Matteo is my best man. Molly is her maid of honor. And in some weird twist of fate, Mister Maloney is our officiant. Apparently, it isn't that difficult for an already established lawyer to go through the training and certification necessary to become a justice of the peace. Never in a million years would I have thought this man would be in charge of marrying me off.
It's a simple yet elegant wedding. Charlie decided she didn't want to go overboard with wedding planning. She wanted to use the funds for a better cause, and use the money we'd saved to set up yet another branch of Phoenix House in Seattle. I honestly don't think I could love her more for it.
The orange sun is setting in the distance. There's a splash of gold and yellow and pink across the horizon. The sand beneath our feet is soft, the wind whistling through our hair smells of sea salt, and my whole face is red; not because I've been exposed to the sun too long, but because I'm just so happy I can barely contain myself.
Sunburn might still be part of the reason, though.
There isn't any need for rings. Charlie and I already have ours. We simply join hands and listen to Mister Maloney deliver his speech, staring into one another's eyes in complete contentment. I could get lost in her eyes, and I frequently do. Every time I look at Charlie feels like the first time, exhilarating and perfect and wonderful.
“We are gathered here today to celebrate the happy couple. It is a testament to the feats of love that can turn old enemies into the most loyal of lovers. It is my honor to unify Charlie Pace and Roman Howard in holy matrimony. Charlie, do you hereby take Roman to be your lawfully wedded husband in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”
“I do,” Charlie answers as she laces her fingers with mine.
“And do you, Howard, take Charlie to be your lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”
I smile from ear to ear. “I do.”
“Then I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
I don't even hesitate. I step forward and scoop Charlie up in my arms, kissing her like it's the first time and knowing it definitely won't be my last. Our friends applaud for us, and it's almost surreal this is happening.
Matteo claps me on the back. He’s dressed in a similar fashion to me, except he’s wearing socks with his sandals—a true crime against fashion. But today’s my wedding day, and I’m not about to see my best man arrested for his poor taste in clothes. I suppose, for his sake, I’ll keep things to myself.
“Congratulations,” he says. “To the both of you.”
“Thank you,” I reply.
Molly hugs Charlie tight. She’s dressed in a baby pink dress of satin. Her long red curls have gotten shorter and puffier, likely due to the island’s humidity. I think if she teased her hair, she’d end up with a very pretty afro.
“I’m so happy for you!” she says, doing a happy little hop while clapping her hands. “Do you think children are on the way next? You know what they say, next comes the baby in the baby carriage.”
Charlie laughs. “I mean, we already have twenty kids back home.”
“And counting,” I add. “Our beds have been filling up steadily since we opened the estate up to long-term youth housing.”
She nods. “I think that’s plenty, don’t you?”
I chuckle. “Maybe we can get a dog?”
“The kids will love that. Maybe that’ll make up for the fact we couldn’t take them all with us for the wedding.”
“I like the way you think, Missus Howard.”
Mister Maloney smiles. It’s genuine and warm and the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen, but I’m not going to complain because this is my wedding day and absolutely nothing will get me down or freak me out.
“What are you two lovebirds up to now?” he asks.
I look at Charlie. “Well, one of the best things about getting married at your honeymoon destination is that it starts right away. I’m hoping to take Charlie back to the botanical gardens.”
She gasps, eyes lighting up. “And this time, I want to go on one of those bioluminescent kayak tours. I hear they’re a lot of fun.”
I kiss her again, savoring the sweetness of her lips. “Absolutely, baby. Let’s make it happen.”
“Maybe we can go visit Bobby and get another tattoo?”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah!” Charlie laughs. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”
“But it hurt so bad the first time,” I whine, but it’s half-hearted.
“Don’t be a big baby, you baby.”
I laugh. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
EPILOGUE
Charlie
Roman and I show up at Chicago City Hall to accept our award for public service. A huge team of reporters and photographers are lined up just outside of the metal barrier, camera lights flashing while microphones are held out in the hopes of capturing our responses to the onslaught of questions they have prepared for us.
The award comes just shy of Phoenix House’s twenty-fifth anniversary of being founded. There are now Phoenix House establishments in nearly every single state capital. Roman's charity has helped countless thousands of youth who would otherwise struggle defined good homes in their times of need.
Roman is the one who accepts the award, shaking the mayor's hand with a huge smile and a gracious thank you speech prepared. He steps up to the wooden podium and addresses the crowd, who all look up to him with a sense of reverie. He's dressed up for the occasion, in a bespoke suit that I ordered for him from Italy. It's true that it costs an arm and a leg and I've become increasingly more frugal as I get older, but sometimes quality necessitates a higher price tag.
And he looks damn good.
“Thank you all so much for this award, but I'm afraid I can't accept this accomplishment all on my own.” Roman gestures to me and I nod politely to the awaiting crowd. “This gorgeous woman, Charlie, is the reason why Phoenix house is such a success. Without her business expertise and fantastic fund raising strategies, I wouldn't have been able to achieve helping as many kids as we have.”
Roman waves me over and immediately throws an arm behind my back and around my waist. We accept the applause together as reporters take our picture and shout questions in the hopes we’ll answer.
“Charlie, is it true that you gave up Bliss Media fifteen years ago in order to focus on your more charitable ventures?”
“Yes, that's true.”
“Bliss Media is now a multi-trillion-dollar business,” someone shouts. “Do you regret selling the company?”
A tick of annoyance shoots up through my spine, but I manage to keep my emotions in check. I manage a very polite, very convincing smile. “I don’t regret a thing,” I say and mean it. “Living my life in service of others has been far more fulfilling than anything money could buy.”
Roman looks so damn proud that his happiness is contagious.
Every word out of my mouth is the truth. I don’t think it’ll ever be possible to go back to my old life where money meant everything, and everything else was nothing. You could offer me the highest-paying job in the world, but I don’t think I’ll ever go back. What Roman and I do together is some of the most meaningful work out there. We’re giving kids a second chance, giving them the love and support they need to grow into upstanding adults who will hopefully go on to have their own children and teach them what we’ve taught them. Parents need to set good examples for our kids, so that they can go on and do the same for theirs.
The mayor sweeps us away for an official photo before anybody else can bog us down with another question. It’s an eventful afternoon of handshaking and a formal lunch gathering, which has me thoroughly wiped by the time we make it back to the estate. The front of the mansion is in need of a new paint job, but is otherwise completely unchanged.
My driver, Tommy –who’s getting a little up there in years, but he refuses to retire because he loves what he does– pulls the car up to t
he front steps of the mansion where a group of the kids are already waiting to greet us.
“They’re here!” they shout. “They’re home!”
Roman and I are attacked with loveable hugs from all the kids in our care. We’re surrounded on all sides, showered with adoration and smiles.
“Did you miss us?” Angela asks. “We missed you.”
Roman nods. “Of course we missed you.”
“Can we see the award?” Christopher questions. “Is it another plaque? Or is it a trophy this time?”
“Why don’t we go inside first?” I suggest. “It’s getting too cold outside.”
The estate now hosts over fifty kids in need, so Roman and I have had to hire additional staff to make sure the children aren’t left unsupervised. We have a full team of cooks who prepare their food, a group of housemaids who keep everything tidy, private tutors who actually live on premises to help our kids with their schoolwork, and even a nurse in case any of our kids suddenly feel ill and can’t wait to see the doctor the next day.
As one can imagine, the halls are a mess –not for a lack of trying on our housekeeper’s part– filled with toys and lost sweaters and the occasional forgotten backpack full of textbooks. Lively voices fill the whole estate, a stark contrast to when it was just me, Roman, and Uncle Charles roaming the halls. The estate is a breathing, living thing with a warm atmosphere and a welcoming feeling.
It’s a home.
Once upon a time, I didn’t think I could have something like this. It wasn’t even something that crossed my mind. I used to be a power-hungry, arrogant career woman who had no qualms about crushing anybody who got in my way. It’s amazing what fifteen years can do to a person. Fifteen wonderful years full of laughter and music and a husband that reminds me everyday just how much he loves me.
Sometimes it takes a couple of hours to get all the kids to bed. The older ones, especially, because they’re all going through their ‘growing pains’ and need to stick it to the authority figures. But it’s never anything drastic. Normally just staying up past their bedtimes or sneaking out to meet up with friends. Our kids on the whole are really good, and I’d protect them with my life if I had to.
After reading the younger ones their bedtime story, I return to the master bedroom and find Roman conked out on the wingback upholstered chair. Some things about him haven’t changed a bit in the last fifteen years. Roman still has the same strong jaw, sharp nose, and luscious dark locks.
But in other ways, he’s changed a lot. He wears reading glasses now, much to his dismay. I happen to think they’re very distinguished, but Roman always hits me with the ‘that’s just another way of saying I look old’ line, which gets me laughing every time. His body’s a little rounder now, still muscular, but it’s become softer with age and that’s totally fine. I still believe he’s the most handsome man to ever walk the Earth, and I’ll be hard pressed to change my mind.
He’s grown his beard out, which only adds to the distinguished look I love so much about him –so he’s really bringing the ‘old man’ label onto himself. It’s full and scratchy, but I like how it tickles when he kisses me every chance he gets.
I walk over as quietly as I can and place a hand on his shoulder. “Sweetheart?” I whisper softly. “You’re going to be sore again if you fall asleep here.”
Roman starts awake, but immediately relaxes when he sees me. “Ah, my beautiful wife. Have I told you how beautiful you are today, beautiful?”
I giggle. “You’re clearly sleep deprived and delirious.”
“No, no. That can’t be. I got a full six hours.”
I kiss the top of his head. “Come to bed, sweetheart. We have to take Amy and Douglas to their new forever home tomorrow morning.”
A wistful look glosses over Roman’s eyes. “I’m going to miss them.”
“I’m going to miss them, too. But we should count our blessings that a family wanted to adopt them both. It’s hard to get siblings adopted together.”
“They’ll have each other.”
“Exactly right.” I sweep my fingers through his hair. “Now, come to bed. You haven’t fulfilled your daily cuddle quota.”
Roman smirks. “Please don’t call the cops. I’ll be the little spoon if you promise not to get me in trouble.”
“I can’t remember when we became one of those disgustingly cute couples. Do you?”
“I can’t say I have it pinpointed, either.”
We change into our pajamas and crawl under the sheets together. The silk duvet cover feels fantastic against my skin. Roman and I curl up together, just as we have everyday for a little over a decade and a half.
It’s normal. It’s routine. It’s perfect.
“You really need to stop falling asleep in that chair,” I mumble against his chest. “You’ve woken up with a sore neck and back far too many times for me to count.”
“I know, I know. I was up all night worrying about the award presentation.”
“Why were you worried? You did so well?”
Roman nuzzles my face with the tip of his nose. “Not as well as you. Can’t believe how quickly you answered. You should have seen the reporter’s face, he seemed so stunned.”
“Well, that’s what you get when you ask such a stupid question.”
“You really don’t regret it?”
I tilt my chin up and look my husband in the eye. “Not a thing.”
“Not even our tattoo rings?”
I laugh. The ink of our red lines has faded significantly over time. Now it looks more like a faint pink. From afar, I suppose it could be mistaken for a scar. I’ve considered on numerous occasions having another tattoo artist go over it to refresh it, but Roman and I have been so busy running Phoenix House together that we haven’t had the time.
“I have absolutely no regrets,” I answer.
Roman kisses my forehead. “Good. Neither do I. Neither do I.”
Sleep comes to us easier and easier as the evenings get colder. Winter is sneaking up on us from around the corner, so the mansion air is chillier and chillier. Before sleep drags me under, I make a mental note to turn the main heater on so that our kids won’t be too cold when they go to sleep.
Roman’s out like a light mere seconds after his head hits the pillow. He still snores, but I’ve grown accustomed to the sound –almost like my own personal white noise machine. As he sleeps, I study the contours of his handsome face. I admire his strong cheek bones, the laugh lines that have imprinted themselves on his skin, the way his eyelashes are full and curling. I lift a hand to brush his hair with my fingers and stop to admire the red line around my ring finger.
Every time I look at my tattoo, I think of the story Roman once told me about the red string of fate. I didn’t used to believe in destiny or kismet. I’m a woman of numbers and science. Now, I think maybe there’s something to it. Chalk it up to old age and whatnot, but it’s true. It’s amazing to think about all the things that had to happen to get us here. Maybe there really is an invisible red thread that connects Roman to me.
My other half. My soulmate. My beloved one.
It’s said that soulmates are connected by this invisible red string. It can tangle and get knotted, but it will never break.
I smile at my tattoo ring, and then I smile at my husband’s peaceful, sleeping face before drifting off after him.
Thank you so much for reading Forgotten Inheritance. We hope you enjoyed Clarissa and Ian’s love story. If you did, we think you will the other books in the Inherit Love Series.
And don’t miss our next series – the Royal Matchmaker books.
Sign up for our newsletter and get the prequel to our new series FREE!
Then read book 1 – Royally Matched.
The Royal Matchmaker is determined to find the Prince of Oxlandia a perfectly suited match, but he only has eyes for the raven-haired musician strumming her cello in the corner of the ballroom…
Also by Mckenna James
THE ROYA
L ROMANCES
Royally Schooled
Royal Academy
The Prince’s Baby
Her Royal Physician
Royal Holiday
INHERIT LOVE SERIES
Baby Inheritance
Inheritance Goals
Royal Inheritance
Inheritance Reversal
Lucky Inheritance
Forgotten Inheritance
Royal Matchmaker Series
The Matchmaker (FREE Prequel)
Royally Matched
Royally Arranged
Royal Runaway Bride
Royal Alliance
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Mckenna James is the pen name for a collaborative writing duo who share an addiction to sweet tea and a love for wealthy, attractive men.
Since they don’t know enough devastatingly handsome men with boatloads of cash to spare, they decided to create some. They specialize in fairytales for today’s world featuring modern princes and heroines who speak their minds and carve out happily ever afters on their own terms.
Join Mckenna’s reader group on Facebook
Follow Mckenna on Facebook
Follow Mckenna on Instagram
Follow Mckenna on Pinterest
Follow Mckenna on Bookbub
Follow Mckenna on Goodreads
Forgotten Inheritance (Inherit Love Book 6) Page 17