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I smile like I’ve never endured a single moment of heartbreak and breathe in the scent of him. “Yeah.”
EPILOGUE
Luxury
Five years later
Manhattan, New York
Damn, where’d the time go?I wonder, glimpsing out of the sliding glass doors. The sun is fanning around the sides of skyscrapers in an effort to warm an autumn evening in New York. Victoria and I are just inside the entrance to the opulent location of Urban Gardens. I take a silk scarf and attempt to hide much of my four-year-old’s jet-black hair. I fuss with tugging her thick, coiled strands. The little princess opted on a tweed dress with a matching jacket.
“Mommy,” she grumbles.
“You should’ve worn the hoodie. Why do you have such an old lady fashion sense? Now, I’ll be the one in trouble.” I place her on my hip and stride out of the sliding glass door, attempting to make a beeline straight toward our driver. Halfway through the throng of wealthy New Yorkers, a camera shutter blinds me. A battery of questions come from the man looming between us and the curb. He asks about my various flower shops. Then the questions are about Victor.
I shove out a hand, blinking back orbs of light. “Please mov—”
“No! My dad is theDuke of Tudor,” Victoria cuts in. Her squeaky tone overshadows my argument that the paparazzi has no right to violate our privacy.
“But, sweetheart,” the guy sputters, “your father is Duke of Arling—”
“He’s duke of thattoo. In fact, he’s duke of the entire world, Tsk.” Her argument causes the businessman strolling into my shop to pause and smile.
“Are you five yet?” the paparazzo inquires.
“Can you stop?” I ask. Every step I take to the side is thwarted. Left to right, he’s on us like flies at a county fair. Our driver opens the back door. With his other hand, he reaches up to push the camera from the man’s hand.
Leaning over my shoulder, Victoria says, “Hey,dude, my momma said our Queen of the Night is opening tonight. You wanna co—”
I plaster a hand over my genius of a daughter’s mouth to stop her from speaking. Because we’re being watched, I don’t toss her into the backseat like a sack of potatoes.
“Victoria, what did I tell you about sayingdude?” I slide into the seat next to Victor’s miniature ray of sunshine. They share the same striking blue gaze and shock of dark hair. But my genes kicked ass in that department, adding volume, oomph, and all. As the scarf’s already sliding back over the crown of her head, I yank it off. “Remember when Grandma Mary heard you saydude?”
“Oh, yeah!” Victoria drops the back of her hand to her temple, wilting against the seat as the driver pulls away from the curb.
“Don’t say it tonight, please.” I sigh.We’ve gotta hurry home.The Queen and Princess Mary should’ve arrived. Nevertheless, there was a slight gleam of appreciation in Her Majesty’s eye as my snarky child called one of her guards adudethelast time we saw her.I believe she was pleased to see her daughter-in-law falling to pieces.
Lord, if Mary faints, I’m gonna laugh.As the car turns onto the private tarmac, a slight grin finds its way onto my face at the thought of how Victoria’s grands have behaved.
“Mommy, Mommy . . .”
“Yes, honey, I’m listening.”
“The wedding flowers we appro . . . appro . . .”
“Approved, baby,” I reply, helping her unclick her seatbelt.
“Yeah, that. Are the rosesreallyfor the Queen? The other Queen?”
“Yes, sweetheart, we just approved a half a million dollars’ worth of wedding flowers for the Queen ofPop.” They weren’t roses. I tap the tip of Victoria’s nose instead of correcting her. We assessed the finest exotic flowers, flown in from various countries to meet the demand.
I suppose we didn’t have to come in today. My girl, Aliyah, did her thing hiring florists who honor our brand, but I felt I had to squeeze in the trip to the city today, despite all that will occur tonight.Contentment creeps over me when I see certain flowers arranged in a way that brings back memories. I guess that’s why I often find myself at either location of Urban Gardens, closing the chasm between myself and my departed momma. And having Victoria accompany me brings it full circle.
“You remember,” I tell my daughter as the back door opens, “the Queen of Pop sings your favorite Disney song?”
As I hold out a hand to assist her from the car, Victoria’s heart-shaped mouth scrunches. “Then why can’t Great Grandmummy, theotherQueen,sing, too?”
“Because, my dear Victoria—” At the sound of a familiar voice, my little girl’s kinky tresses bounce as she jumps past me into Burt’s arms.
