Epilogue #2
“Not really,” I say. “But I’m glad it’s here.”
Varro gives a knowing nod. “And you’ve got your city. Your magic. Your woman.”
I can’t help the warmth in my voice. “My life.”
Varro raises his bottle. “To freedom, brother.”
“To freedom.”
Charity
I'm standing in the kitchen helping Laura arrange food when my mother appears in the doorway, looking lost.
"Can I help?" she asks tentatively.
Laura and I exchange glances. "Sure," I say. "Want to bring out the salad bowls?"
My mother picks up two bowls like they might bite her. I've never seen her carry dishes in her life. But she follows us outside, sets them carefully on the table, and actually asks where else she can help.
"You could grab the breadbasket," Laura suggests. "It's on the counter."
She does. My mother, Diane Pembroke, who has staff for everything, carries a breadbasket at an outdoor party at a gladiator sanctuary in rural Missouri.
"This is surreal," I whisper to Laura.
"Good surreal or bad surreal?"
"Good, I think?" I watch my mother navigate the party, accepting a glass of lemonade from Quintus, who treats her with the same easy kindness he shows everyone. "They're really trying."
"People can surprise you." Laura arranges the last platter. "When they want to."
My father is deep in conversation with Victor and Cassius, discussing Roman military tactics.
He looks more animated than I've seen him in years, talking about history like he enjoys the subject.
Maybe if I'd been interested in the right things, we could have connected.
But that's not fair to either of us. He should have loved me for who I was, not who he wanted me to be.
"Charity!" Skye bounces over, vibrant and warm. "I've been dying to meet you. Your sculpture at the Met—I saw photos. The way you captured movement in metal is incredible."
"Thank you." Something in her smile softens the knot in my stomach. "Draco said you're a programmer?"
"Was. Now I do translation software development. Boring compared to your art."
"Necessary though. Communication is everything."
We fall into an easy conversation about our work, about living with men who survived the impossible. Skye gets it. I can see it in the way she talks about living with a man shaped by another world—the nightmares, the culture clashes, the gaps two thousand years can carve between two people.
"Does Draco ever talk about the arena?" she asks quietly.
"Sometimes. Usually after nightmares." I glance across the lawn where he's laughing with Flavius and Thrax, looking carefree. "But he's getting better. We both are."
"That's all you can do. Get better together."
Diana joins us, the horse therapy instructor whose quiet strength radiates from every movement. "Charity, Draco mentioned you might be interested in doing a sculpture for the sanctuary. Something for the entrance? Or the Roman garden we’ll be building?"
"I'd love that." The idea takes root immediately. "Something about rebirth. New beginnings. Second chances."
"Perfect." Diana's smile is genuine. "We'd be honored."
Lucky tears across the lawn, chasing another dog, his three good legs carrying him as fast as any four-legged animal. My mother watches, and I see her expression soften.
"He seems happy," she says, approaching hesitantly. "The dog."
"Lucky. He's thriving." I kneel to pet him as he zooms past. "We almost lost him, but he fought through."
"Like all of you." My mother looks around the party—at the gladiators and their partners, at Laura and the staff, at this impossible place where ancient warriors learned to live again. "This is… remarkable. What they've built here."
"Laura gave them a chance. They did the rest."
"And you gave Draco a chance." My mother meets my eyes. "When you could have called security, you chose kindness instead."
“I chose to see him,” I say. “That’s all.”
“You’ve always had such a generous heart,” she whispers.
I shake my head. “I just… wanted to be seen too.”
Her breath catches. “I’m trying. Truly.”
“Then we’ll start there,” I say. “That’s enough.”
Quintus calls for attention, his beautiful voice carrying across the lawn.
"A toast!" He raises his glass. "To Draco and Charity, who proved that love doesn't care about centuries or class or what anyone thinks is proper.
May your marriage be as strong as Roman steel and as beautiful as modern art. "
Everyone cheers. Draco finds me across the crowd, his eyes promising forever.
"And to all of us," Varro adds, "who found second chances when we thought we'd get none. To family—found, chosen, and earned."
More cheers. My father raises his glass awkwardly, out of his element but participating. My mother wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, then seems to remember herself and pulls out a handkerchief.
The party continues into the evening, the Missouri sky turning brilliant shades of orange and pink.
Someone plays music—Quintus produces an ancient-looking lyre and strums a melody that sounds like history itself.
Draco pulls me into a dance on the lawn, not caring that there's no real dance floor, that my parents are watching, that everyone can see us.
"Happy?" he asks, spinning me.
"Incredibly." I rest my head against his chest, and hear his heart beating strong and steady. "This feels right. All of it."
"Even your parents playing nice?"
"Especially that." I look up at him. "They're trying, Draco. Really trying."
"I noticed." He kisses my forehead. "Doesn't mean I'll forgive them easily."
"You don't have to forgive them at all. You just have to tolerate them at family dinners occasionally."
"That I can do." He pulls back, studies my face. "You know what I was thinking?"
"What?"
"We should get married here. At the sanctuary."
The idea stops me cold. "Really?"
"Laura can officiate—she's legally ordained for this kind of thing. The guys–my family–can be there. Your family and friends can come here." His eyes search mine. "If you want. I know you probably pictured something else—"
"I pictured you," I interrupt. "The rest are just details. But yes. Yes to here. Yes to all of it."
His grin could light up the darkness. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
He spins me again, and I laugh, dizzy and happy and so completely in love I can barely stand it.
Later, as the party winds down and stars appear, I find myself sitting on the porch steps with Laura while the men tell stories about ancient Rome–light ones, full of laughter—by the fire pit.
"Thank you," I say. "For saving him. For giving him a chance to find himself."
"He did that on his own." Laura watches the gladiators with fond exasperation, her smile soft and a little tired. "We just provided the space."
"He needed to leave."
"He did. Some of them need roots, like Varro and Thrax. Others need wings, like Draco." She turns to me. "You gave him wings and a reason to come back. That's everything."
My father approaches, hesitant. "Charity, could I… could we talk? Just for a moment?"
Laura excuses herself with a knowing look. My father sits beside me on the steps, staring out at the sanctuary grounds.
"Your mother and I have been talking," he begins. "About Grace. About you. About how badly we handled everything."
"Okay."
"We thought keeping her room exactly as she left it would honor her memory. But we never talked about her, never grieved properly. We just… froze that day along with her room." He finally looks at me. "And then we tried to make you into what we'd lost. That was wrong. Deeply, unforgivably wrong."
Tears prick my eyes. "Yes. It was."
"You deserved to be loved for yourself. To be encouraged to pursue your art, to make your own choices, to become whoever you wanted to be." His voice roughens. "I'm sorry we failed you so completely."
“There was never room for me while you were grieving Grace,” I whisper. “But I was still here.”
"I know that now." He reaches for my hand, tentative, and I let him take it. "I see you, Charity. Finally. And I'm proud of who you've become, even if I had nothing to do with it."
"You had something to do with it," I admit. "Even the painful parts shaped me. Made me stronger."
"You didn't need us to be strong. You always were."
We sit in silence for a moment, the party noise a comfortable backdrop. Lucky trots over and collapses at my feet with a contented sigh.
"Will you let us try again?" my father asks. "Not to fix what's broken, but to build something new?"
"As long as you understand that Draco is part of it. Not negotiable."
"I understand." He looks toward the fire pit where Draco is demonstrating a coin trick to Thrax's delight. "He's an impressive young man. Unusual, certainly. But impressive. And he loves you fiercely."
"I love him the same way."
"That's all a father can ask for his daughter." He squeezes my hand once, then stands. "We should head back to our hotel. Our flight leaves early tomorrow."
"Thank you for coming," I say, and I mean it.
"Thank you for inviting us. For giving us another chance." He pauses. "We'd like to come to the wedding. If the invitation stands."
"It stands."
After my parents leave, after the party finally winds down and the sanctuary settles into peaceful quiet, Draco and I walk to the edge of the property where fields meet forest. Lucky trails behind us, nose to the ground.
"Your dad apologized," Draco says. It's not a question.
"Yeah. He did."
"You okay?"
"I'm okay." I lean against him, watching the stars scattered across the Missouri sky. "It doesn't fix everything. But it's a start."
"That's all you need. A start."
"What about you? You really want to get married here?"
"I really do." He turns me to face him, hands cupping my face. "This place gave me a second chance at life. I want to start our marriage here, with the people who made it possible. Then we go back to the city and build our life exactly how we want it."
"Underground magic shows and metal sculptures."
"Thrift shop dresses and food truck tacos."
"A tiny apartment and a limping dog."
"Everything we need and nothing we don't." He kisses me softly. "That's freedom, cara. That's the real magic."
I kiss him back, pouring everything I feel into it. Gratitude for his love, joy in our life together, hope for all the years ahead. When we break apart, I'm breathless.
"I can't wait to marry you," I whisper.
"Soon." His smile is wicked. "But tonight, Laura set us up in the guest cottage. Said something about giving us privacy."
We walk back to the cottage hand in hand, Lucky between us. Inside, it's simple but perfect—queen bed, small bathroom, windows that overlook the fields. Our overnight bags are already there, courtesy of Laura's efficiency.
Draco locks the door behind us, and the air shifts. Becomes charged with possibility.
"Come here," he says softly.
I do, melting into his arms, into his kiss. His hands find the zipper of my dress and slide it down slowly, deliberately. The fabric pools at my feet, and I step out of it, standing before him in just my underwear.
"Beautiful," he breathes. "Every time. You're so fucking beautiful."
"Your turn." I tug at his shirt, pull it over his head to reveal the muscled torso I've mapped a thousand times with my hands. Scars from the arena, marks of a life lived hard and survived.
We undress each other slowly, reverently, like we have all the time in the world. Because we do. That's the gift of freedom—time to savor each moment, to build a life worth living.
When we finally fall into bed together, skin against skin, it's not desperate or urgent. It's coming home. It's choosing each other again and again, every day, for the rest of our lives.
"I love you," I whisper against his lips.
"I love you more." He rolls me beneath him, settles between my thighs. "Impossible miracle woman who saw a broken street magician and offered him everything."
"Not broken. Never broken." I arch into him as he enters me slowly, deeply. "Just lost for a while."
"Found now," he murmurs. "Found and keeping forever."
We move together in the darkness, hearts beating in sync, two bodies, one soul.
Outside, the Missouri night wraps around the sanctuary.
Inside this cottage, we make our own promises.
Not the formal vows we'll speak at our wedding, but the real ones—the daily choosing, the constant showing up, the fierce protection of what we've built together.
When we finally collapse, sated and breathless, Draco pulls me against his chest. I trace lazy patterns on his skin, already half asleep.
"Draco?"
"Mmm?"
"Thank you for finding me."
"Pretty sure you found me first. In your cottage, hiding like a criminal."
"Then thank you for staying."
"Nowhere else I'd rather be." He kisses the top of my head. "Nowhere else I'll ever be. You're stuck with me now, cara."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
I fall asleep in his arms, the ring on my finger catching starlight from the window. Tomorrow we'll travel back to our tiny Manhattan apartment, back to our busy lives and thriving careers. But tonight, we're here at the beginning, where a group of impossible men learned that second chances exist.
Where a frozen gladiator became the best street magician in New York.
Where a trapped heiress discovered her own voice.
Where two lost souls found each other and decided to build something beautiful.
This is our epilogue, but it's really just the beginning. The beginning of everything we'll become together.
And that's the real magic—not tricks or illusions, not ancient history or modern miracles. Just love. Just us. Just this moment and every moment after, choosing each other over and over again.
Forever.