lighting up. “I don’t need to look at it to know that you’ve made it perfect.”
We make our way to the kitchen, slowly, Declan’s arm around my waist.
I haven’t asked what happened to Michael Morran.
I don’t want to know. But his son Cillian has asked if he can visit over the holidays, and I said yes.
He’s my half-brother. I’ll never have a relationship with my biological father, and I’m okay with that, but it would be good to have Cillian in my life. If that’s what he wants.
The entire house is aglow with fairy lights. The three of us, Orla, Declan, and I, have spent days hanging strings of bulbs around every ceiling, every wall, every available surface that we don’t need to sit on or eat from.
Is it over the top? Absolutely.
Would I change a thing? Absolutely not.
Orla is removing a honey-glazed ham from the oven, struggling to straighten her spine clutching the heavy pan with her oven mitts.
“Let me help.” Declan rushes to her and takes over, setting the pan on top of the Aga.
There was a time when Orla would’ve refused help from either of us and kept going until her body slowed her down.
She seems to have regained some of her sprightliness since Ruairi’s death, but she knows her limitations too.
She’s gradually handing over recipes that have been in her family for generations to me, and we even made a Christmas pudding, tossing in a silver coin and taking turns to make a wish while stirring the mixture.
She’s still holding onto the bread-making tradition though. For now.
And I’m happy to let her keep it.
Voices reach us from the foyer, and my heart performs a happy dance.
Declan smiles. “Go.”
I run to meet my mom and Carol, who are waiting in the foyer in their coats and wooly hats and fluffy scarves, peering around as if unsure of the sparkling world they just stumbled into.
“Mom!” I hug her so tightly, her arms are pinned against her sides. Then I hug Carol, who hugs me back, squeezing my ribs and making it hard to breathe.
Finally, I stand back and we form a circle holding hands, the three of us. “I can’t believe you’re both here.”
“That’s the miracle of private jet travel,” Carol deadpans. “It gets you from A to B in no time.”
I giggle. “I’ve missed you both so much.”
“How is my baby girl?” Mom holds me at arm’s length and inspects me for damage the way she would an item of furniture that has just been delivered. “Are you getting enough rest?”
I told her about the pregnancy after what happened with Michael Morran.
She was about to buy a plane ticket to Dublin, and I didn’t want her first meeting with Declan to be in a hospital room.
She’d have questioned my sanity choosing a mafia boss, a man thirty years my senior, and my employer to boot.
She took it all in stride, her only question—are you happy, Amelia?
“Yes, I’m happy. I’m resting, Mom. Declan is looking after me.”
“It’s the least he can do,” Carol chimes in. “So, where is he, the man who stole my best friend’s heart? Is he avoiding us?”
“He’s giving us some space.” I glance behind me at the double doors reflecting the glow of twinkling fairy lights. “He knows how excited I am to see you both.”
Tears fill my eyes, and my mom folds me into her arms.
I didn’t realize, until that moment, how much I’d missed her.
Sure, I miss being able to share stuff with her—at home, we would always sit on the sofa together in the evenings and talk about our day over mugs of hot chocolate—but it’s far more than that.
It’s simply knowing that she’s there. It’s seeing the unconditional love in her eyes. Her smile. Her safety.
“I’ve missed you too, baby.”
I sniff loudly. “Leave your coats on the stand, and I’ll introduce you to Declan and Orla.”
I’m nervous and excited. Nervous because I desperately want them to love Declan and I’m not sure what Carol is going to say to him. And excited, because all the people I love most in the world are together for the holidays.
Declan stands when we enter the kitchen, a wide smile on his face.
“Julia.” He greets my mom first with a warm hug. “We finally meet.”
“Hello, Declan.” Mom peers up at him—she’s shorter than me, and Declan must be at least six inches taller than her—appraising him before she says anything else. “Thank you for saving my baby.”
She approves.
Declan smiles. “You don’t have to thank me. I would rather die than let anything happen to her.”
He turns to Carol, whose expression is unfathomable. For a moment, I’m unsure who will speak first. Will Declan shake her hand formally, keeping his distance until he gets to know her a little better? Or will he hug her anyway and handle the consequences, whatever they might be?
Then he gives her the hand-hug, and Carol leans in so that he can kiss her cheek, a small smile on her face. “Let her out of your sight again, and you’ll have me to deal with,” she murmurs into his ear.
“Deal,” Declan says.
Then they’re hugging Orla, and the kitchen fills with the aroma of coffee and warm mince pies, and the conversation of families coming together for the holidays.
We sit around the table while the sun goes down. Orla, Mom, and I serve dinner, a casserole that I prepared this morning, with Orla’s homemade bread and roast potatoes. Declan opens a bottle of champagne to toast the occasion and holds my hand whenever I sit down beside him.
The house is filled with love and fairy lights and safety.
It’s everything I could’ve ever wanted, and a whole lot more.
“To family.” Declan raises his glass.
“To family,” we all echo to the soundtrack of chinking glasses.