Final Epilogue
Scarlett
A few months later
The chandelier is stunning. It catches the light from the window at the far end of the hall like a prism.
I gaze up at it, loving it.
“Looks like Mr. Crystal worked his magic,” I say, regarding the chandelier for the first time even though it was installed a few months ago. But this is the first time we’ve been back in Avignon since it fell.
Daniel stares up at it too. “It’s perfect. Funny, too, because that was the night that set us in motion.”
“We didn’t kiss that night,” I point out as we head down the hall to the elevator.
“No, but I entertained naughty thoughts of you when you returned to your room.”
“So, just like every other night, then?” I tease.
“Exactly. But the next morning was when a certain waitress planted an idea in our heads.”
“Such a good waitress,” I say as we step into the elevator.
“And thus proving my point that the chandelier was the start of it all.”
I arch a dubious brow. “If you say so,” I say as my stomach rumbles.
“We better feed you, Mrs. Brahms.”
“Breakfast is always a good idea.”
At the restaurant, I order the berries again.
Daniel orders the eggs.
From a male waiter.
As he leaves, I shrug an oh well. “Too bad our favorite waitress, ahem, café owner, isn’t here today.”
Daniel’s lips curve into a grin. “Or is she?”
I tilt my head. “What do you mean?”
The click-clack of shoes on tiled floor meets my ears. I turn, blinking when I see the auburn-haired woman who gave us the tip on the hotels, courtesy of Cole.
Solange.
“Good morning,” Daniel says to her, sounding pleased.
“Good morning indeed. I have something to add to your breakfast,” she says, grinning, as she hands Daniel a blue velvet box.
“Merci.”
“De rien.” Solange spins on her heel and walks away.
The air flees my lungs.
I can’t even catch my breath as Daniel grins, rises from his chair, then bends down on one knee.
I gasp.
I bite the corner of my lip. I’ve been hoping for this, wanting it so much.
“Scarlett, when that chandelier fell, it brought us together in a rather unexpected way. It made me think of all the possibilities that had been brewing in the back of my mind, brought them to the forefront. And then our trip and the time away together made everything so much clearer.”
I bring my hand to my lips, trembling, tears already sliding down my cheeks.
“And the whole time we were pretending, it never felt like pretend. It always felt exactly like how we were meant to be together.”
I nod vigorously. “Me too. It felt so real.”
“It’s always felt real. Everything with you has felt real, and safe, and daring at the same damn time.
You’re brilliant and fascinating, warm and loving.
I love you more than music, and I want to spend the rest of our lives making up pretend married names while knowing that you have my real one . . . if you’ll take it.”
“I will. I do. I love you,” I say in a rush, then he slides a stunning diamond on my finger. I can barely see it for the tears in my eyes.
But it doesn’t matter. I know that this time is for all time, and that we are the only ones for each other.
I tug him close, kiss him hard, and tell him yes a million times over.
Later that week, after we return to Paris and go home to the flat that we share, he takes out his violin and plays me some Beethoven.
When he finishes, I run a hand along his scar, then press a kiss to it. I meet his gaze and say, “I will always be your audience.”
“You’re the only audience I’ll ever want.”
And that’s enough. For both of us.
THE END