Epilogue
Mercury
SIX MONTHS LATER
“Oh my god! Ohmygod!” I squeal, skipping down the hall with excitement. A maid sees me and steps aside, her lips pressed together in a clear effort to hide a grin. “Do you know where Asher is?”
Her eyes widen.
The staff hasn’t gotten used to our modern approach to titles in the household, or the lack of them.
“Oh, yes, miss. The earl was headed to your suite about an hour ago.”
“Thank you,” I say with a warm smile. “You can call him Asher if you want. And feel free to call me Mercury.”
She nervously swallows and then nods. “All right, miss—Mercury. My name is Deidre.”
“I know,” I reply, surprising her.
“You do?”
“Of course. You’ve been working at Blackstone House for three years. You’re twenty-seven?” I grimace, uncertain about that detail. She confirms with a laugh. “And your favorite thing from the kitchen is chocolate croissants.”
“How in the world?”
I shrug. “I make it my business to know our staff.” Then I grimace again. “Wow, that sounded incredibly stalkerish, didn’t it?”
“A bit, but I understand. It’s sweet.”
“I just want everyone to feel at home here.”
“I appreciate it, mi—Mercury.” She stumbles over my name again but corrects herself.
“Thank you,” I say. Then, before she walks away, I add, “Oh, and if you get a chance, go outside. It’s snowing!”
I rush down the hall, eager to find Asher and drag him outside, but when I reach our suite, it’s empty.
I let out a groan of frustration.
It’s been a tough six months. When Stuart passed away only four weeks after my kidnapping, we knew it wouldn’t be easy. Asher had to mourn the life of a man he barely knew, while also trying to fill his shoes that never truly felt right from the start.
It took some time, but I think we’re figuring it out, and like Evie suggested, we’re doing it our way.
We’ve scaled back on charity galas and are focusing more on actively engaging with the community—like volunteering and showing up for local events. We’re still donating to charity, but as Asher has said, it doesn’t have to involve a fancy dress or a dinner.
We’re still trying to navigate our music careers. Theodora has been surprisingly supportive of both of us—even Asher. I’m unsure if he’ll ever return to the music industry, but I’m glad to know it’s a possibility because, like me, that man has too much talent to waste.
There are no titles inside the walls of Blackstone House anymore. Why? Because this is a home, and it should feel like one. I never want our children to have to address us as anything other than Mom or Dad.
Or will it be Mum and Da?
Either way, we’re breaking the cycle, and it starts with the small things—like tearing down barriers and making this drafty old place feel welcoming again.
Asher told me his grandfather once hosted holidays and gatherings, inviting the entire village, and I’d love to see us revive that tradition someday.
Once we’re not the talk of every journo in the UK.
But we’ll get there. Eventually.
The news of my kidnapping made headlines worldwide, and since then, reporters have been watching our every move, especially after Stuart passed away.
It’s been overwhelming, especially since I still hate being the center of attention.
But I know it won’t stay like this forever.
They’ll eventually move on, and we’ll get our lives back.
Just as I’m about to leave our suite, I notice out of the corner of my eye a bouquet of flowers sitting on the coffee table in the sitting room.
Not completely unusual. Someone from the staff usually places an arrangement or two in our suite and then changes them out every few days to match the seasons. I’ve loved the moody fall tones and the splash of berries for the holidays.
But this is not a holiday arrangement.
It’s a giant bouquet of daffodils.
Daffodils in December?
I hesitantly walk toward the flowers, wondering where in the world you might find such a thing this time of year, and then I see a card with my name on it, written in Asher’s incredibly neat penmanship.
I pick it up and, with a slightly shaky hand, open the envelope.
Inside is a sheet of paper is written:
Even that day at the loch, I knew I loved you.
How about another first?
Meet me at the cottage.
Yours,
Ash
ASHER
“Tell me this isn’t a dumb idea,” I beg, suddenly second-guessing myself as I look in the small mirror by the bed.
“It’s a dumb idea,” Hendrix says over speakerphone. I turn to the side and frown. Maybe I should have gone with a suit…
“I told you to tell me it’s not a dumb idea, asshole.”
“That would require me to lie, and my mom taught me lying is wrong.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I hear Zara sigh in the background, and then her voice gets louder as she moves closer.
“He doesn’t think it’s a dumb idea. He actually thinks it’s incredibly romantic—” Hen starts to protest in the background, and it’s immediately cut off.
“He’s just upset he didn’t think of it.”
I bark out a laugh. “Seriously?”
“You’re a traitor,” Hen tells her in a huff. “A dirty, rotten traitor.”
“Will you forgive me if I tell you our proposal was just as romantic?”
“It wasn’t in Scotland, though.”
“No, it was in our home,” she tells him. “Surrounded by those we love. And it was perfect.”
Hendrix proposed to Zara a few weeks after my father passed, and although he invited us, we just couldn’t make it work.
There were still too many things to figure out at that point, and I was still struggling with a heavy amount of grief I hadn’t expected.
That, on top of Ian’s trial coming up. It was just too much.
A pain tightens in my chest. “I’m sorry we missed it.”
“It’s okay,” Hen says. “You were dealing with other things. Besides, it gave us an excuse to fly over there for the holidays. And you can’t tell me Mercury isn’t excited about seeing all of us for Christmas.”
My smile spreads from ear to ear. “You have no idea. I’m so glad you were all able to pull this off.”
“It wasn’t easy,” Hen admits. “We’re not a small family anymore.”
“Were you ever?”
“Probably not. But we definitely have grown. With Taylor and all the spouses and significant others, we could start our own baseball team.”
“God, wouldn’t that be a hot mess?” Zara mutters.
“So true,” Hen agrees. “I’m terrible at sports.”
“All sports?”
“Pretty much. Unless you count fucking. Zara says I have a natural talent at—” His voice gets muffled, and both he and Zara start laughing.
I shake my head at their antics. “I’d better go. I don’t know when she’ll find those flowers, and I want to be ready when she shows up.”
“How much did those set you back, by the way? Daffodils in December? That can’t have been easy to find.”
“You don’t want to know,” I simply say. “But it was worth it.”
I hear a car door close, and suddenly my heart begins to race. “Shit, she’s here. I’ve got to go.”
“Good luck!” they both say.
“Thanks,” I reply, ending the call a second later, then tossing the phone onto the sofa next to me.
I initially thought about completely renovating this old cottage for this proposal. But then, I thought back to those early days.
The cold nights by the fire. The tips of her toes tucked under my thigh. Waking up with her curled into my side on that too-small bed, wishing I could stay there forever.
In the end, I decided the cottage is perfect just as it is.
A little broken but overflowing with love.
Just like us.
When the door opens and she steps inside, I feel like all the air is being sucked out of the room.
Every day we spend together, I fall a little more in love with her.
Every day we’re together, I notice something new.
Yesterday, it was the tiny freckle on her shoulder.
Today, it’s the way her left brow is slightly higher than her right. But only when she’s smiling, like she is now.
She brings her hands to her mouth. “Oh my god,” she exclaims softly as she takes in the room. “Asher.”
I may not have done a major renovation, but I have done a little temporary redecorating.
Covering almost every inch of the room are dozens of daffodils and tiny twinkling lights.
I originally wanted to go with candles, but considering the condition of this place, I decided to err on the side of caution.
“It’s beautiful,” she gasps.
“So are you.”
Although it’s unseasonably cold outside for early December, she’s wearing a long-sleeved dark-blue dress, tights, and leather boots. She sheds her wool coat and hangs it on the rack by the door before stepping further into the room.
So overwhelmed by the flowers, it takes her a moment to notice my attire, and when she does, her cheeks flush instantly.
It’s been a while since I’ve seen her turn so red.
“What are you thinking about, love?” I grin as her eyes roam over my bare chest and low-slung black jeans.
“I’m thinking my younger self would probably expire right here from the sight of you in those pants.”
I realized a while ago that ever since Mercury arrived in Scotland, I’ve only been one thing—earl or heir apparent. I left my old life behind, and while I was mostly okay with that, I know there was this side of me she used to fantasize about.
And I want her to have all of me.
“Well, maybe your current self can hold off on fainting, because I have something important to do.”
When I reach behind me and grab my guitar, I hear her whisper, “Oh my god.”
Then I flip open the old leather notebook.
“Even before I knew what it was for, I carried around a notebook like this. It started in boarding school after an English teacher told me I had a knack for poetry. So, at first, that’s what I thought I was writing—poetry.
I was so into learning the guitar that I never really considered it as anything else.
But then, over time, I quickly realized it wasn’t poetry. They were song lyrics.”
I take a deep breath.
“When I left LA that night, after yet another scandal, I was ready to walk away from it all, but then you showed up. And I suddenly had to pick up my pen again. There were nights when the words just poured out of me. I had no clue what I was writing until I reached the end and realized I’d written a love song. For you.”
“Asher.” Tears stream down her face.
“I’ve written songs about love before, including lust and regret. But I’ve never written a love song like this, and I’d love to sing it for you. Would you like to hear it?”
MERCURY
Would I like to hear it?
Is the sky blue? Are puppies adorable?
Asher stands there bare-chested in his ripped jeans, holding an acoustic guitar, telling me he just wrote his first love song…for me.
And he wants to know if I want to hear it?
“Yes,” I manage to croak out, my throat thick with emotion.
“Okay, but there’s a catch.”
I choke out a laugh. “A catch?”
He flips his guitar so the strap is facing forward and the instrument is draped across his back, then steps forward. “Yeah, you see. The song is entitled, ‘Together, Forever…’”
Oh, holy shit.
“And I just don’t feel right singing it to you without giving you this.”
He pulls a velvet satchel out of his pocket. It looks old and worn. Then he meets my eyes, so vibrant and full of promise, as he slowly drops to one knee.
“You are my everything, Mercury. Over the last six months, you’ve shown me we can do anything as long as we’re together.
I will always be honored to stand by your side, regardless of title.
But I would be honored to add one more to mine and become your husband.
Will you be my wife?” Tears blur my vision as I bob my head up and down, and he rises up to his feet to pull me into his arms. “Yes,” I answer.
“Yeah?” He grins from ear to ear.
“Yes, I’ll be honored to be your wife.”
“And countess?”
“Is your mom going to want to give up her title?”
He scoffs. “If it were up to her, she would have had this ring on your finger seven months ago.”
“Speaking of…” I glance down at the satchel, which is still closed.
“Oh, you want to see this?” he teases. Then he holds it between us, opens it, and turns it over in his palm.
“It was my mother’s—”
“Engagement ring,” I say, finishing his sentence because I’ve seen that ring a hundred times. Theodora always wore the beautiful princess-cut diamond ring on her left hand. I realize now it had been missing for a few weeks.
Now I know why.
“I can’t believe she let you have this.”
“Let me? She gave it to me with her blessing,” he says. “She loves you, Merc. She’ll be elated to see you wear it. Now let me put it on.”
I hold out my hand and watch as he slips the ring on my finger. It’s a perfect fit.
“How did you know—”
He shrugs. “I have my ways.”
Evie. He asked Evie.
“Can I hear my song now that I’m your fiancée?”
He closes his eyes. “Say it again.”
I smile. “Fiancée.”
“Fuck, I did not realize how much of a turn-on that was going to be. Now, all I want to do is strip you naked.”
I double blink. “Sex first. Song second?”
“Deal.”
We lunge for each other and are pawing at each other’s clothes when my phone starts to ring.
“Ignore it,” he growls.
“Already am.”
He flips me around and groans in frustration. “How many fucking buttons are on this damn dress, Merc?”
“I don’t know,” I answer. “But it’s stretchy. Just yank it over my—”
I don’t even need to finish my sentence as I feel the thick corduroy brush over my face before it falls to the ground.
His phone starts to ring.
We both freeze.
“Do you think it’s important?” I ask, knowing that if someone’s trying to get a hold of both of us, it probably isn’t good.
“Probably,” he says, scrubbing a hand down his face. He hesitantly steps back and grabs his phone. “It’s Hendrix.”
I walk to the front door where I dropped my phone as I hear Asher answer. When I pull my phone out of my purse, I see I have a missed call from my parents.
“What?” I hear Asher say in a tone that sets off all my warning bells. He looks up at me with an expression I can’t read. “Let me put you on speaker.” He presses a button, and I hear static.
“Hen, what’s going on?”
“I’m sorry, guys. I know I probably just interrupted you.”
“It’s okay. What’s wrong?”
“It’s Cash,” he says. “He just got a call from the hospital. Nikki died this morning.”
I gasp. “What? How?”
“He doesn’t know any of the details, but he’s a mess, Merc. I know none of us liked Nikki much, but she was Taylor’s mom, and now she’s gone.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “What do you need?”
“I don’t think we can make it out there for Christmas. Maybe you could come here?”
“Yeah.” I nod, glancing up at Asher. He nods.
“He’s gonna need us, Merc. Losing Nikki the first time was devastating. Losing her like this, though? We might never get him back.”