Endless Love

by Nelle L’Amour

  “Please,” he whimpered, clutching his stomach with one hand and protectively cupping his junk with the other. “Don’t hit me again.”

  I gripped the cane so tightly my knuckles turned white. “You, bastard. If you ever come near my girl again, I’ll break you in half like this cane.” With my two hands, I snapped the cane in half and tossed the pieces in the direction of the elevator. “Now, get the fuck out of here.”

  As he gimped down the hallway to the elevator, I shouted out to him. “By the way, don’t count on an invitation to the wedding.”

  FORTY-FOUR

  Ryan

  Six Months Later

  As seated guests waited anxiously for the bride to appear in the vast yard of Willow’s grandmother’s upstate property, I stood under the bough of the majestic willow tree where Willow Rosenthal and I would soon be exchanging our vows. The very tree under which we’d made love for the first time and on which I’d inscribed an eternal heart with our initials back in the fall. The heart that sat next to the one her father had inscribed three decades earlier.

  The early June day couldn’t have been more perfect. The temperature was in the mid-seventies and the sun shined brightly in the clear blue sky. The sound of birds chirping accompanied the harpist, who was playing Vivaldi’s melodic Four Seasons. My heart thudding with anticipation, I watched as my adorable five-year-old niece, Violet, walked down the flower-lined aisle holding a basket from which she tossed purple petals everywhere. Dressed in a poufy ankle-length white tulle dress with a violet sash and a matching band of flowers around her head, the radiant little beauty already walked with the grace of a ballerina.

  My ballerina bride would be here soon. The procession started at the lake and it would be a few minutes until she arrived with her father. Standing under the tree with my sister’s spouse Beth, a Universal Life Church minister, who was going to marry us, I took in our guests.

  We had decided on a small, intimate wedding, but everyone near and dear to us was here. In the front row, my mother was sitting next to my sister and to the right of her was my father in his wheelchair looking the best I’d seen him look since his stroke. Over the last six months we’d grown much closer, and to both my mother’s joy and mine, he had made amends with my sister. Thrilled to have a grandpa, little Violet smiled brightly at him as she passed him. My father shot a smile back, their exchange warming my heart on this special day.

  Another reconciliation had taken place over the past six months. While Willow was convalescing from her accident at the one-story flat we rented so she didn’t have to climb stairs, her grandma had come down to visit her. Willow’s near-death encounter miraculously erased the grudge the matriarch held toward Mel. While Willow’s mom would never be part of their lives again, both menschy Mel and good-hearted Ida were united by the near-loss of their beloved Willow. Over a plateful of Ryan Madewell sandwiches at Mel’s deli, memories were exchanged and a new bond was forged. The future. Later that night over champagne, I finally gave Willow her real engagement ring…it was the diamond ring Mel had given his late wife when he proposed to her. Mel wanted Willow to have it and though I could have certainly have afforded something much grander, this ring with its small square solitaire diamond was special. The happy tears my Willow had shed as I slipped it on her finger filled my mind as I eagerly awaited her, my eyes still flitting among our guests.

  Behind my parents and my sister sat my best bud Duffy and his beautiful wife Sam along with their adorable three-month-old baby, Zeke—my godson. Others seated in the white folding chairs included Nurse Hollis, who was officially Mel’s “gal” as he liked to call her. Mel’s loyal employees were also here along with some longtime customers, including that curmudgeon I’d made a sandwich for the first day I met my beautiful wife-to-be. His name was Gus, and it turned out he used to frequent Willow’s grandparents’ hotel with his late wife back in the day. He’d always thought that Willow’s grandma was the cat’s meow and now he was sitting next to her, holding her hand. There was definitely magic in the air.

  Some of my former staffers from Arts & Smarts were also here along with my agent, Paula, and our therapist, Dr. Goodman and his wife. Last but not least, Marcus was here, seated next to my beloved nannie, Maria. It meant the world to me that my esteemed former driver had flown in from Detroit to share my special day. Just a little over five years ago he had walked my beloved Allee to me in Central Park. The memory of that day flashed into my mind, and for a split-second, sadness pricked me. But as soon as I saw my stunning new bride heading toward me on the arm of her father, the memory faded and happiness filled me.

  All eyes were on her as she slowly walked down the aisle with her beaming and now fifty-pounds thinner father. My eyes, too, stayed riveted on her. Meeting my gaze, a smile crossed her lips. She looked absolutely gorgeous…dressed in a long strapless white tulle gown that resembled Violet’s and a band of white flowers circling her loose, wild red hair. She had vowed to walk down the aisle with her father, and after months of crutches, physical therapy, and pure determination, here she was. She still had a slight limp, but in time that would go away. Nothing was going to stop our union. Nothing.

  Several rapid heartbeats later, I took her into my arms and then held her hand as we both faced Beth. My pounding heart leapt into my throat as Beth began the service.

  Rather than writing our own vows like I had with Allee, Willow and I decided we wanted Beth to tell our story. To share with our families and friends the story of a second chance romance—one that was filled with heartbreak and hope…of finding true love again where you least expected it. In a deli of all places. Laughter erupted and I squeezed Willow’s hand as Beth continued.

  As the laughter died down, I inhaled a deep breath. It was vow time.

  Except for the chirping birds and a few sniffles among our guests, there was silence.

  Beth: “Do you, Willow Rosenthal, promise to love Ryan Madewell in sickness and in health until death do you part?

  “I do.” Willow’s voice was as soft as a prayer.

  My turn. My heart was racing and my stomach knotted. Beth repeated the words she’d just said to Willow.

  “Do you, Ryan Madewell, promise…”

  In sickness and in health…until death do you part. The words whirled around in my head and nausea rose in my chest. My hands grew clammy.

  What if Willow died young? All too soon like Allee? I didn’t think I could ever recover again. Even live. I’d discussed this morbid fear with Dr. Goodman ad nauseam, both alone and in couples sessions with Willow. Both of them assured me I had nothing to worry about. Willow even said she possessed her Nana’s good genes and would likely be dancing when she was a hundred. Or more. But there was still the possibility of a fatal accident…

  At this critical moment, this profound fear rammed into me like a freight train. I was paralyzed. I couldn’t get my mouth to move and say two little words.

  “Well?” The raspy voice trailed off as my eyes grew wide.

  Allee! She was here!! Standing right next to Beth, wearing that white gauzy gown I’d seen before.

  Her arms folded across her chest, she rolled her espresso-bean eyes at me. “Madewell, whatch’ya waiting for? All you have to do is say, ‘I do.’”

  My jaw dropped open.

  Her expression softened. “Madewell, do it. Do it for me.”

  The two little words spilled out slowly, one at a time. “I do.”

  With Allee looking on, Willow and I exchanged rings. Simple platinum bands, each engraved with a heart and our initials much like the carving on the tree trunk. As Beth pronounced us husband and wife, a butterfly flew by us and that dazzling smile, one I would never forget, spread across Allee’s full lips.

  “Congratulations, Golden Boy.” She gave me a thumbs-up and then disappeared as Beth pronounced us husband and wife.

  Amidst cheers and applause from our guests, I took my beautiful new wife into my arms and gave her a passionate, all-consuming kiss that
I wanted never to end.

  Soon, I’d be swaying her in my arms to the song we’d chosen for our first dance We’d sifted through so many, but none of them made more sense than one. I think she chose it for us. It was the song that connected the three of us, made me think of the past, the present, and the future. The song that had given me hope and made me whole again.

  “I Won’t Give Up.”

  EPILOGUE

  Ryan

  Four Years Later

  The first Sunday of November couldn’t be more perfect. The temperature is unseasonably mild, in the low-seventies; the sun-kissed sky is picture-postcard perfect, and the still blooming flowers have once again proven they are mightier than the winter snow. Winter will claim them soon, but they will be back in the spring with their friends, the butterflies, all around the small but charming backyard of our townhouse in the West Village. The down payment was a wedding gift from my father. Actually, he wanted to buy it out right, but both Willow and I refused. I, however, appreciated his grand gesture. It was his way of making amends with me. While I will never have the close father-son relationship that many guys have with their dads and can never forget the past, he’s welcomed in my life. My way of forgiving him. Allee would be proud of me.

  The three-story brick house is perfect for us. There’s plenty of space including an office where I write and a dance studio in the basement where Willow teaches ballet to neighborhood children. We have a multitude of bedrooms, one of which permanently belongs to my darling niece, Violet, who visits us often. Almost ten-years-old, she’s an amazing young ballerina. And an equally amazing cousin.

  Our bedroom is on the top floor. Our regal bed with the pink tufted satin headboard dominates it. There’s not one night that goes by that I don’t make love in it with my beautiful wife. Sometimes countless times. Wedged between our pillows is Baboo and hanging above the bed is the Degas ballerina painting that belonged to my mother. The one that awed both Allee and Willow. My mother gave it to us as a wedding present. She wanted us to have it. Willow says it belongs to all three of us, but we’re thinking of donating it to the museum I visit annually on Allee’s birthday that houses my former bed.

  Our sun-filled room overlooks the backyard, a rarity for any New Yorker. Our garden, with its array of flowers, herbs, and vegetables, is totally Willow’s doing. She planted everything by hand herself. In the middle stands a tiny weeping willow tree. One day it will grow big and strong and provide shade to all those who need it. And there will be a swing hanging from one of its mighty branches.

  Scattered throughout the garden is some outdoor furniture that Willow and I collected at local flea markets. Among the pieces is a vintage French bench that reminds me of the one Allee and I once shared in the Jardin de Tuileries in Paris. I sit there often as I am about to do with my Sunday New York Times.

  As I head toward it with the paper clutched under my arm, a little girl with a large paintbrush in her hand skips by me. This past summer she turned three. Our daughter. The child Willow and I love more than life itself.

  “Daddy, I go paint a picture.” She frolics over to the small easel in the corner of the yard that Mel and Hollis, her other doting grandparents, bought her. Her espresso bean eyes twinkle, and her long chestnut ponytail flies in the warm autumn breeze.

  She brings a big smile to my face and lights up my heart. She’s inherited Allee’s love for art. And she’s her spitting image.

  “Hey.”

  The raspy familiar voice catapults me out of my thoughts. Allee! She’s sitting on the bench peeking up from a book. Mine! Endless Love. The book I started writing the morning after I made love to Willow for the first time in our bed. It’s a true story of heartbreak and hope, rediscovery and recovery, fate and second chances. Willow actually helped me write it. Told in dual point of view, it’s not my story. It’s our story, but with Willow’s blessings, I dedicated it to another…

  To Allee, my endless love.

  You will live in my heart forever.

  My jaw drops. This is the first time Allee’s visited me in my new digs. I’m frozen in shock, speechless.

  “How’ya doin’, 1212?”

  1212. My breath hitches. Only Allee ever called me that—my bib number when I ran the New York Marathon exactly ten years ago today and she joined me mid-way.

  Thinking back to that fateful day, I manage a few words. “I’m good. Really good.”

  She smiles. “I’m proud of you, Madewell. And Willow, too. She’s my kind of woman. Good for her for taking the asshole down.”

  Following our honeymoon in Fiji, Willow was determined to expose Gustave for what he was. A despicable prick, and that was being kind. With the help of my sister, she pressed charges against him for sexually assaulting her, and after a headline-making international trial in which several other abused dancers testified on her behalf, he was sentenced to ten years in prison and a $150,000 fine, which cost him his dance company and his career. Willow became a star in a way she could have never imagined. A hero to women all over the world. In addition to teaching and being an incredible mom, my amazing wife is now a crusader for the rights of ballet dancers, relentlessly trying to improve their working conditions, benefits, and pay.

  “I’m proud of her too,” I respond to Allee, who’s staring down at the cover of my book.

  “Oh, and by the way, the new book is really good. Nice of you to include me.”

  Holy shit. She read it! “Really? You liked it?”

  “Yeah. A lot.”

  A compliment from Allee is like finding a needle in a haystack. I’m both shocked and ecstatic.

  “Wow, thanks!”

  “Are they making a movie version?”

  “Yes.” The film was already in production with Ryan Reynolds and Emma Stone reprising their roles. Lilly Beaucoup, a new unknown actress and former ballerina, was playing Willow. I’d never seen the movie version of Undying Love even though it was a blockbuster, garnering both Ryan Reynolds and Emma Stone Academy Awards. I wondered if Allee saw it, but I didn’t ask. Something else was on my mind.

  “Allee, was Endless Love as good as Undying Love?”

  “Are you kidding me, Madewell? It was better. It made me happy. You got your happily ever after. You deserve it.”

  With a smile, I gaze at her. She hasn’t aged a bit. Her long hair is gathered in a high ponytail and her espresso bean eyes twinkle against her dewy fresh skin. She’s wearing running shorts and a tank top that show off her perfect breasts and those amazing legs. The very outfit she wore when she ran the marathon with me.

  “So, tell me about the kid.”

  “Oh, Allee, she’s just like you. Feisty, artsy, and smart.” I tell her that when I told Willow about my frozen embryos, she pleaded to have them implanted in her. She knew how much Allee meant to me. I agreed, knowing from her relationship with Violet what a great mother she would be. One out of the three took and Willow joyously carried the baby to full term. One day when our little girl is older, we will tell her the story of her conception. And I’ll tell her all about Allee.

  Tears are brimming in Allee’s smiling eyes. I’d seen enough of them to last me a lifetime. “What’s her name?” she asks.

  “Belle.” I glance over to my precious daughter, who is now creating a masterful abstract painting at her easel. We named her after Willow’s mother, Belinda.

  Allee gazes reflectively at her too. “That means ‘beautiful’ in French. Just like she is.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Allee’s misty eyes don’t stray from Belle. “And her name has two L’s. That’s good.”

  I nod as Allee continues to observe her.

  “She’s quite the little Picasso.”

  I smile with pride. “She is.”

  “Ry-man, who are you talking to?”

  I look over my shoulder. It’s Willow. Taking advantage of the glorious weather, she sets a tray down on our outdoor table—the delectable lunch I’ll share with her and Belle. If only s
he knew there are four of us. Or should I say five because Willow is pregnant again—with a baby we made—a boy, due in February on Valentine’s Day. We’re naming him Harry, after Willow’s grandfather, Harold. Willow insisted we make his middle name Ryan, and I only hope Harry Ryan Madewell will turn out to be the best man he can be.

  “Do we have a guest?” asks my beautiful wife.

  I falter for an excuse. “Um, butterfly, I was just thinking my next book out loud.”

  Willow smiles at me and arranges the table.

  My sweet little Belle catches sight of Willow. “Mama!” she shouts, running over to hug her.

  Beaming, Willow lifts our daughter into her arms and smothers her with kisses.

  I glance back at the bench. Allee has risen. There’s a wide smile on her face. Her voice resounds in my head as she fades away.

  “Belle will find her Superman. I hope he’s just like you. See ya’, Golden Boy.”

  NOTE FROM NELLE

  Dearest Reader~

  Thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading Endless Love as well as Undying Love. If you loved these books, it would mean the world to me if you would write reviews at the retailer where you purchased them. They can be as long or short as you wish. Reviews of any length help others discover my books.

  Many of you have waited almost five long years for this sequel. I want to thank you for your love, patience, and support.

  Believe me, this is the miracle of books. I will be honest—I didn’t want to write it and was regretful I included an excerpt of it at the end of Undying Love. In retrospect, some books like Me Before You shouldn’t have a sequel and the future of the protagonist should just be left in the reader’s imagination. But I foolishly included a few early chapters of a sequel because I knew my romance readers required a HEA—a happily ever after ending.

  Many readers begged for the sequel; others became angry with me, some cheered me on while others became disbelievers. I often felt like the protagonist in Peter and the Wolf, except I cried sequel instead of wolf. Let me tell you, guilt gnawed at me big time every minute of the day.