Epilogue #2
Marcus Sloan.
The tear lingered but finally traced down my cheek.
Marcus leaned in and caught it with his lips.
My belly fluttered, my heart clenched, and my hands went to
his at my middle.
He lifted away and looked at me. “That all you got?”
“For now.”
“Want to go get married?”
I nodded.
Fast.
And smiled.
It was shaky but it was big.
He smiled back at me, came around, took my hand, and tucked
it into the crook of his arm.
He stopped long enough to offer me my bouquet and take hold
of Michelle’s to give to her.
Then he led me out of the room.
I held it together until I walked into the restaurant of the
hotel that Marcus had hired out because it had two stories of windows and an
unencumbered view of the mountains of Aspen covered in snow. We were going to
be married in front of them. Then we were going to have a five-course meal in
front of a blazing fire, all alone, the only guests in a beautiful, cozy,
five-star restaurant in a beautiful, cozy five-star hotel.
After that, Doug and Michelle were going back to the suite,
Marcus and I were spending our wedding night at his (no, our) place in
Aspen, and tomorrow we were going to fly to the Maldives.
When I lost it, I didn’t lose it because of the view.
I also didn’t lose it because the big sprays of gerbera
daisies and roses with their pink velvet ribbons that stood on columns that
floated up from diaphanous sheers of white that would be what Marcus and I
would stand between to get married (and stand around to have pictures taken by
our fancy-ass photographer) were exactly what Michelle said they were when
she’d checked on them after they’d been delivered.
That being perfect.
I didn’t lose it because the fullness of Marcus getting me
Miss Annamae’s pearls back finally hit me.
And I didn’t lose it because I felt beautiful, looked
beautiful, and the beautiful man whose arm I was holding on to was about to
become my husband.
I lost it because our small wedding party had an unexpected
guest.
He looked older. I actually barely recognized him,
especially looking stiff and uncomfortable in a suit.
But when Marcus and I hit the doors to the restaurant with
Michelle trailing and Doug got up from his chair, looking at me with his mouth
hanging open, and that man turned his eyes to me and they immediately got wet,
I knew.
I knew he was a man called Stretch.
“Daisy, darling, wake up.”
I moved, blinked, opened my eyes, and from where my head was
resting on Marcus’s shoulder, I looked drowsily out the windows of our
limousine.
It was dark. No streetlights. No overhead lights in a
garage.
Just what seemed to be shadowed trees.
We were just back from our honeymoon.
The honeymoon was fab-you-las.
The return flight was killer.
I lifted my head and asked, “Where are we?”
“Home.”
I looked to him. “Honey bunches of oats, this ain’t no underground parking.”
Eyes twinkling even in the dark car, he smiled.
Ronald did a sweep with the limo before he stopped and muted
light came into the car.
Marcus’s smile changed in a way I felt in my belly.
I stared at it and whispered, “What’d you do?”
I heard Ronald’s door open.
Marcus took my hand.
But he didn’t answer.
“What’d you do?” I repeated.
Ronald opened Marcus’s door.
This Ronald didn’t do. Unless otherwise instructed, Ronald
opened my door first if I was in the car.
Marcus slid out and pulled me with him.
My platforms hit gravel.
My eyes hit light.
And my mouth dropped open.
Because in front of me, amongst a dark backdrop of
not-quite-fledgling trees, stood a huge castle.
Yes.
A castle.
Just like it had been brought stone by stone straight from
Germany or England or something.
It stood strong, high and proud, with turrets and
everything.
Lit up totally with lights, I saw every inch.
Even the drawbridge.
And the moat.
Marcus’s arm slid around my waist, curling my front into his
side, and his lips found my ear.
“Welcome home, Daisy.”
Well, apparently, way back when, I did blather on
about my castles.
So Marcus built one for me.
My body bucked.
The sob sounded painful.
But it was the most beautiful pain I’d ever experienced.
And it was the pain of knowing I’d never really needed a
castle.
I just needed my prince charming.
And I’d found him.
“They’ll be fine right there.”
“You should wear them.”
“They’ll be fine right there, honey bunch.”
Marcus turned me so my eyes left the glass-covered case with
its ice-blue silk amongst which the circle of an add-a-pearl necklace was
perfectly placed. A case that was standing displayed on a slant on the shelf
that was above the seven-drawer jewelry cabinet in our walk-in closet.
The only other thing on that shelf was a fabulous wedding
picture with a beautiful bride, a handsome groom, and three other dolled-up
people, everyone smiling big, standing amongst daisies with a backdrop of
mountains covered in glistening white snow.
The bride and groom were holding each other.
They were also holding glasses filled with champagne and
etched with peacocks.
I looked up into my husband’s eyes.
“Is there something you aren’t telling me?” he asked gently.
“I want them perfect for her when she comes to us and it’s
time to give them to her,” I replied.
I knew Marcus got it.
Because he always got it.
And because his smile took my breath away.
Marcus
A number of years later…
“Darling, would you like to share with me
what’s troubling you?”
Marcus had his eyes on his wife.
Since they’d come home from the party, she’d been subdued.
She didn’t normally come home from a Rock Chick party or
after having anything to do with the Rock Chicks subdued.
She could come home drunk. She could come home exhausted
from dancing in a club mostly populated by gay men. She could come home sharing
she’d tipped a number of drag queens (or strippers) so many fifty dollar bills,
he was out thousands. She could come home having used one of her (seven) stun
guns. She could come home to an angry and/or alarmed husband because she’d been
shot at or in a car chase.
This was the life of a Rock Chick.
Which meant he led the beleaguered life of the man of a Rock
Chick.
As insane as it was, he wouldn’t have it any other way. The
women she’d found and formed into her posse were the best he’d ever met.
And they loved his wife down to their souls and made her
happy.
“Nothin’, darlin’,” she murmured, turning toward the stairs.
“I’m thinkin’ tonight’s a facial night.”
He caught her as she would pass him and pulled her in his
arms.
She looked up into his eyes.
“Tell me what’s troubling you.”
“Nothin’ is, sugar.”
“Then what’s on your mind?”
“Ally’s pregnant.”
His chin jerked into his neck. “Christ. Those people breed
like rabbits. How many is this?”
“Lee and Indy, two. Eddie and Jet, three. Hank and Roxie,
two. Vance and Jules, three. Ava and Luke, two. Stella and Mace, one. Sadie and
Hector, two. Ren and Ally, this will be two. Which makes almost seventeen.”
Marcus had gone still.
She had them counted out.
Seventeen for her girls.
None for Daisy.
Marcus and his wife had everything.
But they couldn’t have kids.
They’d tried.
But according to the doctors, and after two failed tries at
in vitro, they’d been told it most likely just wasn’t going to happen.
“Baby,” he whispered.
“I’m fine,” she lied.
He held her closer and dipped his face to hers.
“I’ll say it again, and I really want you to think on it
this time. We can adopt. Now, especially, we can adopt.”
He’d taken all of his concerns legitimate and gone into
business with Vito Zano’s nephew, Daisy’s friend Ally’s husband, Ren Zano.
There was nothing preventing them from adopting. Not their ages. Not money. Not
his business. Not now.
She nodded. “I’ll think on it, Marcus.” Her eyes focused on
his. “I’m real happy for her, sugar. Just—”
“I know,” he said quietly, and fuck him, but he did know,
and he hated knowing it. He bent to give her a soft kiss. “Go do your facial,
darling. I’ll bring some champagne up.”
She gave him a distracted smile.
He let her go and watched her walk up the stairs.
Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed it, seeing her before their
wedding in her gown. Maybe he’d given them bad luck.
Or maybe there was a god, theirs, who wanted them to
remember not to take anything for granted.
But he suspected there was a god, his, who wanted to use the
most important thing in his life to remind him, to have the life he’d been able
to give her, there was penance to be paid.
He’d done all he’d done and, especially when it allowed him
to give Daisy the life she deserved, he’d done it without remorse.
But Marcus stared at the stairs up which his wife had
disappeared.
And for the first time in his life, repentance sliced
through him like a blade.
She moved on him, her hands trailing his abs, her
eyes watching, her glides slow, her face languid, her bottom lip caught in her
teeth.
Christ, she was beautiful.
Marcus put his hands to her hips, bucked and turned, taking
her to her back, him over her, loving hearing her breathy gasp.
He lifted his head, moved inside, feeling her sleek, wet
silkiness gorgeous and tight around him. He looked in her eyes, found her hand,
and laced his fingers through hers.
“Love you, baby,” she whispered, rounding his thighs with
her legs and lifting her hips to take him deep.
He touched his nose to hers. “Love you too, Daisy.”
Then he took her mouth, tightened his hand in hers, slid his
other one between them, down, and found her.
She whimpered against his tongue.
Marcus went faster.
“Love you,” he whispered against her lips.
“You too, Marcus.”
He kept moving, faster, deeper, harder.
“Love you,” he repeated.
Her fingers clenched his hand.
“Love…” her body jolted, “love you. So much. Love you,
honey.” On that, her neck arched back and she breathed, “God, Marcus.”
Her hand tensed in his, so hard it caused pain through the
webbing.
He didn’t care.