Epilogue
Thirteen years later…
“Those stones are gorgeous,” Augustine Le Plante said to her long-standing friend and equally longstanding enemy, thrice-married, twice-divorced Marta Trempe.
The two society dames stood sipping champagne in a fine New York domicile in which one of the year’s most glamorous soirees was being held.
Ladies in gowns and gentlemen in tuxedos milled about making polite conversation about everything from the weather to international politics.
“They’re pure Vilka,” Marta said, proudly displaying the sapphire diamond choker she wore about her neck. “Our villa in Italy was less expensive than this set, but they are divine… it was naughty, but I just had to have them.”
“I do love these parties,” Augustine sighed. “They have a certain glamor you simply don’t see anymore, and Vilka himself…” She let out an erotic shiver. “What I would pay to have that man in my bed for just one night.”
“You know he only has eyes for his wife,” Marta replied. “He’s the sole monogamous man in the city,” she laughed. “Oh, here they are!”
There was a hush as the man himself and his most adored wife descended the stairs hand in hand.
Kate was wearing a beautiful champagne gown, her copper hair swept back in an elegant style.
She had a down-to-earth air about her and a certain sparkle that transformed what could have been a sterile beauty into a magnetic charm.
By her side, Vilka made his suit look downright sinful, touches of silver in his beard and at his temples giving him a distinguished look that made female loins quiver.
He had features that could be described every way from ‘chiseled’ to ‘out of this world.’ The power of his physical form was apparent even in his formal clothing, and it was just as Marta had observed.
He truly did only seem to have eyes for his bride, the woman he was so deeply in love with.
Every lady in the room was instantly jealous when they beheld the way he looked at Kate.
“She’s a world-class scientist too,” Augustine sighed. “On the shortlist for the next Nobel Prize, I hear. How is it possible for one woman to have so much?”
“You own half of this island,” Marta reminded her. “And a significant portion of Europe.”
“Money can buy land, buildings, and livelihoods,” Augustine murmured. “But it can’t buy genius, or men.”
“It can buy men,” Marta replied with a wicked smile. “It can buy a great many men.”
“It cannot buy that kind of love,” Augustine corrected herself. It seemed that she was on the verge of tipping into a maudlin mood as her jealousy became blindly apparent.
“No, but it can make languishing in a loveless state rather enjoyable,” Marta replied with an arch wink. “Have one of your pills, Augustine.”
As Augustine fished in her purse for a little something to elevate her mood, a young woman followed Vilka and Kate down the staircase. There was a subtle combined gasp across the room as she took their breath away.
Mika wore a royal blue sheath dress that highlighted the fascinating color of her eyes, azure and gold rimmed with thick dark lashes.
Her form was shapely, but athletic and her visage was so pleasing that she had already graced several magazine covers as a model.
Her uniquely red hair was soft and gleaming, spilling over her shoulders in a cascade, her smile broadening as it fell on a few of the younger people in the crowd, friends from similarly wealthy backgrounds.
“Mika Ferrier is such a beauty,” Augustine murmured as the eighteen-year-old daughter of New York’s most eminent jewelers waved and smiled to those who greeted her. “She is going to have such a wonderful life, I can just tell.”
“A wonderful life filled with riches,” Marta agreed.
“Riches, love…” Augustine said, pausing to drink deep to ensure the pill she had just taken did not stick in her throat.
“…and a cage made just for her sweet soul,” a gravelly voice hissed behind them.
When Augustine and Marta turned to see who had spoken, there was nobody there at all, just a large mirror reflecting the merriment behind them and their own shocked faces.
The ladies shivered and glanced at one another, silently agreeing it was probably best not to mention hearing disembodied voices.
They turned their eyes back to the beaming heiress of the Ferrier fortune, their smiles a little more fixed than they had been before.
“Friends, we welcome you this evening,” Vilka said, raising a glass of champagne.
“We are here to celebrate Mika’s eighteenth birthday, and to thank you all for your support over the years.
There are so many of you to whom we owe a debt of gratitude.
You have taken us from humble beginnings to great heights.
I came here as an immigrant of limited means and some small talent.
With your patronage, our business has grown greatly and we enjoy many luxuries which I would never have experienced if I had stayed where I came from.
We have lived the American dream and my wife and I will never forget your kindness, or the way you welcomed us into your world. Eat, drink, and be merry, friends.”
He lifted his glass to the applause of New York’s richest and most favored patrons, friends, and admirers and as he did, his eyes met with those of his lovely wife once more as they shared a glance that seemed to hold a loving secret kept from the entire room, their lips meeting in a kiss of passion every soul there desired to have for themselves.
“It’s like watching a walking fairytale,” Augustine sighed, dabbing her eyes with the corner of her handkerchief. Champagne always made her emotional. “Happily ever after.”
“Happily ever after,” Marta agreed, downing the rest of her glass.
The men and women around them agreed, lifting their glasses to the impromptu, spontaneous toast.
“Happily ever after!”
The End