I look down. “No. This is my dad’s,” I say, uncertain. I slide the jacket off. “Burberry. See?”
He smirks. “I bought the coat in London in 2007.” He reaches out for it. “It looks better on you.”
I shake my head and stare at him. “How could this possibly be your coat?”
He steps forward and eases it back onto my shoulders. “I was at Chloe’s funeral. You were there after everyone else left. You looked cold, so I put my jacket over your shoulders. You must’ve thought your dad did it, because you didn’t turn around.”
My stupid heart lurches against my chest. Emerson extends his hand and places his thumb on my cheek.
“I missed you,” he whispers. I close my eyes. The words and the contact are too much after so much time apart.
“Why did you want to meet here?” I ask, looking around.
“I don’t know. Maybe because it’s where I first saw you? Because of Chloe?” He shrugs.
The last part stings. “Because of Chloe?” I elaborate.
He nods slowly. “Yeah. Even though it’s painful to think about, I’m forever grateful to Chloe. She’s the reason we’re here now. It all happened for a reason. Don’t you think?” His words are soft and tender.
My eyes water. “I do. She’s watching out for me.” I choke back the last word as it disappears into a sob.
Emerson steps closer and grabs me, pulling me into him gently. I inhale his cologne and close my eyes as the firm warmth underneath his jacket envelops me.
“I know we both wish she was still here, for different reasons. I’m not going to lie to you and say that her love didn’t matter, because it did. It shaped me into the person I am today. And I’d like to believe she helped shape you too. She brought us together. I think I began falling in love with you while I read your story in her words. I don’t think I watched after you simply because she asked me to. Please don’t let her be the reason we get pulled apart. Perhaps she was my beacon that led me to you.”
I look up at him. There are so many words to process in what he’s just said, but at this point, my heart has already decided I love him too much to consider their merit or their flaws. He stayed. He pursued me. He pursued me for me. He. Turned. Up. He wrote his story and deliberately chose me to be a part of it, as if he truly did need me. But not just for writing. For me.
His copper eyes are watery and intense, and he’s chewing on the inside of his cheek nervously. It accentuates his stubble.
“You wrote a book,” I say proudly, gripping the back of his flannel.
“I was inspired.” He gives me his famous lopsided smile.
I feel a blush creep up my neck. “I only read the first chapter,” I admit sheepishly.
“The first chapter is the best part,” he says, smiling. His eyes are vivacious and blazing. “You’ll probably want to read the last chapter though,” he says quietly.
I laugh. “What’s the last chapter?”
He shakes his head. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”
EPILOGUE, PART ONE
Chloe
July 14, 2002
“Come on, Finley. It was probably just a jellyfish.” I put my hands on my hips and squint, watching as she trudges through the sand toward the back of the house. She’s already sunburned. We’ve only been out for two hours. I sigh and gather the boogie boards.
“I’m never going in the water again,” she shrieks. I have to hide the smile that creeps up on my face. She’s so dramatic. All the time.
“I’m sure you will. Next summer we can try again.” I walk up to her and put my arm around her skinny shoulders.
“There won’t be a next time.” She glares at the water and then turns to me. “I’m serious, Chloe. It was a great white shark.”
I laugh and throw my hands up in the air.
Children.
After we both change for lunch, Hannah joins us in the living room as we all read quietly. I have no idea what Hannah was up to all morning, but if the play in her hand is any indication, I’d bet she was running lines with Beatrice, Hannah’s mom and our nanny. Though, at seventeen, it’s a bit offensive that my parents still think I need a nanny.
“Chloe?” Hannah asks from her position on the carpet. She’s on her stomach and swinging her legs back and forth. “What colleges are you applying to?”
I sit up. My legs are numb from the way I was traipsed on the couch, legs crossed. “Just NYU. I’ll probably end up living at home to save money.”
Finley looks at me and gives me a small smile. Her braces are coming off next week, and a small part of me feels sad that I only have one year left in high school to protect her.
“That’s cool,” Hannah says, looking at Finley. “Finley and I want to go to NYU too.”
I laugh. “Really? That’s great. What do you want to major in?”
Hannah sits up and grins. “Theatre, of course,” she says dramatically. “I want to be an actress.”
I nod. “What about you, Finn?”
She watches me skeptically and shrugs. “I like writing.”
I swallow. “Me too. Maybe we can both be writers.”
Her face lights up. “I’d like that.”
I smile and stand up, stretching for a second before walking toward the back door. “I’m going outside to lay out. Be good.”
I scan the bottom portion of the house for Beatrice, but she’s probably out grocery shopping. I slide the back door open and sit down in one of the deck chairs on our small patio. A few minutes later, Finley joins me.
“Where’s Hannah?” I ask, my eyes not leaving the page I’m on.
“No idea. She went upstairs.”
I wait for her to say something else, but she just crosses her arms and watches me. I look up. “What’s wrong?”
She shrugs. “I was just thinking about earlier. In the ocean. If something happened to me, would you be sad?”
I close my book gently and take her hands. She’s getting so big—at thirteen, I barely recognize her anymore.
“I wouldn’t be able to live without you,” I whisper.
She looks down and shuffles her feet. “I just keep thinking about how sad you would be if I died.”
I giggle. Even for almost fourteen, she still has a childlike essence about her. I hope she never loses it. “I would be very sad,” I say, biting my lip. “Would you be sad if I died?”
She nods. “I wouldn’t be able to live without you,” she says, repeating my words.
My chest begins to ache. She is too young to see the pain and conflict in my heart. She will never know the many ways I have envisioned killing myself, or that she is the only reason I decide to stay. My parents aggressively disagree with every dream I have, dispelling the myth that parents are there to be supportive and to give a shit. She can’t fathom the darkness that pulls at my soul, tempting me to yield to its depraved and wicked murmurings, telling me everyone would be better off if I was dead. She can’t ever know that because in Finley is life. Light. Vitality. Joy. So, I hide my darkness, and wrest control of that ache inside me.
“Yes, you would.” I stand and pull her into a hug. She’s almost as tall as me. “You would live without me. You’d have a great life.”
She pulls away and scrutinizes me. “I wouldn’t.”
I look at her stoically. “I’m not going anywhere, Finley.” She looks unconvinced, so I continue. I hate that we’re having this conversation, but someone has to talk to her about death. Lord knows our parents won’t. “But, for argument’s sake, let’s say I did die sooner than later. You would be sad for a while, but you would get through it. You’d go to college and become a writer. You’d publish beautiful books that everyone would want to read. You’d marry a nice man, and have a couple of pretty babies. You’d miss me, but you would live.” The man she marries will be the luckiest man in the world.
She nods once. “Yeah.” Her blue eyes find mine and she smiles. “I love you.”
The heavy feeling in m
y chest intensifies. “I love you too, Finley.”
“I’m still never going in the ocean ever again,” she says as she walks away. “I mean it.”
I chuckle, opening my book to where I left off. “We’ll see about that.”
EPILOGUE, PART TWO
Emerson
Eighteen Months Later
I wring my hands together as the shower turns off in our hotel room. I hear Finley curse as she bangs some body part against the shower wall. I smile. There’s a minute or two of silence as she dries off and brushes her hair. The lack of noise is maddening. I pace around the carpeted floor. I don’t hear or see Finley until she speaks.
“What are you doing?” She smiles and drops her towel seductively. “Do we have time for—”
“No,” I shout, a little too loudly. It startles her. “I just mean, if we’re going to make it in time, we should leave now.”
She glares at me before she reaches down and grabs her towel, returning to the bathroom. Not before saying, “’K,” a little too snippily.
I cover my mouth to silence my laugh. So dramatic.
Ten minutes later her hair is dried, and she’s wearing light makeup. “Let me just change.” I nod and continue to pace. “Are you okay?
My head shoots up. “Yeah. Why?”
She drops her towel again and I stare at her wonderful naked body. I love it when she’s naked. She looks incredible, always.
“You’re acting weird.” She pulls on a light-pink thong.
I bite my fist. “Later,” I growl, eyeing her breasts.
She giggles. “Whatever you say.” She reaches down to her suitcase and pulls on a matching pink bra and a dark blue tank top. She finishes the look off with tight jeans. “Okay. Ready.” She smiles as she slips into Birkenstocks. God, I love how low-maintenance she is. And the best part? She has no idea how effortlessly gorgeous she is. I hand her purse to her, and we leave. Once we get down to the cobblestone street, I take her hand instinctively.
“It’s gorgeous here,” she coos, looking around. “London is by far my favorite city. Ever.”
I laugh. “It’s pretty great.”
She nudges me. “Hey, you know what? You never told me about the woman you dated when you lived here. The royal family member?”
I walk slower. We’re going to be early, and they’re still setting up the lights, according to my watch. “Uh, yeah. She was a distant cousin or something.” I brush it off, and she makes a noise of assent, changing the subject to the Tower of London.
Little does she know, I’ve pulled some strings with this infamous royal family member. Finley has no idea what’s in store for her. I put my hand out and whistle for a black cab.
“Why are you calling a taxi?” she asks, watching me with narrowed eyes. “I thought the pub was right down the street.”
I shrug. “I lied.” A black cab pulls up and I gesture for her to get in. She hesitates. “Trust me,” I say, sighing.
It’s a long drive—almost an hour—and Finley is quiet the whole time. I’m grateful it’s warm, because neither of us have a jacket.
“This is seriously suspicious,” she says, eyeing me. “Where are we going?”
I laugh. “You’ll see.”
She leans back into her seat and harrumphs. Patience has never been one of her strong suits. As we get closer, my palms begin to sweat. Finley doesn’t say anything else, which means she’s either pissed or she suspects something. I’m guessing it’s the former because of the small scowl on her face. I reach out and rub her leg. The contact shocks her, and her face softens as she looks at me.
“I’m sorry. I’m just hungry,” she mumbles.
“There will be food.”
Five minutes later, the black cab is pulling up to the old palace. It’s dark now, but the lavish building is well lit with back lighting. It’s stunning.
“What is this place?” she asks, getting out as I pay the driver. Her eyes are wide, and she’s watching me raptly.
“Hampton Court Palace. It was my favorite spot when I lived here.”
“It looks—”
“Closed?” I finish. She nods. “It is. But remember that royal family member? The one I dated? She did me a favor. She owed me anyway. I saved her from an international drug scandal.”
Finley’s mouth drops open. “Will I ever stop learning crazy things about you?”
I chuckle. “I hope not.” I take her hand and guide her down the long driveway toward Hampton Court. The palace is opulent and ornate—a Tudor palace through and through. I check my phone. We’re still early, but I can take her to the gardens first. Actually, this works out perfectly. I won’t be able to get through our meal with the way my nerves are short-circuiting.
I don’t let her stop to look at anything until we’re through the main courtyard. I pull her quickly to the back of the palace where the large garden beckons. Large, triangle trees, trimmed hedges, and ornamental grass circles greet us, but I lead her toward the rose garden first. She looks around confused.
“It’s dark,” she says, eyeing me.
Just then, with perfect timing, thousands of small lights pop on. She gasps. It illuminates the roses perfectly.
“Oh my God,” she says slowly. “This is gorgeous.”
I smile and lead her to the bench on the far side of the garden. I’m beginning to shake. I need to get my nerves in check. When we get to the small wooden bench, she stops.
“Is that—” She looks at me for reassurance.
“Yep. Go ahead.”
Finley takes a few steps forward and reaches down to pick up a copy of Between the Pages. Her blonde hair falls across her face as she opens it and then looks up at me, confused.
“Are we having an English lesson?” she asks, smiling slyly.
I nod to the book. “Notice anything different?”
She leafs through the pages slowly. Her eyes travel across my words quickly. You see, the thing is, I never had the final chapter published. I wanted to wait until the time was right. So two years ago, when she first read the book, I told her to read the last chapter. It was fairly standard, and I’d taken many liberties. In that chapter she’d moved in with me, and we were both successful writers.
Oh man, did she love that.
Anyway, that actually wasn’t the last chapter. There was an epilogue, but I didn’t publish it in that version. It had to wait.
Until today.
When she gets to the last chapter, she almost closes the book. “Emerson, what are you doing?” she asks, watching me uncertainly.
I take a deep breath. “There’s an epilogue, Finley.”
She doesn’t even look. She’s that stubborn. “No. It ends on chapter thirty-five.”
I take a step forward. “Can you check? Please?” I hope the intensity in my eyes is enough to convey my insistence.
It is.
Slowly, she turns the page. Within seconds, her eyes fill with tears. “What is this?”
I give myself a mental high five. “Finley Matthews,” I start, reaching into my pocket for the ring box. When she sees it, she drops the book and physically crumbles.
I have to get through this.
I bend down onto one knee. She covers her mouth with her hand.
“Yes,” she says quickly, her cheeks wet.
I laugh in between sobs. “Wait. Let me finish,” I say, my voice hoarse. She nods vigorously. “In you, I’ve found the love of my life and my closest friend. If I did anything right in my life, it was when I gave you my heart.”
She crouches down to her knees, stunned. I reach out for her hands. I continue.
“I will never have enough of you. Never,” I say.
She just watches me and cries. Now I’m really crying. Fuck. “Ours was the story I never knew how to write, until you convinced me that I could. This story is the one I’ve always wanted to tell.”
She leans into me, and I pull her into a tight hug.
“Emerson,” she whispers.
&nb
sp; “So,” I say, pulling away and looking at her, “will you marry me?”
“Yes.” She nods exuberantly as her lips meet mine.
I place my hands on either side of her face, even before I place the ring on her delicate finger. I kiss her with abandon, without even actively deciding to do it, but simply because I can’t think of anything else to do in this moment. Because she just makes sense, and she always has. The happiness I feel in this moment is insurmountable.
Someone I once loved gave me everything by giving me a mission.
Take care of her.
It took me years to figure out how to do that best.
Now she’s mine. My everything.
And she’s mine forever.
THE END
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Acknowledgements
To my readers… *sigh*… you are the best. This book was hard to write. I’d written half of two other books (yes, that’s right) after The Realm of You. I wanted the next one to be perfect. I agonized everyday. Were these stories good enough for you guys? I didn’t know. But your kind words kept me motivated when I wanted to quit. I’d just gotten married and I experienced the world’s worst writer’s block. When I posted something on my Facebook about that, you all came together and encouraged me. I received messages and emails. You poured your optimism into me. Your words lifted me. And immediately after, this book was born. So thank you.
Marion, you were the breath of fresh air that this book needed. Thank you, a thousand times over, for your insightful editing and your invaluable suggestions. You saw the book that I wanted this to be, and you helped me get there. This book is so much better because of you. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Karen, thank you for the proofreading. Your eagle eyes caught things I would’ve missed, and your suggestions were spot on. Thank you for helping me perfect the words I love so much!
Between the Pages: A Novel Page 23
