“In perpetuity.”

I laughed. “You sound like such a lawyer.”

“I am,” he replied. “And no more platonic clause. It’s definitely not going to be platonic.”

A wide smile crossed my lips. “No,” I said. “It’s definitely not going to be platonic.” I looked deep into his eyes. “In perpetuity?”

He nodded. “This time you really are signing your soul away.”

I looked at him for a moment before I said, “All right, Mr. Lawyer. Got a pen?”

Epilogue

EPILOGUE

It should not surprise us that, at the end of a journey, our destination looks different than we imagined at the beginning. Everything looks different up close.

Elise Dutton’s Diary

Nicholas and I were married the next spring in a small Italian village called Greve, nineteen miles south of Florence, in the Chianti wine district. It was a very small wedding, which was what we wanted. My sister, Cosette, and her husband, Ron, came. From the law firm there were Alan and Careen McKay and Scott and Sharon Hitesman. From ICE, Zoey was there. She financially swung the trip by talking Mark out of some of his frequent-flier miles. Not surprisingly, she’s now carrying on a long-distance romance with an Italian guy named Dario.

The biggest surprise of our wedding day was the arrival of Nicholas’s sister, Sheridan. She came without telling him. And she came to forgive. I don’t think his joy could have been more full. To this day it’s one of the few times I’ve seen Nicholas cry. We still have hopes that his brother might someday forgive him as well. We don’t expect it, but we hope.

After our wedding, we honeymooned for two weeks in Rome and Sorrento and on Capri and the Amalfi coast, eventually flying back to the United States from Naples. When we got back to our home in Utah, there was a special wedding gift waiting for me—a Lladró of Cinderella and her pumpkin carriage. It was perfect. Maybe the figurine was really for Nicholas, but it doesn’t matter. The story is mine.

I no longer work at ICE. I quit two months after I found out I was pregnant. I’m due next February, coincidentally the same month my Hannah was born.

Life is good. I’d be lying if I said that I had stopped being haunted by ghosts or trying myself in the court of regret. But things are different. The judge and jury are more merciful. After all these years, they are willing to listen to reason. And in court I’m no longer arguing my case alone. I found myself a pretty good lawyer.

About the Author

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Photo: Debra MacFarlane