Epilogue
Sienna
The present
“Is it supposed to smell like this?” Alessandra wrinkles her nose, looking around the stuffed racks like a deer in the headlights.
On the hunt for the perfect score, I flip through each hanger.
What the perfect score is, I’ll know it when I see it.
“It’s the thrift store smell; you’ll get used to it,” I say, despite my stomach doing a little roil.
But that’s only because I’m in the first trimester, and this baby and I haven’t found a common ground yet.
“Do I have to?” Alessandra wonders.
“You’ve never been in a thrift store?” Remi asks her.
“No.” Alessandra shakes her head. “You?”
“Growing up, my entire wardrobe was either thrifted or…financed,” Remi says, having self-modulated that last word.
“Financed?” I raise an eyebrow.
“She means stollen,” Alessandra translates.
“Shh, don’t say that out loud, the clerk is already giving us the evil eye,” Remi chastises. “And I’ve never been a shoplifter, thank you very much.”
“That woman’s not looking at us; she’s eyeing the beast on a leash,” Alessandra glances across the shop to the clerk hiding behind the counter.
“Not every day you see the god of the underworld’s dog,” Remi agrees.
“Lacey, don’t listen to them. You are my perfect little princess,” I tell my newly-certified emotional support dog, who is begrudgingly wearing her identification vest.
I flip to the next item on the rack, my hand stilling. Grabbing the hanger with a little laugh, I announce, “I’ve found my something old.”
“Everything is old in here, so it really shouldn’t have been hard,” Alessandra points out.
“Hush, or I’ll make the maid of honor wear this.” I hold up a hideous gown that looks like an Easter egg exploded on polyester.
“You know I can’t pull off pastels with my coloring,” Alessandra cries.
Remi snickers, and I hold up a prairie trad wife monstrosity. “Wedding party.”
“You wouldn’t, only because you’d never ruin your own wedding aesthetic.” Remi calls my bluff.
“Damn, you’re right.”
We check out, with the clerk more than happy for us to leave, and then it’s to the salon for a blowout and nails.
Dark calls to dark; I can’t go all white on my wedding day. As I’m examining my black nails, a man crossing the street nearly breaks his neck to check us out.
Lacey growls long and low, and he pauses mid-crosswalk and turns around before any of our guards need to intercede, although there’s a whole lot of hands disappearing inside jackets.
“You know you’re a baddie when a man risks getting mauled to stop and gawk," Alessandra muses.
“Men,” I chide. “They’re the worst.”
“Reminder that you are marrying a man tomorrow,” Remi says with laughter in her voice.
“Yes, and I run a strict program. That’s why the severed head bowl is prominently displayed in my kitchen,” I inform her.
“In reality, you wouldn’t want to display a severed head in that bowl, unless you soaked it in formaldehyde.
Otherwise, the stink of decomposing flesh would be unbearable.
But that creates another problem: formalin fumes are extremely dangerous, and you’d need proper PPE for handling,” Alessandra says matter-of-factly, and both Remi and I side-eye her.
“What? Not all my knowledge is firsthand. Remember when I was into that serial killer documentary kick?”
“Meaning that some of your knowledge is firsthand?” Remi wonders.
“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” I laugh, and the realization hits me: I have friends.
“You good?” Remi asks me.
I smile. “Better than good.”
We return to the newly rebranded Hotel Nola’s presidential suite, where the girls are crashing for the evening.
Alessandra proceeds to make us watch her favorite serial killer documentary as I work with needle and thread on my upcycle—turning the cherry print dress into a slinky negligee for the wedding night.
“Look at those glasses.” She hits pause.
“Every serial killer from the eighties to the early nineties wore this exact frame. Why that is, nobody knows,” she says solemnly.
“But if you see an old man wearing these glasses, be safe and pop a cap in his ass; guarantee he has bodies in his freezer.”
“Nobody’s popping a cap in anyone’s ass,” Remi says with finality.
Alessandra makes a gagging sound as she pauses the show. “God, you sound just like boring Angelo.”
“Excuse me for having flashbacks of when you shot up the staff.” Remi shudders.
“Do I want to know?” I giggle, taking a sip of sparkling water. Fabien and I haven’t announced our pregnancy yet, waiting to share the news once I reach the second trimester.
“Long story, but Remi, Nola, and I saved the day, and yet I got grounded for it. How do you like that logic?” Alessandra says, disgruntled. “Why does it smell like chest rub?” She sniffs.
“Eucalyptus oil. Hand-washed in the sink with a few drops of this oil, and your thrifted item is good as new,” I explain to her.
“Nope,” Alessandra decides. “Thrifting is too much for my brain to handle.”
“Says the girl who could give a dissertation on disturbed men who murder,” I interject, making the last stitch and tying off the thread.
“You’re the one marrying Fabien,” Alessandra retorts. “Twice.”
That gets a belly laugh out of me. “Guilty.”
Later that evening, when everyone’s asleep, I go to turn off the lamp when my phone buzzes.
If my girl would so kindly join me on the balcony for some Shakespearean shit.
Giggling and kicking my feet, but I keep my tone firm. Strict program, remember?
You’re not supposed to see me before the wedding.
It’s before midnight, so that rule doesn’t count. Besides, you’re not sleeping in your wedding dress. What are you sleeping in? Nothing? Don’t say nothing and make my cock hard. Never mind, come out and let me see what you’re wearing.
So much for the strict program; I’m already out the door.
Fabien eyes me up and down, his eyes lingering on my breasts puckered beneath his white T-shirt. “Even sexier than lace, and I didn’t think that was possible.” He runs a hand along his mouth.
“Stop trying to seduce me.” My finger pokes his rock-hard chest. “I need my beauty rest.”
“You couldn’t get any more beautiful than you are right now,” he says, grabbing my hand and kissing it. “Love the nails.”
It’s silly, but I still flush at his compliments. “How did you even get up here?”
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” Fabien falls to his knees, placing his hands on my hips as he speaks to my belly. “Hi, baby girl.”
“We don’t know that,” I chastise him, even though I have a sneaking suspicion our baby is a girl. And I’ve already named her in my mind.
Hope Calvani.
Fabien presses a kiss to my small bump before rising and hustling over to the table. He grabs a gift box wrapped in gold paper, placing it in my hands. With a kiss for me that leaves my lips tingling, he hops over the balcony railing.
“No!” I gasp, but he pops back up.
“Aww, my wife’s worried about me.”
“Someone needs to be!” I hurry to the railing and look over to find Fabien standing inside the bucket of a utility truck. “I’m not even going to ask.”
“Better that way,” he agrees with a wink before the bucket’s lowered.
I practically float back inside the suite as I open the small card tucked under the bow of the gift.
Sienna,
I know we said we weren’t exchanging wedding gifts, but I couldn’t resist giving you this to add to your kitchen collection.
Forever your loving husband,
Fabien
Intrigued, I tear into the gift wrap and open the box, holding up a glass seasoning shaker, inscribed in gold lettering.
Fabien Seasoning
Once I’m able to get my laughter under control, I smile myself to sleep.
The next morning is a blur, with makeup and photos and a few happy tears. The wedding coordinator calls for the bridesmaids, and Alessandra and Remi hug me before leaving.
Examining myself in the mirror, I adjust my veil—the one I made when I was eighteen. It’s been a hell of a road getting here, and yet here I stand.
My cheeks hurt from smiling so hard.
“That’s your cue, my dear,” the coordinator says, eyeing Lacey with a fearful glance.
I lead my bestie to the hotel lounge entrance, pausing for a beat. “We can both love him, I suppose.”
Stepping through the doors, everything else fades except Fabien. He looks so handsome in his suit and freshly cut fade; if I weren’t already pregnant, I would be tonight.
Our eyes lock.
He smiles.
I smile.
Good thing Lacey’s tugging on the leash, lest Fabien and I stare at each other all day. With a giggle, I whisper to her, “Alright, I’m going.”
We reach Fabien, and I hand off the leash to his best man, Saint, before placing my hands into my groom’s.
Big and strong, with bulging veins that I love so much.
Couldn’t tell you what the priest said, but I manage to repeat my part, and Fabien his. The rings that I fought so hard against are now on my finger, and we’re pronounced man and wife—technically for a second time. The crowd erupts into cheers as Fabien takes me into his arms, kissing me sweetly.
“Mine now,” he says against my lips.
“Eternally,” I murmur back against his.
“Care to make it official?” His hand reaches inside his jacket, and I smack it.
“No blood oaths right now,” I whisper-hiss, and he chuckles.
After pictures, a few PG-13 because my husband is handsy, we take a seat with our wedding party at Fabien and my old table.
It’s all come full circle, and I smile when Fabien puts his arm around me, spreading out his legs and bumping his knee into mine. “Should I go ahead and move to your lap?” I tease him.
“Hell, I’d let you crawl inside my skin if you could,” he informs me.
It’s time for the first dance, and Fabien rises and leads me to the dance floor. Giving me a spin, he wraps me in his arms. “Would now be the perfect time to say, ‘I told you so?’”
“There’s never a perfect time to say to your wife, ‘I told you so,’” I inform him.
“Ah, but see, it is the perfect time,” he argues. “With this many witnesses, you won’t knee me in the nuts.”
“I wouldn’t bank on that,” I tell him with narrowed eyes.
Fabien chuckles, giving me another twirl. “Told you that you’d wear this veil for me when we renewed our vows in front of God and everyone.”
“Do you have a point?” I huff.
“Only that if you feel the need to punish your husband, I would say meet me in the ladies’ lounge after this dance.”
The song ends, and Fabien escorts me offstage with a wink, disappearing in the crowd.
I’ve never felt more alive as I wait a few moments to not be so obvious before sneaking to the ladies’ lounge, locking the door behind me.
Fabien leans against a full-length mirror with his arms crossed, a smirk on that handsome face of his.
“Why are you still standing?” I chide, and Fabien wastes no time, falling to his knees.
Am I happy? I’d have to be a fool not to be.
And I’ve decided I’m no fool.
“Crawl to me,” I command.