Page 236 of Gathered Sparkle

“To the jet and the thirteen-hour flight to Tuscany, yes,” Sylus interrupts with a mischievous grin. “It’s thewe-defeated-the-villains-and-survived-the-impossible-conanthem. Learn to appreciate greatness.”

“I swear to God—” Koen starts, but Sylus cranks the volume, unabashed.

“Don’t act like you don’t know the words, Lane.”

Levi laughs as he starts to sing along, his voice terrible but enthusiastic. Novalee joins in, sweet but off-key.

I lean my head back against the van wall, a laugh slipping out as I let the chaos wash over me.

They pulled it off.

Wepulled it off.

And for the first time ever, the weight of the Harrington name feels lighter, like it’s slipping off my shoulders entirely.

Whatever happens next, it doesn’t matter.

This, right here, is where I’m supposed to be.

And for the first time in my life, I feel free.

EPILOGUE

FIVE YEARS LATER

Novalee

The soft breeze threads through my hair, carrying just enough relief to cut through the lingering heat of a Vegas evening. It’s one of those days where the sun seems determined to bake every surface, even as the sky begins to blush with the impending sunset.

The hem of my white summer dress brushes against my knees as I crouch down and place a bouquet of roses gently on the grave in front of me, the writing on the headstone clear thanks to a ray from the light of the sinking sun.

Rose ‘Rosie’ Lane. Beloved daughter, niece, and sister.

“Told you I’d bring you flowers,” I whisper, the contentment of fulfilling that promise not enough to outweigh the loss. “Only took me five years.”

I glance over my shoulder and up at Koen, who stands behind me, not even considering hiding the grief on my face for a moment. I don’t do that anymore with any of them, not that I could ever hide from this man anyway. The sun is at his back as he offers me a hand, his brown eyes locked on mine. In one fluid movement, he pulls me to standing and positions my backagainst his front, then sweeps my hair away from my face and presses a kiss to my temple.

“I don’t think she minds,” he murmurs. “Right, Rosie girl?”

Beside us, Levi lets go of Ezra only long enough for him to place his own bouquet—peonies, not roses—on their mother’s grave, right beside Rosie’s. “I think they’re happy we’re happy.”

My gaze drifts to the third headstone, the one etched with a name that still tugs at my heart in its own complicated bouquet of emotion.

Oscar Lane. Uncle, friend,and greatest magician Vegas has ever seen.

Sylus and Ace stand vigil while Nicholas carefully arranges sunflowers on Oscar’s grave. He brought them all the way from Tuscany, just like the rest of the flowers lying in front of the graves now.

Tuscany.

Our home is a little slice of heaven. It’s not just a villa or really what anyone would describe as little. A winding street lined with cypress trees leads to our home, and the house itself is sprawling and sunlit, with a terracotta roof and vines creeping along the walls. The surrounding land is perfection, and our home sits perched on top of one of those postcard-perfect hills.

Then there are the flower fields. Rows upon rows of flowers dotting the space behind the house. Nicholas planted them all himself, tending to every seed with a care that’s so inherently him. When he’s not in the fields, he’s in the little shop he opened in the next town over, smiling as he sells his bouquets and talks about all things flowers with the locals. He’s so damn content and confident like he’s finally found the piece of himself that was missing.

As if sensing my thoughts, Nicholas strokes one last sunflower petal as he lays it just so, stands, and turns his gaze to me. That boyish grin of his spreads across his face the momentour eyes meet, dimples and all, and I can’t help but smile back. He’s picked up parkour courses again, teaching the kids in the town over. They adore him for it—his energy, his patience, the way he cheers them on. He loves it as much as they do.

For the first time, he’s free. Truly, really, free as he lives his dream completely separate from the Harrington name.

In fact, he ditched that, too, when he decided to change his last name. He’d asked me if I wanted him to take mine, Evans, but I told him that we both knew which name he really should pick.

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