Epilogue 1
ANASTASIA - A FEW YEARS LATER
After a long week of packing our things, we head up to the rooftop sanctuary to relax together, drink, and watch the sunset on our last night in this house in the Hollywood Hills.
Saint helps me get settled with him under a blanket, having replaced the Adirondack chairs last year with a more comfortable lounger for two. We clink our goblets in a wordless toast, his filled with wine, mine filled with milk.
“We did it, angel. Everything packed and ready. After the movers come in the morning, we take a private flight up to Montana to start our new life together.” Saint’s voice has an air of a man on a mission.
New husband, a baby on the way, and a new job in a new state are a lot to undertake in such a short time, but he’s dealing with all in stride well.
He reaches over and pulls me onto his lap. Not an easy feat, what with me six months pregnant, but we make do. I wouldn’t ruin this moment to have him hold me, with his hand on my stomach and talking to the baby.
He always tells the baby funny stories about our life, and about his dad, even mentions Esme and Mimi sometimes—as his mother reluctantly finally agreed to be called instead of Grandma.
The most exciting story of late being the new professional league expansion team opening up—The Montana Frostbites. They hired Duke to be the new coach, and hired Saint as one of the assistants. To say the new position has given Saint a refreshed outlook on life would be an understatement.
When he got the new position, I gladly accepted that we’d be moving. I’d had enough of the Hollywood rat race and constant anxiety over the studio’s pressures for more and more scripts. Saint and I agreed I’d take time off to raise our son. He’s going to make the best dad ever.
I think, with time away from all the pressure, my creative juices may flow again. Who knows what I’ll write given the room to develop something new?
Tonight though, Saint isn’t launching into stories for the baby inside of me to hear. I glance at him as he stares out at the sunset. “What are you thinking?”
“How I built this rooftop sanctuary as a safe place for me to suffer in silence, wrangling with my past. Once you came along, angel, you disrupted all of that. From that day on, I couldn’t imagine being here alone again.”
“I’m going to miss this place.” My head lands on his chest.
“Lucky for us then, I talked our contractor into building something similar in our new home.”
I lift my face to him again, excited for the news. “Now, that’s a great story to tell tonight. You hear that little baby? Your daddy is one smart man.”
“Actually…” He pulls out a notebook from behind his back. “I have a different story in mind. A little something I found tucked away in the guest room while we were packing. You must have forgotten all about it. Look familiar?”
I squint at the notebook and cannot believe what I’m seeing. “No, don’t read that. Throw it away, please.”
“Oh, no, no, no. This one sounds like a best seller. ‘Anastasia’s Inspired Naughty Novelette. Starring the Devil and the Angel.’ Hm. Why do I think I gave you the inspiration for this story? Shall we have a read?”
I laugh. “Something tells me I won’t be able to stop you, although I hardly think it’s appropriate for our child’s ears.”
Saint chuckles as he sets my story aside. “A far cry from the sweet stuff your studio always expected you to write?”
“Yes, but at the time I needed to follow my muse and write something different.”
“Will you finish it someday?”
“I don’t know. It was fun to write, but my muse has settled down and taken things in a whole new direction.” I cock my head at him, peering sideways at the profile of my handsome husband.
Sometimes I still cannot believe I’m Mrs. St. James. Since the day he surprised me, dropping to one knee, and proposed to me while we were at the famous Griffin Observatory during the golden hour. I pinch myself often to make sure I’m not dreaming.
One of my favorite photos of us is from that night, so happy together when I said yes to his proposal. The view of Los Angeles had turned a warm, golden hue during the sunset, illuminating the background behind us in shades of peach, orange, and gold.
Our wedding was beautiful, too, held up at Duke and Phoebe’s ranch in Montana in their dedicated wedding barn, where Phoebe takes pride in hosting events for all the hockey guys, most of them weddings.
Although to hear Big D tease about it now, Saint had called him, apparently sweating bullets and worried about taking vows with me.
It’s a funny story that gets bigger and bigger every single time he tells it when our gang is altogether.
But I wasn’t worried. I believed with my whole heart and soul, Saint would make it down the aisle with me. Of course, Misty made my bridal gown, her first ever, but not her last, launching a new enterprise alongside her costume business.
My only requirement was Misty fashion a gown for me that would make Saint see me, fall in love with me all over again, and bring him to his knees, crying as I walked in through all our friends and family to meet him at the altar.
She succeeded, and that is one of my favorite photos from our wedding day, him on his knees crying like a baby.
Our fingers lace together over our child growing inside of me as we quietly watch the sun disappear over the horizon for the last time. I glance at the notebook with the unfinished novelette.
“I don’t know what I’ll write next. But I do know this. I have everything I’ve ever dreamed of and more right here. I love you,” I whisper.
“I’m a lucky man. I love you, and my angel baby, too.” Saint assures me, as he often does, and kisses my belly, because I finally found my forever-man.