Epilogue
Jack
Allow me to address the common questions that I get.
Yes, I am that Jack Knight-Snow—the researcher who raised the Etruscan hoard from the bottom of the Mediterranean.
Yes, I am the guy who has a habit of being caught kissing Chiara D’Angelo of D’Angelo Enterprises. There have been a total of six ‘incidents’ now. Though in the interest of full disclosure, the kissing session in downtown Florence near the Duomo was somewhat staged. I wanted to make a statement to the world.
I love this woman, Chiara D’Angelo.
Which is why Chiara and I were walking again through downtown Florence after dark. Fresh rain glistened on the pavement, steam rising in the lingering humid summer heat. Florence in early August never really quite cooled down.
Chiara was tucked against my fully healed side, her arm wrapped around my waist. I loved us like this . . . just wandering town together, talking about anything and everything.
“So do any of the triplets have more information about the scars and where we go from here?” I asked.
Tennyson and Dante had spent the last week digging through the archives, trying to find clues that their father might have left behind. As I had lost the ability to see the scars, we weren’t quite sure how to approach the problem.
“No.” Chiara leaned into my chest. “Turns out simply knowing what’s causing the madness is not the same as knowing how to stop it. You could see the scars you created, but there have to be more out there. We assume there have been cuts between our world and the shadow world as long as we D’Angelos have had our powers. We have no real understanding of what Babbo was trying to accomplish with the lightning that night on the tower.”
“And how do we close something that no one can see?” I replied.
“Precisely.”
We were at an impasse.
Bing.
Chiara got a text.
“I’m going to ignore that.” She smiled up at me. “I prefer being with you.”
Bing.
Bing.
Bing-bing.
My eyebrows went up. “You can look. You know you want to.”
She pressed her lips into a firm line.
I kissed her. I couldn’t resist. She looked adorable when she was thinking.
“I know I can look,” she said, “but I’m trying to be fully present in all my interactions with people. It was Dr. Cacciatore’s homework for this week.”
Surprisingly, Chiara took Dr. Cacciatore’s homework very seriously. Therapy hadn’t fundamentally changed Chiara, but she was starting to radiate the peace and calm of a person content with themselves.
Bing. Bing.
Bing.
Bing.
Bingbingbingbing—
“Seriously?!” Chiara yanked her phone out of her purse and glanced at the screen.
She gasped.
She squealed.
She began jumping up and down in the street.
“It’s FINALLY happening.”
“Pardon?”
“Lucy’s water broke. Branwell took her to the hospital. I’m gonna be an AUNT!”
Chiara took off down the street, tugging me behind her, laughing maniacally the entire time.
Eight long hours later, Branwell and Lucy welcomed Alessio Cesare D’Angelo and Bronte Judith D’Angelo into their family. The twins were healthy and strong.
We crowded into Lucy’s hospital room—Chiara and I, Dante and Claire, Nonna, Tennyson and Judith—all celebrating the new family additions.
Chiara cuddled tiny Bronte, stroking a finger over the sleeping baby’s fuzzy cheek. I wrapped my arms around both of them.
“She’s so perfect, Jack.” Chiara smiled up at me. “I love that Branwell kept with the Victorian artist theme with one of the babies, at least.”
She cooed at Baby Bronte. My heart felt ready to burst. This maternal side of Chiara was new to me. Image after image darted through my brain. Chiara holding our own child. Chiara laughing and tickling a pair of red-headed imps. Chiara and I relaxing on a couch, children cuddled next to us.
Yes. That would be our future. She and I. I would accept no other outcome.
Chiara lifted Baby Bronte closer, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Ciao, bellina. I’m your favorite aunt, Chiara. I’m going to be the one who teaches you all about makeup and boys and how not to date jerks. You are going to love me, you know. But not as much as I already love you, mia passerotta.”
I had to look away. My throat felt uncomfortably tight and rapid blinking wasn’t helping the situation.
Chiara’s elbow nudged me. “You big softy, Jack. You’re not fooling anyone. Here.” Chiara gently transferred Bronte into my arms.
I looked down at the precious babe, remembering all the nieces and nephews I had held so many years ago. I had lost so much. Perhaps I should join Chiara in her sessions with Dr. Cacciatore.
Chiara wiped a tear off my cheek. “It’s okay, Jack,” she whispered. “We can’t change the past, but we can make memories in our new future.”
I managed a wan smile. “When did you become so wise?”
“Me?” She laughed incredulously. “That was all Dr. Cacciatore. I’m an idiot with this stuff.”
I kissed her. I couldn’t stop myself.
“Thank you,” I murmured.
A new future? I liked the sound of that.
We would live happily ever after, Chiara and I.
Why did I know that?
Because we were both committed to becoming our best, most-whole selves.
If I have learned anything from my time as a ghost, it is this: when you truly love someone, don’t waste a single moment.
To paraphrase a well-known quote—
Life is such stuff as dreams are made on.
So get living it.