Epilogue
Two Weeks Later…
Jack put the bags inside the apartment then came back to pick me up.
“Are you sure you don’t mind us living here, Jack?”
“I would never ask you to leave the home you love. And wherever you are, that’s my home.”
He picked me up and carried me, giggling, across the threshold. He put me down and gave me a kiss that stole my breath.
“What’s that for?” I asked.
“Because I can,” he grinned. “Perks of being your husband.”
Our honeymoon had been two weeks of heaven in France, Spain, and Italy. We’d walked, talked, eaten, laughed, and loved each other. I felt stuffed with happiness, like I’d eaten a Thanksgiving spread of joy. I didn’t know how I could cram another morsel in.
We’d barely caught our breath when there was a knock at the door. It was Stephan, the doorman. He held a large, flat, rectangular parcel. It had lots of customs labels and stamps.
“This came for you this morning Miss, um, Mrs. Garcia.” Jack thanked him and took the package to the kitchen to open it.
Whoever had packed this was very careful and thorough.
Once we had removed all the packing material, I saw an envelope.
It was sealed with red wax featuring some sort of crest. I broke the seal and pulled out a stiff, heavy card.
On the front was the same crest as the wax seal.
I opened it and gasped. I knew that handwriting. I knew it well.
Dear Eve and Jack,
Congratulations! Wishing you a lifetime of happiness together.
—Ali
I was overcome. Ali knew I’d gotten married? Had he been keeping tabs on me this whole time?
Together we lifted out the gift. It was beautifully wrapped in gold paper with an elegant satin ribbon holding a cluster of small silk roses.
We tore off the paper and I sucked in a breath.
It was a painting. A gorgeous painting. Not something you could order from .
The colors were so vibrant, the textures so lifelike that I was certain this was an original old master.
The painting depicted a couple in evening wear, dancing.
Her back was to the painter, showing off the roses clinging to the folds of her long, satin gown.
He was holding her so gently, so respectfully, his hand holding just her fingertips, his other hand at her back.
His face was turned toward her head as it rested on his shoulder.
His eyes were closed, as though inhaling her perfume, savoring the pleasure of being allowed to hold her.
There was a note attached to the back of the painting explaining its provenance. The picture was “The End of The Ball” by Rogelio De Egusquiza. There was also a receipt from Sotheby’s. Jack’s jaw dropped when he saw the amount.
“Eve, is this from LCB?”
My eyes filled with tears as I nodded. “It looks like he never stopped loving me,” I choked out.
Jack’s brows drew together. “Honey, do I need to be worried that he’s going to try and win you back? Cause I’m not sure I can compete with this.”
I shook my head. I understood the message of the note and the painting. Ali still loved me, but he was releasing me to Jack.
I blinked back tears and smiled at him. “Even if he did, it wouldn’t matter. I’ve already chosen you.”
His face lit up and he gathered me into his arms then kissed me again before leading me toward the bedroom. “Leave the unpacking for tomorrow, love. Husband’s perks.”
The End