Page 71 of Taking The Virgin

Epilogue

What a difference a year makes.

Only twelve months ago, my siblings and I were nearly homeless, but now we’re living in a huge mansion on Miami Beach’s Star Island, rubbing elbows with other moguls and a cluster of celebrities behind the guarded gates.

The kids are utterly charmed by the lazy days on the waterfront dock, the gazebo that overlooks the jewel-blue bay, and the splashing fountains. Inside there are elegant marble floors that somehow complement all the state-of-the-art details, such as a home movie theater, a high-tech kitchen, and everything else that Owen had in NewYork.

Now he has the kids and me, aswell.

He’s due to arrive back home tonight from his main office in Manhattan, which he flies to twice a month so he can continue to run his flourishing business. Otherwise, he’s all ours, too.

And I do mean all ofus.

After I’ve finished a few phone calls to the art collectors who have become the clients I now advise, I pop into the kitchen where Jemma is helping Chef Thomas prepare a fancy dinner, as usual. She’s already wearing an oversized NYU shirt in anticipation of starting business school there, now that we have the money.

She and the chef look up at me with smiles, elbow-deep in chopping the ingredients for a ragu, and god, how I wish Mom and Dad were here to see how grown up she isnow.

“Don’t you look flushed with excitement,” she says to me as Chef turns back around to continue chopping his parsley, garlic, and onions.

“Four hours and counting,” Isay.

Even though Jemma is now too “mature” to get excited herself, I can tell she’s looking forward to Owen’s return home. He’s been guiding her in how to combine her cooking interests with business, and they spend what seems to be hours in entrepreneurial conversation.

I wink at her and leave her with Chef, only to hear a ruckus going on at the front of the house.

Once I get to the grand marble foyer, I find Jason and Jake dressed in board shorts and T-shirts. They’re carrying their surfboards and wetsuits through the house, trailed by little twelve-year-old Jasmine, who’s also got her surfgear.

“Wait up!” she says as they head for thedoor.

“Excuse me?” I say. “Where’s everyone offto?”

Jason, a supercool sophomore, rolls his eyes. “We’ve got lots of time before Owen gets back. We were going to let you know that we’re off for a surfsesh.”

“Jeez,” Jasmine says. “You’re too awesome to say session like everybody else in the world?”

Jake stands by his older brother, not as tall yet, but getting there. “I don’t know what you’re doin’ here, Jazzie, but you won’t be having any kind of sesh with us. Getlost.”

As Jazzie starts to protest, Nat, who came down here from New York to help run the household as well as some of our business interests, scurries in. She’s traded in her strict bun for a looser ponytail and her dark dress for a brighter, lighter one. But she’s still got the cleaning cloth inhand.

“Now what are you kids doing?” she asks mildly. “You’re getting sand inhere.”

Jason says, “We already rinsed things off outside, Nat. We alwaysdo.”

Jazzie speaks up. “I told them we should go around the side of the house instead. Sand gets everywhere.”

It looks as if Nat is about to say something about dirt and debris, but she merely stuffs her cloth back into a pocket. Things have sure changed during this year, but there are still some old habits that take a while to fade. Nat’s working on the ones she developed in Owen’s ultra-clean New York mansion.

Sometimes messes areokay.

Jake gives her a cheesy smile. “Ready to drive us to the beach, Nat? You said you would!”

She looks to me, and as I survey the kids’ please-oh-please-say-yes expressions, I think again of Mom and Dad, who’d love to see how incredibly happy we are now. There’s still such deep sadness from the loss of our parents, but they would’ve been so proud to see us moving forward in life and making the most of everyday.

Just as I’m about to tell the kids that Nat can take them to the beach as long as it’s a short surf sesh, I hear the front door ease open behindme.

A thrill dances up my spine, and even before the kids squeal in delight, I know Owen isback.

And he’s early, which means he couldn’t bear to stayaway.

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