by P. M. Briede
I kissed Charlotte’s head and stood. Her arm darted out with her hand clinging to mine to stop me from leaving. “Where do you think you are going?” Charlotte inquired. Her dancing eyes pierced my heart.
“I’m going to deliver the news to what I’m sure is a very anxious fan club that our daughter is here and you’re alright, my love.”
“Not right now, you’re not.” Charlotte inclined her head indicating she wanted me to sit at her back. “They can wait a few minutes more, darling. You need to enjoy a moment with our family. You gave this precious gift to me and when I’m done you can take her to meet the rest of her family.” With the baby cradled in her arms, my wife tore her eyes from our child to grant me our first kiss as parents. Even the mess that she was, her kiss still sent my heart racing as it built my desire. I didn’t need to hope that would never change, I knew it wouldn’t. Unless the doctor told us it would be too dangerous, maybe another child wouldn’t be out of the question? But Charlotte would kill me if she knew I was already thinking that.
Once our daughter was sated, Charlotte offered her to me. She was so tiny and so pink and so perfect and so beautiful and so like her mother and I could go on and on and on. For just a millisecond, I grew worried when my wife’s eyes fluttered shut but the monitor confirmed her health was not in jeopardy. She was just exhausted.
When her breathing grew steady and rhythmic, I moved so the hospital staff could roll Charlotte into the maternity ward. I was given our room number and told I could take my daughter to the waiting room. Everyone was there: Paige, Tristan, the boys, my father-in-law and mother-in-law, Max, and even Regina. “Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to my daughter,” I proudly announced as I walked through the door. They all crowded around and I was pleasantly surprised when no one tried to take the baby from me. I sort of expected it of at least Charlotte’s dad. They all agreed she was beautiful and looked like her mother. “I’m sorry, but I need to get back to Charlotte and the nurses want to check on my daughter.” My daughter, there was an electric surge to my heart every time I said it.
John’s eyes immediately grew wary with concern for his own daughter. He was well aware of what this pregnancy had put Charlotte through even before it ever occurred. “She’s fine,” I said as I looked into his eyes, “just tired. As long as they both check out okay we shouldn’t have to stay here longer than normal.” He gave me a relieved nod and reached for his own wife.
Almost through the doors to take my daughter back to her mother, I heard Paige call out. “Wesley, wait!” I looked over my shoulder at her. “What’s her name?”
I smiled, because it had been the only name Charlotte had offered for a girl, and for some reason, even before I’d ever laid eyes on her, I’d known it belonged to her. With immense pride, I announced, “Olivia. Olivia Helena Breaux.”
Epilogue
Six Months Later
“It’s done? They’re safe?” he asked at my approach.
“Balance has been restored. As long as it stays that way no one will bother them. Which it will as long as no one remembers.” He nodded, accepting my answer.
We were standing in a cemetery surrounded by mausoleums. It had been around for centuries. We both had people we knew resting here.
“Are you planning to leave now then?” I asked. We’ve been friends a long time and I’ve been trying for years to get him to join me at the firm.
He shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. “I try to leave every day but can’t seem to make it more than thirty miles outside the city before I have to turn around.”
We turned when we heard a person behind us. It was a woman. She was carrying a baby in a carrier and a bouquet of lilies. When she reached the tomb she was looking for she set the carrier down, carefully brushed away the leaves and moss that had fallen on the steps, and laid the flowers in their place.
“She comes here a few times a week, you know,” I said.
“I’m aware.” He stared at her, pain deep in his blue eyes. “She happy?”
“As far as I know. She loves her husband; loves their child; loves her life. But she misses him. That much is evident whenever I see her.” I didn’t see her much. It was too dangerous for us all.
“She swore she’d never forget him. It seems she really did love him,” he said.
“I don’t think there was ever really a doubt that she did,” I replied. “If she hadn’t, he wouldn’t have turned. You were closer to him than I, do you think he knew how deep her devotion ran?”
My friend closed his eyes and moisture built within their rims. “He knew she did, maybe not as much as she did. He didn’t think himself worthy of anyone’s love, much less hers. I’m just glad he found love like that before the end.”
Our conversation faded away and we stood silently watching the woman show the baby to the tomb. She didn’t stay long and she didn’t say much. Even at a distance where she didn’t notice us, we heard everything she said. Occasionally she’d wipe her eyes and when she did my friend would wipe his own. When she left, we approached the tomb ourselves.
“They both thought she’d die when he did,” he stated. “Do you know why she didn’t?” When he didn’t receive an answer he locked his blue eyes on mine. There was a spark there along with a smile on his face. He knew. “Methos?”
I put a hand on his shoulder. “You know the answer to that. Now say your good-byes and let’s go to the office and discuss that position we both know you’re going to take.”
“What exactly is it you want me to do?” he asked.
“Right up your alley, Henry. There’s a school in need of a music teacher.” He nodded and this time the smile reached his eyes. He wasn’t going to leave. I was right. He couldn’t. We both put a hand on the tomb and silently said our good-byes to the life that had been Olivier Cheval.
# # #
Acknowledgements
To my mother, who didn’t get a chance to see me take this adventure but without her I wouldn’t have been able to. Thanks, Mom.
About The Author
I am a lover of all things artistic. I grew up surrounded by the performing arts both as a spectator and performer. That love of creation and design is the fuel for my writing now. Being able to create and entertain is a dream come true.
The imagination is a powerful thing, able to take you places you never dreamed. I write realistic fantasy. The idea of the possible having impossible explanations fascinates me. That idea is the driving force behind the Charlotte Grace series.
If you are interested in receiving updates when I release new books, please visit me on Facebook at http://facebook.com/pm.briede
