“My beautiful Abigail Maria Tyrell, I hope you have Mommy’s looks.” He winked at me.
My grin widened.
“Have you been talking to your mother about me?” He straightened and pulled me back into his arms.
I rolled my eyes. “Not everything I say is about you.”
“Of course not. Sometimes it’s about what you think of me.”
I poked his firm chest. He pretended to bite my finger.
“Sorry I’m late, Julu,” a voice called out. My father appeared on one of the paths through the gravestones. “I had to stop for some pesky freeloaders.” He rolled his eyes but he was grinning.
“Really, Monty.” Nora appeared behind him, arm in arm with Nonna. Nora had taken to calling my father Monty. Only she could get away with that. “Anyone would think you don’t like us. When it was you who insisted on coming to pick us both up.”
Lately, I suspected that Nora and my father were getting really close. I caught their stolen looks when they thought I wasn’t looking. I think they hadn’t told me because they were afraid of my disapproval, but I was thrilled for them. I was going to let them sweat it out a little longer before I put them out of their misery and told them that I knew and that it made me happier than anything.
I grinned as my family, our family, walked toward us to celebrate my mother’s birthday with my husband, our growing baby and me.
My father gave me a hug, shook Roman’s hand and placed a small white cake box next to my peonies on Mama’s grave. “Pancakes,” he said as he winked at me.
I smiled even through a pang of sadness. Mama got her birthday pancakes after all.
“I hope you two weren’t making out in a cemetery,” Nora said, giving me a wicked look.
“No!” Roman said in horror. He flushed. I laughed.
I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. My mother would have loved Nora if they had ever met.
Nora wiggled her finger at Roman and whispered, “Freaky deaky,” before giving us both a wink.
“Good Lord, girl, you’re about to pop!” Nonna said as she enveloped me in a warm hug that smelled like apple pie. We were all going to Nonna’s place after this for dinner. I bet I knew what was for dessert. Roman’s favorite. “Roman, you’re not making this poor girl work all day, are you?”
“Er, she wants to work.”
“Roman,” Nonna said, sounding horrified. “You should be waiting on her hand and foot at home at this stage.”
“Of course, Nonna,” he said, sounding chastised. “But she’s never been very good at being told what to do.” He shot me a cheeky look over Nonna’s shoulder. I hid my blush. He’s always been very good at telling me what to do.
“Who are we missing?” Nora asked.
“Sorry, I’m here,” Father Laurence called as he jogged up the path towards us, his robe swishing around his ankles. There were more hugs all round as he joined us. He kissed my cheek and beamed at my belly. “Have you been taking those herbs I gave you?” he asked.
I almost laughed at the shocked look on both Roman and my father’s faces.
I nodded at the Father. “The morning sickness is all gone.”
“Well,” my father said, his chest deflating with relief. “We’re all here. Shall we begin?”
The six of us stood in a close huddle and sang “Happy Birthday” to the woman who birthed me, who loved me, and who, in a way, was the reason we were all standing here today. Even as the air was tinged with sadness for the ones who could not be here with us in person, I had never felt so happy.
It turns out that I was right all those years ago. Paris would never last. Paris was just a dream, a lovely dream. But this life, our real life, was so, so much better.
The End
