Epilogue

Rose

Butterflies riot in my stomach as the corseting on my wedding gown is tied by my maid of honor, Cheryl, whose last name I now know is Benson.

She begged to be in the ceremony when she learned that another Island couple was tying the knot in upstate New York! Exhaling my nerves, or trying to, anyway, I twist from side to side and admire myself in the full-length, gilded mirror in the upstairs of this cathedral.

I’m not sure what this thing cost. Stuart wouldn’t let me know; he covered up the price tag with his hand and bought it for me. But, if the other gowns in that boutique were any indication, it could probably have fed a small country.

The hem of the gown sparkles subtly in the light, inlaid with diamond dust. I like it because it reminds me of the thing that started it all: an invitation with diamonds spangling my name.

Of course... that’s our little secret. Stuart and I are the only ones who know about our history with Mystique Island, except for the Bensons, of course. And the master of the island, di Reyes... who apparently knows a little bit of everything, even if he’s barely involved at all. I heard that he was going to come to the ceremony but I don’t know if that’s true. You know, I’ve heard a lot about him but I’ve never actually seen his face anywhere.

“Rose... you look gorgeous,” Cheryl tells me, hugging me from behind. “And you smell amazing, too...”

I burst out laughing and twist away from my sexy redhead best friend, because this has been an ongoing struggle between the Bensons and the Goldmans ever since we started seeing each other outside of the island. They’re constantly trying to convince us to swing with them! But Stuart says that I can’t. “I can’t bear to share you,” he says. “I’m the only man who’s ever been inside you... the only other person to ever make you come. And I want to keep it that way forever, Rose.”

“All right, all right,” Cheryl allows, rolling her eyes and tossing her hair. Her sex appeal is off the charts, so the slight sting of rejection never fazes her. She arches one perfectly manicured brow at me, considering me with a faint hint of concern. “How do you feel? Ready?”

“I was born ready for this,” I breathe, really meaning it. Stuart Goldman was my destiny. That was why I ended up on that island, even though it went against everything I was told to be and do... Because it was destiny. “More importantly, how do I look?”

Cheryl gives me a light shove and laughs off my vanity. I’m being partly serious, though.

This is my wedding day, and I’m twenty-three-years-old now. I’m tired of looking like a little girl all the time. My golden curls are twisted up into a tight beehive, which works to elongate my tiny face and give me some maturity and grace. The makeup is shockingly light for a wedding day but I’ve never been a big fan of makeup. If Stuart is going to go through with this and take me forever... for better or worse, in sickness and in health... then I don’t need a ton of makeup to convince him. Luckily, he feels the same way.

“You’ll already be wearing one veil,” he joked when I told him my plan to eschew the beautician. “I don’t need any more layers between me and you than whatever the bare minimum is.”

Cheryl confirms for me that the light makeup and the hair and the dress are all perfect together. “You look like a fairy princess,” she says, “but then again, that’s how you always look.”

I scowl. “I want to look like an adult woman,” I remind her. “But I guess it’s not your fault that it’s never going to happen.”

Cheryl grins and toys with the thin gold cross still around my neck. “You look beautiful, and young, which you are. Don’t rush it. When you start to notice bags under your eyes and little lines on your forehead... you’ll wish you could still be insecure about looking too young.”

I laugh with Cheryl, who is only thirty-one and looks no more than twenty-five, and we head downstairs to take our positions before the ceremony can begin. It’s while we’re passing through the entry hall of the massive cathedral—all the guests have been seated and Stuart is probably waiting for me alongside the priest and his best man—when the door to the parking lot bursts open and sends a blast of winter air into the hall.

I spin against the bitter wind by sheer instinct and my eyes go round. My jaw goes slack.

It can’t be, but yet, here they are. Here they are in front of everyone.

My parents.

My “dad” is wearing a suit that looks like it hasn’t been washed since the last time it was worn, and the last time it was worn, he partied hard. It’s just as wrinkled as he is. He’s lost all the luscious hair I remember him having when I was young, and he lost the slim figure that youth and hunger can allow, so that now his belly bows out in middle-aged tragedy. His lifestyle finally caught up with him. You might think that losing his daughter to the state would have been a wakeup call but I know that it wasn’t. It just let him party freely again, like he used to.

My “mom” alongside him wears a dress that looks like it was bought this morning for less than ten dollars. Her makeup is sloppy and thick, probably applied in the car. Her brittle hair is teased to give the illusion of body. Like her husband, much of her youth and beauty is faded and chipped. She partied too hard and now she looks terrible. They’re Stuart’s age but they look an easy ten years older, minimum.

Stuart takes good care of himself. It’s comforting that now such healthy focus and strength surrounds me, too. I finally have a man in my life truly capable of caring for another living thing.

“Impossible,” I breathe. “How... how did you get here, Barry? Rhonda? How did you know?”

I honestly think of them as Barry and Rhonda. I have thought of them the way a child thinks of a negligent stepparent ever since I was very young. They were always tourists in my life. I had to live it every day, taking care of myself, not understanding that I was being robbed of a childhood... and they would drop in and do “Mom” and “Dad” stuff when it suited them. Tourists in my life.

Cheryl’s eyes tick back and forth between me and my parents. “What’s going on?” she wonders. I barely register that the organ music in the chapel has come to a halt. The entry hall swirls around me like I’m going to pass out. How dare they come here? How dare they stop in on the best day of my life?

“We read about it in the paper,” Rhonda says, blinking her big eyes at me like she can’t believe she’s getting this reaction. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s everywhere,” Barry agrees. His eyes are glassy, and I realize with a jolt that he’s probably high. Nothing changed... at all. “We weren’t going to miss our baby girl getting married.”

“I thought your parents were dead,” Cheryl blurts. “But... that isn’t why you got adopted.”

I shake my head. “I was taken from them because they weren’t bothering to feed me, or take me to school, or take me to the doctor,” I explain bitterly. “But now here they are. Suddenly.”

“We were sick!” Rhonda insists. “We were mentally ill, Rose.”

“No,” I answer. “You weren’t. I was there. You were selfish and lazy. That’s why Child Protective Services never sent you to any hospital. The only help you needed was rehab... and you didn’t get it.” Tears cloud my eyes, even after all these years. I thought that I was over this! “You just let me go.”

The doors to the interior of the chapel swing wide and Stuart stands there, holding them open. For just one second, I catch a glimpse of the guests struggling to see what is going on in the entry hall. Then they clip shut and Stuart is the only one staring, looking as ruthless and powerful as a god.

His tailored suit showcases his massive body and I’m sure it makes my parents think twice about setting foot on hallowed ground. His dark hair is beautifully styled but loose. His slate gray eyes, always so warm and attentive when they’re on me, rage like storm clouds right now.

“Are you all right?” he asks. “I saw them leave and I figured something was up.”

I hesitate and nod. “I’m fine.” I glower at my parents and shake my head. “Because I spent my entire childhood making sure that I would always be fine... even on my own.”

Stuart’s rough hand snakes into mine and gives it a squeeze. “But you’re not alone,” he promises me firmly. “You’ll never be alone again.”

I swallow but I close my eyes and I listen. I let the words wash over me. I’ll never be alone again.

“This must be Mr. and Mrs. Parsons,” he guesses. “Am I right?”

I just nod, and Barry comes forward to defend himself to Stuart. This ought to be good. I’ve never heard them defend themselves before... rarely, at least...

“We weren’t like you, and we couldn’t give her all these fine things,” Barry slurs. “But we’re happy that she found them, and we want to share in your...” He loses track of where his sentence is going for a second. “...in your happy day.”

Stuart exhales heavily and shakes his head. “The fine things that Rose has, she deserves, because of the bullshit deal she got on parents.” His eyes on them are harsh. “Get out of here. There is a reason you weren’t invited.”

Rhonda turns her eyes on me and pouts hard. “Baby,” she pleads. “You can’t be serious. We can’t even be here? We can’t even take some pictures?”

“You already had your chance to be there,” I tell her, and Stuart squeezes my hand again. I feel so stable and strong when we’re together. “And you didn’t take it. He already told you, and security is about to tell you again. Get out.”

With downcast expressions, they shuffle back out the door, and Cheryl actually says, “Aw, I feel bad.”

“Don’t.” It’s one of the coldest yet easiest things I’ve ever said. I smile up at Stuart. “Are we ready to do this?”

“Are you?” Stuart wonders with a genuine smile... and concerned eyes. “I don’t want you walking down that aisle with those losers on your mind. When my wife walks down the aisle, I only want her thinking about us.”

“I am,” I tell him certainly. My eyes take on a shine. “I’m only thinking about us, and I’m totally ready. Standing with you feels so strong, and so right. Let’s do this.”

Stuart sweeps me into his embrace and gives me one deep, long kiss, completely breaking tradition and mussing my lipstick. But I don’t care. There are no rules when it comes to us. Whatever feels right is what we do. That’s how we got here, and I’ve never felt better.

“I love you, Stuart,” I tell him when our lips part.

“I love you, too... Mrs. Goldman,” he says.

“And I love both of you,” Cheryl purrs off to my side, stroking down my back with one hand and Stuart’s back with the other.

We grin and shake her off, shoving open the chapel doors. “From the top!” Stuart bellows, and everyone stands as the organ begins its wedding march anew.