Chapter 26: Epilogue

^TWO YEARS LATER^

CHRISTIAN

“Tomorrow’s meetings are all set. Ms. Walker wants you there with her for a briefing before you take over.”

“A briefing? I ran that company for nearly six years, and now she wants to brief me?”

“Yes, sir.” Bridget shrinks back a bit, as if I might explode at any second.

“Christian.” Francesca chides me from across the jet.

My darling, Mrs. Francesca De Luca.

We tied the knot three months after I popped the question and jetted off to Italy right away. Francesca freelances for QB, De Luca Corp, and even some Walker publications, but her main gig now is her novel.

She’s working on her second one and moved to the other side of the plane as soon as we took off, claiming I was too distracting.

“Yes, darling?”

“Don’t take it out on Bridget. She’s just passing along a message, which is exactly what you pay her to do. If you need to vent, call Beth.”

“You realize this is all your fault, right?” I say, and Francesca spins around to face me, her eyes blazing.

“Excuse me?”

“James is your friend. You introduced him to Beth, and now they’re getting hitched, and I’m stuck running the damn company while Beth is off on some island enjoying her honeymoon.”

“You could have said no,” Francesca says without looking up from her laptop, her fingers flying across the keyboard. I’ll never understand how she can multitask like that.

“You’re kidding, right? How could I have said no? Have you seen the look Beth gives you when you say no?”

Francesca’s lips curl into a smirk, and I swear I see Bridget hide a smile behind her hand.

“Bridget?”

“Yes, Mr. De Luca?”

“Tell Ms. Walker I’ll be unavailable three days before her wedding. Mrs. De Luca and I will be out of town.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What are you talking about?” Francesca huffs, slamming her laptop shut to face me. “The wedding is in seven days, Christian, and I’m the maid of honor. What are we doing three days before?”

“I planned a quick trip to Jackson.”

“Jackson? As in Jackson, Mississippi?”

“The very same.”

“My hometown?”

“Yes.”

“The place where our ex-best friend’s family lives.”

“Yes.”

Mr. and Mrs. Chambers weren’t too pleased when their son bailed on his marriage.

Mrs. Jennifer Chambers even reached out to Beth, apologizing for not seeing the signs sooner, as if she, that saint of a woman, was to blame.

“And when exactly were you planning to tell me this?”

“I’m telling you right now, darling,” I say, a smirk playing on my lips.

“Bridget?”

“Yes, Mrs. De Luca?”

“Please inform Christian that he’ll be sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable future.”

My assistant has the nerve to laugh at my wife’s comment before retreating to the back of the plane, tapping away on her tablet.

I glance back at Francesca, who’s reclining in her seat with her eyes closed.

I sit down next to her, and she takes a deep breath as if sensing my presence. I press a kiss to her exposed collarbone, and her eyes flutter open.

“I can’t go to Jackson, Christian.”

“Why? Is it your novel? What did your editor say?”

“It’s not the book. In fact, I’m ahead of schedule. I left Jackson behind; I left my home, the memories of my mom and dad. I can’t go back there. It’s not home anymore.”

“Darling…”

“Please. I can’t.”

“I need to be honest about something.”

Francesca’s eyes snap open, and she sits up straighter, studying me.

“What is it?”

“Remember the buyer of your parents’ house?”

“I saw the signature. I think the first initial was ‘A.’ ”

“A. Romano.”

“Yeah, right. Romano. Why?” Francesca’s eyes flicker with curiosity before realization dawns. “Your cousin.”

Alexandria and Francesca hit it off right away, just like I knew they would.

“You bought the house in Alex’s name?”

“I knew you wouldn’t let me buy it for you—”

“You’re damn right! Christian, I made the decision to sell that house the day after my dad died. I didn’t want it! Why do you always have to make decisions for me?

“Sometimes it feels like our whole relationship is just manufactured. Nothing is left to chance or destiny, the great ~Christian De Luca~ controls my every move.”

“Darling—”

“Leave me alone, Christian.” Francesca’s voice is small and broken, and I want nothing more than to wrap my arms around her, but her expression stops me.

Without a word, I move back to my original seat.

The tension in the plane is palpable. The playful atmosphere is gone, replaced by a heaviness that tugs at my heart.

FRANCESCA

I know I’m overreacting, but no matter how much I scold myself, my emotions are still running high.

Maybe I’m about to get my period. That would certainly explain the emotional roller coaster I’m on.

Christian has tried to apologize at least seventy times since we got back to New York three days ago, but I always seem to derail his apology.

I’ve laughed, cried, screamed, and even punched. I’m surprised he keeps trying to apologize; I think my husband has a death wish.

“Time to try on dresses!” Beth bursts through the door of our New York apartment, coffee in one hand and chocolate in the other.

“Christian mentioned you’re feeling a bit down. I figured chocolate might help. Get dressed. Toby’s our driver. We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”

“Can we do this tomorrow, Beth?”

“No.”

“But—”

“No.”

“Being a CEO has turned you into a real hard-ass.”

“Sure has. Now, up you go.”

With a roll of my eyes, I drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom. I splash some water on my face, trying to ignore the wave of nausea that’s been my constant companion.

Ever since I blew up at Christian on the plane, the nausea hasn’t left me.

I dress quickly, slipping into tight skinny jeans, a black tee, and my brown leather jacket. I’m lacing up my Converse sneakers when Beth appears in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest.

“So, you two had a fight?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“He mentioned the house.”

“It’s not ~my~ house. It’s his. Technically, it’s his cousin’s.”

“He thought he was doing something nice, Frankie. Don’t let your pride mess things up.”

“But—”

“No time for buts. We’re going to be late.”

Beth drags me out of the apartment and down to where Toby is waiting for us on the curb. He grins when he sees us, holding the door open.

“Good morning, Mrs. De Luca.”

“Morning, Toby. Still won’t call me Frankie, huh?”

Toby just chuckles as I pull him into a hug and peck his cheek.

“It’s so good to see you.”

“You too, ~Mrs. De Luca~.”

“Alright, you two, we need to get moving. We have an appointment.”

“Sorry, Ms. Walker.” Toby blushes as he closes the door for us and heads around the limo to the driver’s side.

The high-end boutique Beth chose for my bridesmaid dress is smack dab in the middle of Fifth Avenue, a place I always avoided during my time in New York.

Beth tugs me by the arm into the glitzy dress shop. Even though I’ve been a billionaire’s wife for nearly two years, I’m still not entirely comfortable with it.

Just the press that stops us outside the store is intimidating enough. Beth gives them a smile, a wave, and a quick comment about her upcoming wedding before pulling me past them.

Once inside, the sounds of the bustling New York street are muffled by the thick glass door. I stay near the entrance as Beth ventures further into the store.

“Ms. Walker!” A high-pitched squeal echoes through the store, and I turn to see a girl blonder than me, practically bouncing toward Beth.

“We’re so thrilled to have you here this morning. We have—” The girl stops mid-sentence, and I glance over to see her gaze narrowing on me. “Excuse me for one moment.”

She steps past Beth and strides over to me, nose in the air. My eyes flick to the nametag on her lapel. ~Amber~.

“Can I assist you?” she sneers at me.

“No, I—”

“I don’t think we have anything for you.” Amber lowers her voice, cutting me off. I look over her shoulder at a wide-eyed Beth.

“What did you say?”

“Our customers expect a certain level of service.”

I hear Beth snort at the ~Pretty Woman~ moment we seem to be having.

“Are you saying I can’t afford to shop here?” I ask, unable to keep the smirk off my face.

Amber risks a glance over her shoulder, clearly worried she’s about to lose her commission with Beth.

Beth starts to step toward her, but I stop her with a look. My emotions are all over the place, and after everything with Christian, I wouldn’t mind a good verbal showdown.

“This isn’t your kind of store.” Amber’s tone is nasty. “In fact, I don’t think you belong on this entire street,” she adds under her breath.

“I’d like to speak to your manager.”

“That’s not really necessary. Our manager only deals with a certain type of customer.”

I glance outside the store, noticing several members of the press have stuck around.

“I’d like you to leave,” Amber says, gesturing toward the door.

“Fra—”

I cut Beth off with a wave of my hand.

“If that’s what you really want,” I shrug, swinging the boutique door wide open. The paparazzi snap to attention, calling out to both Beth and me.

“Mrs. De Luca!”

“Mrs. De Luca! What have you chosen for the Walker Abbott wedding?”

Beth is on the verge of laughing as Amber’s eyes widen. She gapes as she looks back and forth between me, Beth, and the crowd of press outside the store.

“Y-you’re…”

“Ms. Walker, is there a problem?” An older woman appears behind us, and Beth spins around, CEO smile in place.

“Your sales assistant seems to have a problem with my maid of honor.”

Amber goes pale; even under her thick layer of makeup, I can see her face turn white.

I close the boutique door again, blocking out the street noise, and turn to face the older woman, who seems to be in charge.

The woman’s eyes scan my casual, bargain-bin outfit before scrutinizing my face.

She’s looking for a clue as to who I could possibly be and why I’m standing with the most powerful woman in New York on the eve of her wedding day.

“Your maid of honor?” the woman clarifies.

“Francesca De Luca. Your store is just delightful,” I say, stepping forward with my hand outstretched.

The woman’s eyes widen slightly, but she covers it well, and Amber lets out a small squeak behind us.

“Mrs. De Luca! It’s a pleasure! Amber, you’re excused.”

Amber scurries past us, her face now red with embarrassment.

“I apologize, ladies. Shall we get started?”

***

“I can’t believe it didn’t fit. Do you think I messed up the measurements?”

“Frankie, quit freaking out. They’re fixing it, and thanks to our movie-like experience, they’re doing it for free. We can pick it up tomorrow.”

Beth and I exit the elevator, and Bridget glances up from her desk.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. De Luca, Ms. Walker.”

“Hey, Bridget,” we both respond in sync.

“Is he free?” I ask.

“For you, always. Go right in.”

Beth stays behind to chat with Bridget while I push open the familiar double doors to Christian’s office.

“Bridget, if you didn’t bring the McArthur files, you might as well turn back,” Christian grumbles, not lifting his gaze from the scattered papers on his desk.

“Someone’s grumpy,” I mumble, and Christian’s face fills with surprise as he quickly stands and moves to my side.

He instinctively pulls me into his embrace, showering my forehead and hair with kisses.

“Kitten, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please don’t be mad. Tell me how I can make it right.”

His pleading nearly shatters me.

“Why now?” I whisper.

“What?” Christian steps back a bit, still clutching me tightly but far enough away to see my face.

“Why show me the house now? Why tell me now? It’s been two and a half years since you bought it. Why now?”

“Well, I—”

“Do you want to move back for good?”

“Well—”

“Could we even do that? Just leave Italy? Your family?”

“Franc—”

“Sure, we have Beth and James here, so we’d have some family but, but what about the company? What about—”

I’m silenced as Christian’s lips meet mine.

“Hush for a moment.” He chuckles, and I pout.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you about the house since I bought it. I don’t care where we live as long as I’m with you.

“We could try out New York while Beth and James are on their honeymoon; see if we still love it. As long as I’m with you, Francesca, I don’t care.”

“The dress doesn’t fit me.” Tears start to fall, and Christian’s brow furrows at my abrupt change of topic.

“Kitten?” He wipes away a tear before it can trail down my cheek.

“I’m so sorry.” I crumble into his arms, not even sure what I’m apologizing for, and then, out of the blue, I start laughing.

Christian looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “Beth and I had a movie moment today,” I manage to say through my laughter.

“What do you mean? Had a movie moment?”

“The saleswoman at the store pulled a ~Pretty Woman~ on us because I don’t look like a billionaire’s wife in my jeans and tee.”

All three emotions seem to burst out of me at once. I’m crying and laughing, and my voice is filled with anger.

“This conversation is confusing me. Are you okay?”

“I’m…”

I ponder his question, and I’m grateful for his hands supporting my waist when my knees buckle.

“Oh shit!”

“Francesca.” Christian steadies me in his arms, worry etched on his face. “What is—”

“I’m pregnant.”

—End of Book One—