52. Epilogue
Epilogue
Henrik wailed the instant the holy water touched his forehead.
The sound so indignant, and righteous, there was no doubt he was my son to the bone.
The priest smiled as if this were part of the liturgy.
Beside me, Léonie hushed Henrik in that voice that still rearranged my pulse, while Aurora—four now and ferociously important—stood on tiptoe at the front with a solemnity that would have made CEOs cry.
“Welcome, Henrik,” the priest intoned.
“Junior,” Aurora corrected, chin up. “Like Grand-Père.”
The correction earned her an entire pew of smiles. It undid me a little.
Across the aisle, Severin hovered in the doorway like a man negotiating his way through a forbidden portal. He hadn’t set foot inside a church since we were nineteen. Even at my father’s funeral service, he stayed outside, handling security issues instead.
I’d told him last night the invisible scythe he carries might set off the metal detector if he showed up. He told me to go to hell and then appeared in a navy suit that made everyone else look underdressed.
When we’d baptised Aurora, I couldn’t choose between my best friend and my favorite cousin; Léa picked Céleste in under three seconds.
So Aurora ended up with three godparents and a childhood of outrageous presents.
Let’s say Julian, Severin, and Céleste took those roles more seriously than we anticipated.
Today was Henrik’s turn. Elias took godfather duties like a mission, unexpectedly tender when he took the squirming weight from the priest.
“Steady,” I murmured.
“I have him,” Elias said, looking at him fondly. “Bonjour, petit général.”
“Your french has gotten better.” I teased him.
He glanced down at Henrik, then back at me with a faint smirk. “I’ve been speaking more lately. Don’t make it weird.”
Before I could answer, Isolde appeared at his elbow in a pale blue dress and high heels, one brow lifting as she held out her arms.
“May I have my godson, please?”
Elias looked down at the baby, then back at her. “That wasn’t a request.”
“No,” Isolde agreed. “It wasn’t.”
Léa laughed sheepishly beside me, her hand resting at my back. “Give him up, Elias. You know better than to fight her in church.”
Elias surrendered Henrik reluctantly, making sure the blanket stayed tucked around him. Isolde took the baby with confidence, settling him against her shoulder as if she’d been doing this for years. Henrik made a small cute sound, then slowly started to mellow.
“There we go,” she beamed, smoothing a hand over his back. “At least one man in this church knows how to behave.”
“That feels pointed,” I said.
She looked at Léa and they both let out a knowing low chuckle that made Henrik steer. Five years and I was used to Léa, Isolde, and Céleste’s sassiness, mixed with the menace that my friends brought around, All loyal as hell. We barely knew where family ended and friendship began.
“Papa,” Aurora whispered, tugging on my sleeve. “Is Henrik going to cry again?”
She was standing on the pew beside me in her tiny cream dress and gold shoes, staring at the baptismal font with solemn fascination, clutching the stuffed lion I’d bribed her with so she wouldn’t disrupt the priest.
“Maybe,” I whispered back, adjusting her headband before my mother could materialize to do it for the fifth time. “You cried a lot during your turn.”
“I did not,” she said, outraged.
“You screamed the roof down,” Severin said from my other side. He finally made it inside, right behind Julian. “I almost burst into flames. Thought the holy water was going to smoke.” He said with a smile on his face.
Aurora giggled, leaning around me to grin at him. “You’re not on fire.”
“Yet,” I mused. “Give it time. I’m surprised you could even walk in.”
He shot me a sideways look.
“It’s true,” I said. “You haven’t stepped into a church in years. Frankly, I’m impressed the door didn’t slam shut behind you…or worse.”
“And still you made me godfather,” he said.
“You and Julian,” I added. “It’s strategic.”
It really was. They were the first two men I would trust with my family if I wasn’t here.
Across the aisle, Julian caught my eye. He stood beside Céleste and Lea, looking sinful in an immaculate suit. Same shark smile, lazy elegance, eyes that noticed too much. But I knew him well enough to see the difference. His attention kept drifting back to the woman at his side. His wife.
He’d married in secret and called afterward to inform us as though it was something very casual.
He felt my stare and lifted a brow in challenge.
I smirked.
Behind us, Marcus leaned forward, muttering under his breath. “Remind me again why I’m not a godfather to any of your children? This feels targeted, Kade.”
“You’d lose them in a casino,” I said flatly, not mincing words.
“When has that ever been a fault huh? They’d learn valuable life skills,” he reiterated shamelessly.
Things had changed for our little rebellion the night I walked in and admitted I loved my wife.
The old rituals had mostly died after that.
What used to be excess for the sake of excess turned into private poker nights, with too much whiskey, brutal honesty takes, and the occasional intervention when one of us was about to make a spectacular mess of his life.
Marcus and Zane still found ways to keep their vices alive in the world, of course.
Adrien too. The three of them were still aggressively, almost offensively single, and there was nothing stopping them from indulging in whatever beautiful trouble presented itself in whatever city they happened to be in.
Behind us, Adrien sprawled with his usual irreverence, murmuring something to Marcus that made him choke on a laugh. Both of them had protested loudly when I chose Elias over them for Henrik, and neither of them had forgiven me for it.
Then again, Elias had been the one who turned up every time Leonie had a scare during this second pregnancy, no questions asked. He had his private plane idling on standby. The decision was a no-brainer.
Elias’s girlfriend stepped up beside him, quirky and self-assured, her hand finding his and he laced them at instinct. He looked down at her for half a second, and the change in his face was subtle but impossible to miss.
I leaned closer to Elias, lowering my voice. “So, when are you both getting married?”
Elias’ face remained stoic. “You just got me into a church. Don’t push your luck.”
His girlfriend smiled, amused, and pulled tighter at his hold. “I ask myself the same question.”
Léa made a sound that was suspiciously close to a laugh into my shoulder.
I looked between them, deeply satisfied. “Good. I like you. Keep pressuring him.”
“Traitor,” Elias mouthed.
“Coward,” I returned with a smile.
His girlfriend laughed outright at that. The energy in the room felt warmer.
Isolde with Henrik, Léa at my side, Elias pretending not to be as gone for the woman next to him as I knew he was.
Then Henrik let out a small, offended cry from Isolde’s shoulder, and all of us turned at once.
“He did cry.” Aurora announced. It inspired a burst of laughter across the pew. Even the priest wasn’t immune.
“He’s probably hungry, let me take him,” Léa said, already reaching for him.
She took Henrik from Isolde and headed toward the church gardens, where my mother had insisted on hosting the reception. We’d argued over it but Léa sided with her, that it would be easier to navigate guests.
Over the years, she and my mother had found a common ground that works.
Léa didn’t indulge in society events as my mother would like, but there were other areas they saw eye to eye.
Like charity events where Léa managed public appearances, and my mother was glad to back.
My mother liked anything that kept the Kade name in the spotlight; Léa liked using that spotlight for something useful. It worked.
There had been so many firsts since then.
My first polo event without my father. Léa’s first time attending, cheering for me exactly the way I’d once told her she would. Our first trip abroad with Aurora. Our first Christmas that felt like a real family and not a pile of expensive gifts under the tree without the love accompanying it.
I touched the monogrammed cufflink I wore for Henrik Sr., and glanced up at stone saints lined up on the church walls.
I’d found the cufflinks in the case that held the family seal and the signet ring when I’d first received them after my father’s funeral.
The ring felt like a burden, the seal felt like loss.
Only these cufflinks felt close to hope.
Especially now, watching my small Henrik nestled on Léa’s shoulder, a burp cloth tucked neatly beneath his chin.
She looked unfairly beautiful today. Her hair was in a high ponytail—the way I loved it. She wore a beige dress and matching heels, nothing dramatic, or loud, and still every time I looked at her I had the immediate, unreasonable urge to cross the space and put my hands on her.
The garden had been set beautifully. White linen. White roses. Champagne in neat rows on silver trays. Servers moving quickly through clusters of guests. The late light made everything warmer, and the afternoon spring breeze was very forgiving.
When I stepped out onto the lawn, Aurora barrelled into my legs.
“Papa,” she called out, authoritatively. “Julian says I must teach Henrik to say his name first.”
“Julian is banned from theology and child development,” I told her gravely. “Your brother will say ‘Maman,’ then ‘Papa,’ In that order.”
She considers. “Then ‘Aurora.’”
“Obviously.”
The chatter in the garden rolled on around us. Marcus had sunglasses on despite the fading sun.
“No, really,” he said, lifting his glass. “Who do I petition to be godfather of the next one? I’ve been passed over twice now.”
“There isn’t going to be a next one,” Léa said from across the table.
He gasped dramatically. “Don’t say things like that. Orion, talk to her.”