by C. C. Piper
Epilogue: One Year Later — Chrissy
By the end of the day, I was going to be a Boswell.
I twirled, watching my dress move. Not a ball gown, or a cocktail dress.
My wedding dress.
I stood in front of the mirror in the room where I’d stayed when I first met Richard. After Bella was released from the hospital, we both moved into the mansion. I’d stayed in Richard’s room every night from then on.
He’d asked, rather haltingly, if I’d consider it, and I had wanted to be close to him. The awkwardness between us faded rapidly after that.
Richard had created the wedding dress as a surprise for me. It was a gorgeous couture dress, created in Milan, Italy by one of the top fashion designers. The look was similar to the pink gown I’d worn on that disastrous night a little over a year ago. We had donated that gown, not wanting to relive the memories it evoked.
But this dress would hold only happy memories. It was strapless, but instead of sequins, the bodice was covered in tiny cream-colored crystal beads. The waist was fitted, and the sparkling tulle skirt bloomed out, just skirting the floor. Once again, I looked like a princess.
Just a few months after Bella’s miraculous recovery from her kidney surgery, Richard had asked me to marry him. He took us on a sailing trip to Catalina, and he proposed on the sailboat.
Of course I said yes.
As I adjusted the beaded crystal hair piece that would hold my veil, Bella burst into the room. Each time I saw her, I marveled at her health. She was full of energy and bursting with excitement each day.
She wore a dress similar to mine, but it was a light shade of apricot with cap sleeves. At nine, she could have been a flowergirl, but she’d insisted on being my maid of honor.
She spun in a circle, letting her dress billow around her. “You said I can wear lipstick!” She headed straight for my dressing table.
“Wait! Do not touch anything.” I managed to snag the back of her dress. “Let me help you.”
She gave me her best you-can-trust-me smile. “I’ll be careful.”
“I know you will. But just imagine a bright red stripe down the front of that dress.” It was easy to picture. Bella was a smart, sweet, fun-loving girl, but she never slowed down. We’d had many mini-catastrophes over the last few months, including slime on the dining room chair cushions, super glue stuck to the kitchen granite, and silly putty in the drain of the bathtub.
Through it all, I was grateful she was healthy and able to create so much chaos, and Richard never minded her messes. We did make her clean them up herself, although the silly putty in the drain had required a little professional help from a plumber.
Once she’d settled herself in front of my vanity, I draped a towel over her, then applied the lipstick.
I saw her eyeing the rest of my makeup. Her little face looked perfect the way it was, so I needed to find a distraction.“I need you to go find Lily. I need you both to make sure the chairs are in a straight line. Then find Nana and check on her. Do not go out to the beach for any reason.”
Bella put her hands on her hips and studied me, probably trying to discern whether or not this was a real errand, or a made up one. I lowered my voice. “Nana is nervous. She planned all this. Ask her if she needs anything.”
That had been another unexpected bonus of my engagement to Richard. Richard’s mother Olivia had declared Bella her granddaughter on day one, and Bella had taken to her as if she’d been born into the family. Olivia insisted on everyone calling her Nana.
I’d been afraid we might be moving too fast for Richard. But no. He took it all in stride, even confessing late one night that his relationship with his mother was better than it had ever been, and that Olivia having my sister in her life had given her a new sense of purpose.
Bella broke into a grin.
Lily had not been insulted to have her role taken by a nine-year-old, but had laughed and deferred to Bella’s request. Richard had involved Lily in the wedding planning process as well, and let her meet with the designer to create her own couture bridesmaid dress.
Bella had to move schools, but we’d stayed in contact with her former teacher and her classmates from the charter school. Richard had even donated a significant sum of money to the charter school so they could provide lunches to students like Bella who might have a hard time bringing a packed lunch.
He’d enrolled her in a private school in Santa Monica, where she was exposed to a rich curriculum of literature, the arts, science and math. She even got to continue archery at the school, and we’d added private lessons as well.
Each day I was grateful for Richard’s help. Bella was mine now. Richard had hired a phenomenal family lawyer. She’d filed the paperwork to have my mother’s rights terminated. My mother hadn’t bothered to show up that day, and the judge ruled in our favor. Now the caseworker’s visits were a formality. We had one more follow-up visit, and then we would be released from her supervision.
The relief that brought me each day could not be expressed in words.
As I’d predicted, Bella adored Richard just as much as he adored her. She saw him as a father figure, so Richard and I had discussed having him adopt her once we were married.
We could have gotten married anywhere in the world, but I thought having the ceremony at our home would be meaningful, for both us and for Bella. I’d lobbied for a small, easy-to-plan wedding, but I’d been overruled. Bella, Richard, Olivia and Lily wanted a big fancy wedding.
Richard’s mother had offered to plan the big day, and I’d been more than happy to let her. I’d been asked if it was hard having my future mother in law in my business, but the answer was a resounding no.
Richard’s mother wasn’t perfect. She was flighty, and sometimes self absorbed, but she loved Richard, and she was crazy about Bella. She also liked hanging out with me. I’d come to enjoy having a mother figure in my life.
Now that I was taking as many classes as possible, I didn't have the spare time to plan a wedding. But Olivia did. And she’d enlisted Bella’s help.
Together, they’d spent the last seven months in full-on wedding planning mode. Idea websites were on every computer screen. Stacks of wedding magazines were on every flat surface. Florists, caterers, designers, and coordinators were in and out of the house. Each time they asked my opinion, I reminded them they could make all the decisions.
At night, I’d study in the kitchen while Olivia, Bella, and sometimes Lily would crowd around the table with their notebooks. Sometimes I’d catch Richard standing in the kitchen doorway, watching us. He always had a small smile on his face.
“Is this driving you crazy?” I asked him.
“I feel like I should say yes. But it’s not.”
I’m pretty sure he liked having a full house.
Olivia had chosen apricot as the main color, with gold and ivory accents. My bouquet was an unconventional mixture of flowers, berries, and leaves. The end result was and elegant eye-catching bundle of flowers.
If anyone had asked me, I’d say roses went into a bouquet. But not mine. Mine was made up of antique hydrangeas, roses, Icelandic poppies, bay leaves and pepperberry as an accent. Olivia and Bella had worked for three weeks to create it.
Smaller versions would be replicated on the back of each chair and would be tied up with an ivory tulle bow.
The ceremony would take place on the patio, at sunset, the reception on the courtyard.
They had done a fabulous job. Rows of white chairs were set up across our patio. The arbor where we’d say our vows was at the edge of the patio, so the ocean would be visible behind us.
Lanterns with tea lights inside floated in our pool. Ivory runners crossed the long rows of tables set up for the reception. Glass vases filled with real apricots added bright spots of color to the decor. The favors were custom-made wine stoppers with a B for Boswell on top.
If it had been up to me, the wedding favors would have been a piece of chocolate.
The c
eremony flew by in a blur of happy hears. My cherished memories would include flashes of Richard, stunning as always in his tuxedo, say the words ‘I do.’
By the time we made our way to the reception, I was a little more grounded and ready to savor each moment. My very first dance with Richard at that first party had been a traditional waltz, and we were going to recreate that today, before letting the DJ take over and play more popular music.
As we stepped onto the courtyard, surrounded by people who loved us, the orchestra began to play.
Richard twirled me around the dancefloor they’d installed for this.
As we passed Bella who was clapping for us vigorously, Richard paused to take her hand. He pulled her onto the floor with us, joining our arms together so the three of us could waltz together. With three people, including a nine-year-old, the steps weren’t right, but the dance was perfect.
“I love you,” I said. “You have made me the happiest woman in the world.”
He kissed Bella on the head and kissed me on the cheek. “There are no words to express how much I love you. You’ve made my life complete. Chrissy Bowell, I love you.”
About the Author
C.C Piper is the collective pen name for two young guys who happen to absolutely love romance. The pair have been reading romance novels for years and will rarely be seen without a romance novel in their hands, or on their Kindle close by.
After swapping notes, the pair decided to try their hand at writing their own romance novels. Over the last few years the duo have been working tirelessly to improve their writing skills and to publish unique and enthralling stories that readers can really connect with.
Here’s a link to our Facebook Group if you want to interact with us on a daily basis and find out when our new books in the Dark Billionaire series and beyond are being released:
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Taken
a Dark Billionaire Romance
© Copyright 2019 - All rights reserved.
It is not legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental.
1
Rachel
As I sat straight-backed on the edge of my chair waiting for the cue to start playing, I touched my locket, outlining its shape. The locket, a gift from my father, was a heart made of rose gold. The first day I’d worn it, I’d tried out for a seat in the orchestra and received first chair. Ever since then, it’s been my own personal good luck charm.
When the violinist to my left nodded her head, we began. As a cellist, I’d performed many times in concert like this, and I loved it. There was something about the creak of my bow as it flew across the strings that I found entrancing. Addictive.
Every member of this quartet was dedicated to being the best, and adding my melody to the overall whole brought me so much joy and satisfaction. Through it, I was able to step out of the shadow of my wealthy and accomplished family and stand on my own merits as an artist and creative. This was just for me, an outlet for my talents. Before becoming a cellist, I’d felt like I’d been riding on the coattails of my parents rather than contributing anything myself. It hadn’t been overly rewarding.
Everything had been given to me for as long as I could remember. And while that was wonderful in lots of ways, it didn’t do much for my sense of worth. I adored my parents, especially my dad, but I wanted to do something meaningful, too. Something other than taking over the multi-faceted conglomerate that had made my family the billions we have now. Taking my grandfather’s lucrative five million-dollar company and branching out until it became the billion-dollar Brisbane Industries had been his dream, his achievement, not mine.
Besides, musicians understand something that others often didn’t: they comprehend the idea of communicating without words. The second I heard the music made by my cello, I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. I yearned to play anywhere and everywhere—for crowds in grand music halls and all by myself. The only thing I enjoyed more than playing in a group was when I presided over that stage all by my lonesome.
Just as during all my other appearances, the lights came up, blocking my view of the audience, and if I hadn’t been wearing a conservative black dress instead of my jeans, it might’ve been another practice, another rehearsal. I closed my eyes and lost myself in the rhythm and notes of the melody. Had it not been for the whooping cheer of my twin brother Drew, I might’ve been able to convince myself of the illusion.
Drew had never once missed any of my appearances, whether in front of the school or at larger, more impressive venues like the Chicago Shakespeare Theater here at Navy Pier. Outside lay attractions such at its famous Ferris wheel, which was visible from both the shore and the many sightseeing tours originating on Lake Michigan. Drew and I had visited the main park, the funhouse maze, Crystal Gardens, and the Chicago Children’s Museum often growing up. The pier and all its activities remain one of our favorite getaways to this day.
One perk of being a member of Loyola University’s Symphony Orchestra was being invited to share my love of performing at such places. Sadly, as a senior with just a few more months until graduation, my time to relish such perks was dwindling away. But I didn’t want to focus on that inescapable truth; instead, I stayed in the moment.
To jazz things up and garner more interest, we played more modern songs rather than the chamber music from the far distant past. Not that I personally had anything against the greats—I cut my teeth on Bach, Beethoven, and Mozart. But some audience members these days tended to zone out unless we provided them with some pieces more recent than those originally written over two centuries ago.
After the quartet finished “Killing Me Softly,” we all stood, taking our bows as the attendees clapped loudly. The players of the two violins and viola collected their chairs and instruments once the crowd calmed down, leaving me to reorient myself at centerstage. I began to pound out the fast and powerful cadence of the main theme from the Wonder Woman movie, throwing my body, heart, and soul into the rendition.
I became so consumed with the sensations of my fingers on the bow and strings that I almost forgot I wasn’t all alone in my bedroom, rather than in front of an audience. Once I finished, there was a brief moment of silence—I could’ve heard a pin drop—before the auditorium burst into wild applause. I smiled, taking a bow, then left the stage area euphoric and full of adrenaline. Performing live never failed to propel me to cloud nine.
“That was your best yet,” Drew told me as he joined me backstage and tucked me beneath his arm. At six feet, he stood nearly a head taller than my own height of five-eight.
As fraternal twins, we look related but not totally alike. Besides the fact that he’d been born a boy while I’d been born a girl, he had light brown hair instead of my bright, cinnamon red. He kept his curly mane stylishly clean-cut and short, while mine fell in unruly waves down my back.
There’d been many times during my youth that I’d coveted his easy-to-care-for locks. Once, I’d even sheared all mine off with a set of clippers before our nanny could catch me. My mother had not been pleased about having a bald-headed daughter. We were expected to make fleeting appearances at all the galas and nonprofit events she hosted, and me resembling a cue-ball wasn’t part of her plans. My brother and I do share the same shape and color of our eyes, though. A deep green, characterized by several dark brown spots reminiscent of polka dots when you looked up close. Even the patterns of the dots were comparably uniform.
Another cellist, an Adonis of a guy by the name of Michael, sauntered by us to take his turn onstage, his tailored suit fitting him like a glove. He gave D
rew an appraising glance, and my brother looked back, exhibiting interest. He never had any problem flirting or finding dates. But then again, Drew felt amazingly confident in his own skin and could spot another gay man at twenty paces. I could, too, not that it helped me any. I’d had a few dates and one serious boyfriend myself, but I couldn’t never pull off the effortless bravado my brother seemed to have in spades.
“You always say that.”
“It’s always true,” he said, his smile impish as he showed me his phone. I spotted the familiar features of my best friend Alicia there on Facetime. “Guess who made her stage crew watch your set from beginning to end?”
“Seriously?” I asked her through my brother’s screen. Her short blond pixie cut bobbed as she flashed me a Hollywood starlet grin.
“Yep. The head honchos at the studio insisted on doing a run-through of my newest music video today without any notice. I told them I’d do it on one condition: we pause and watch you perform via Drew’s cell when the time came.”
I laughed at her audacity. Probably the only reason she got away with that was her Grammy award-winning status. Alicia Trainer had been my best friend since my freshman year of high school. We’d both focused on our musical aspirations—she on her singing and acting, and me on my cello. We’d even collaborated on occasion, doing covers of popular songs that had recently come out. We both had a similar sense of timing that worked well when combined.
I loved her like a sister.
“Only you, Alicia.”
“My backup singers are all singing your praises. Literally,” my best friend said, showing several scantily-clad people breaking into song behind her.
“You’re crazy. Every last one of you.”
