A Million Different Ways to Lose You (Horn Duet 2)

Epilogue

Sebastian

“Babe? Baaaabe!”

“Mon Dieu, stop shouting.”

“Hey Marianne. Have you––”

“Out back.”

“Where?” I say while I walk across the foyer and reach her.

“In her favorite place––but I’m warning you,” she says with a strange twinkle in her eye.

I stop. I can feel the frown forming on my face. “Is everything okay?” Worry rears its ugly head. It’s gotten better the last couple of years, thanks to my wife––she seems to know exactly what I need before I know I need it––but it’ll always be a part of me.

“She’s fine,” Marianne assures me. Her voice fades away as I walk as quickly as I can on one fucked up knee down the hall. These walls don’t haunt me anymore, the ghosts of my past evicted by the love that lives here now. This is our house.

I rush out the French doors and cross the wide slate patio. The sun, shining brightly, reminds me what an amazing life I’m living.

I know how lucky I am. Not a day goes by that I don’t look at the people I love and thank the good Lord for giving me this gift. If I wasn’t a religious man before, I sure as fuck am now.

Things with Diana are still touchy. Vera has a better relationship with her than I do. I can’t seem to forget. Just not as forgiving as my beautiful wife, I guess.

I roll up my shirtsleeves and loosen my tie. Walking past the conservatory, I cut across the meadow––our meadow. I’ve made love to my wife here more times than I can count. I can’t even smell the scent of fresh cut grass anymore without getting hard. It puts a smile on my face every time I think about it. Sure as fuck, I’m getting hard.

Christ. I adjust myself in my pants and keep walking until I reach the wisteria tree she loves so much. She says it reminds her of us, of how it all began.

As I get closer, I realize she’s asleep on one of the lounge chairs. Her arm hangs over the armrest, a book on the ground below it.

I stop, not wanting to wake her yet, and just watch. I’ll never get tired of this. Fuck, it’s the most beautiful sight in the world. I’m no poet, or songwriter. Pretty words and melodies won’t ever come out of this mouth. But I know what I feel, and I know how lucky I am to have it. I’ve led a life that most men only dream of, and I’d trade it all to spend only a second with this woman. Where she is concerned, I have no pride, no vanity. There are no rules, or laws I won’t break to keep her safe and happy. She’s everything. It begins and ends with her.

Her eyes blink open and her head turns my way. That beautiful mouth curves into a smile just for me. “Get over here, you handsome peeping Tom.”

She doesn’t have to ask twice. I walk up and bend down to kiss her gently. Then I kiss my son’s forehead. His plump lips gape open as he sleeps pressed up against his mother’s breast, his hands fisted on his chest. Lucky little Dude. Make sure you enjoy every minute of it, buddy.

“What I wouldn’t do to be in his place right now,” I murmur, careful not to wake him.

“You can be,” she tells me and wiggles her eyebrows. “Later tonight.”

“Promise?” Shit, I’m hard already with the way she’s looking at me. I pet my son’s silky, dark hair with my index finger. His baby mohawk is irresistible.

“You have this strange obsession with his hair,” she whisper giggles.

“It’s the coolest thing ever.”

“Don’t you dare wake him,” she says more seriously. “I’m going to have to go back to work just to get some peace and quiet.”

“Quiet is overrated. Speaking of your work, I just saw Yannick. He hired another doctor, and the new MRI machine was delivered today.”

Yes, my wife built another clinic with Yannick. Yes, it still makes me uncomfortable even though he’s become a close friend.

“Really?” she says, a little too brightly. And now I’m annoyed. She reads my mind perfectly, grabs the back of my head and pulls me down for another kiss.

“Dadyyyyyyyyyyyyy!”

We break apart and my wife rolls her eyes. “Here comes the tyrant. It’s scary how alike you two are,” says my wife in a not too complimentary tone. I chuckle at the resignation on her face. We both know what’s coming.

“Should I be offended?”

“She never asks,” my wife barrels on, one dark eyebrow raised. “She just makes demands and expects everyone to fall in line. Does that sound like anybody we know?”

“Daaaaaaaaaaaad!”

I look over my shoulder to find my daughter running ahead of Olivier, all skinny arms and long legs. She launches herself into my open arms and wraps her arms tightly around my neck, her wet bathing suit soaking my shirt and pants…the little brute. Startled awake, my son starts to cry while my wife shakes her head.