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Epilogue
Frankie
“Sweetheart, you about ready to go?” Clive called out from the walk-in closet that connected the master bedroom with the big, airy bathroom in our house. The house we picked out together a few months ago, that Clive purchased with us in mind. I stood at the bathroom counter, brushing a final coat of mascara onto my lashes.
“Don’t rush perfection,” I said, and set down the mascara to smooth my hair—straightened for once, something I rarely did, but I wanted to mix things up a little bit for tonight.
I fluffed the long, thick mass and inspected my dark green silk dress. It was a Monster’s Wife design that I splurged on, and it looked fucking amazing on me. I wasn’t too modest to admit it.
The new Keisha Blackwell bridal salon at Marcie’s store was opening, and we had decided to kick things off with a fancy reception to show off the dresses and the newly renovated space for brides who wanted something a little less traditional than the usual sparkly white ballgown dress.
Brides like me, I thought smugly as my engagement ring flashed in the light. Clive surprised me with a big-ass rock a couple of months ago. My brothers and father individually inspected the ring when we showed them, and all of them except my dad pronounced it adequate.
For his part, my dad looked at Clive, frowned and said, “Is this a real diamond or more of your bullshit, Clive?”
“Dad,” I groaned. “Please.”
Clive handled it in stride, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket and whipping the receipt out. I didn’t even try to look at the number, but my dad’s eyes widened in surprise and he smiled, giving Clive a brisk nod of approval.
“Good job, young man,” he said. “It’s a good start.”
“Young man,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You two are idiots.”
“Of course they’re idiots,” my mother agreed. She took my hand and peered at the ring through her readers for the tenth time. “But they’re our idiots.”
I put down my mascara and looked over into the closet, where Clive was just slipping into his tailored suit jacket. He opted to skip the tie and leave the collar of his shirt open at the throat. The shirt that just concealed the brand-new tattoo that he surprised me with the same night that he proposed.
Francesca, it said in swirling script. Right next to his daughter’s name, over his heart. I cried when he showed me, and he explained that the two of us were his heart and soul. His daughter and the love of his life.
I looked down at the countertop, where the plastic stick still sat, showing the pink plus sign. Behind me, Clive’s footsteps echoed against the tile as he walked in behind me, pulling me close to run a gentle hand over my flat belly.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, pressing a kiss to my temple.
I laid my left hand over his, my ring winking in the light. “I feel incredible, Clive.” I turned and pulled him down for a quick kiss. “I can’t believe we’re finally here.”
He grinned down at me, his eyes soft with love. “It took us a long time,” he agreed, wrapping his arms around me. “But I wouldn’t trade any of it.”
“No,” I said. “Everything we went through to get here was worth it.”
