His hand cupped the back of my head and his sigh was full of contentment when he said, “Nothing else can, but you.”
We embraced for a long moment before someone on shore shouted our name, pulling us apart.
“Save that for the honeymoon!” Cage hollered from the beach. “Sinclair get off that monstrosity so your future bride can get ready.”
“Fuck off, Cage,” Sinclair yelled back, carefree and full of good humor. To me, he said, “There is a surprise waiting for you in the bedroom downstairs. Why don’t you go ready yourself to be my bride and I’ll meet you out on the beach whenever you are prepared?”
I nodded but felt a tearing sensation at my heart as he moved away from me and began to step down to the lower level. Sensing my yearning or maybe succumbing to his own, he paused and turned back to smile at me.
“Don’t take too long, my siren. Thirty minutes tops, d’accord?”
I tipped my chin into the air with faux airs. “You cannot rush a woman on her wedding day, Mr. Sinclair.”
“Thirty minutes, Mrs. Sinclair, or I’ll carry you to the alter over my shoulder.”
The witty reply I had prepared withered on my tongue as I gasped at the shock of hearing myself called Mrs. Sinclair. I drifted downstairs in a fog of fantasy and joy, pinching myself a few times to ensure that I wasn’t dreaming.
Was it possible for the villain in a story to have a happy ending? Maybe authors just ended the book before they had to explore the potential for the antagonist’s growth into someone worthy of such a thing.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” I said out loud as I moved into the master suite, hoping that saying it out loud would make everything more real.
“Well, you better believe it, bambina.”
I spun around, unable to believe that Cosima could be standing there.
But she was.
My sister looked absolutely stunning, her skin a deep olive brown and aglow with health, her curves fully recovered from the emaciated shape she had been in over a month ago when I had last seen her. Her long black hair rippled over her shoulders all the way to her waist and her smile was easy, absolutely gorgeous.
“Cosima,” I said, because if she was a mirage induced by my happy delirium then I needed to know.
“Giselle,” she said, planting her hands on her slight hips and narrowing her eyes at me. “I hope you didn’t think that you could get married without me.”
“How?”
Her smile was gentle with compassion as she moved forward to plant a fragrant kiss against my cheek. She still smelled spicy and sweet like only she could.
“Sinclair reached out to Dante who knew how to get in touch with me.”
“Why did you leave?” I had to know. How could she have disappeared after such a terrible accident and left us all to wonder?
Her lips twisted. “I’m so sorry, bambina. I wanted to explain things to you but they are so complicated and now, well, it is not the time to share my long-winded, frankly horrifying story with you. Now is the time to ready my beloved sister for her wedding day.”
I bit my lip as I digested her words. I wanted to press until she broke open under the pressure, spilling all those terrible secrets that had haunted her since she was too young to harbor them but I also knew that she would never taint my day with her horrors and it would be wrong of me to ruin the surprise of her presence with grim realities.
“Okay,” I said, smiling.
“That was a lot easier than I thought it would be,” Candy commented from her spot lounging on the bed. “If I ever disappear, I hope you’re harder on me, girl.”
I laughed as I launched myself at the bed, smothering Candy in kisses. She grunted under the assault even as her hands pulled me closer.
“Darlin’ there will be plenty of time to be kissing later, and the person you’ll be kissing is a damn sight easier on the eyes than Candy Kay,” Brenna drawled as she emerged from the bathroom. “No offense, Candy.”
“None taken, Sinclair is a serious hottie.”
“Oh my God, I cannot believe this is happening,” I said, my hands pressed to my flaming cheeks. “This is a dream.”
“No, bambina, this is real and I hope you are sure about it.”
I froze, afraid to look over at the bathroom and acknowledge the woman who stepped out from behind Brenna. I hadn’t spoken to her in weeks. The possibility of bursting into tears was pretty high if I turned to face her without steeling myself. So, I took a deep breath, reminded myself that I had survived motherless for four years in Paris and the only family I needed was Sinclair.
It was mostly bullshit, but it made me feel better nonetheless.