Page 129 of Last Comes Fate

“So, I could be a bastard after all?” Xavier laughed, a sound of pure, booming joy that shook the room like thunder. “If I wanted.…I couldchoosenot to be the Duke of Kendal. Which means you, my love, would be no duchess.”

I grinned so hard I thought my face might split.

“It means,” I told him. “We can be whatever we want.”

He dropped the papers, then pulled me across his lap and wrapped his arms about my waist.

“Whatever we want,” he confirmed as he kissed me once, then again, and again. “So long as we’re together.”

THIRTY-THREE

“Close your eyes!”

I grinned but did no such thing. I wanted to soak it all in.

It was the kind of homemade party I had grown up with. My grandmother’s house was jam-packed with Zolas, Scarrones, Ortizes, and all number of friends and neighbors who had known me since childhood and onward. The dining table was piled with potluck dishes—two platters of Nonna’s lasagna, antipasti from the Vincent’s, homemade pasteles and empanadas, plus bottles of wine and rum arranged across the kitchen counter that was now acting as a bar. Pink and blue streamers stretched across the ceilings of the living and dining rooms to celebrate the babies on the way—the baby who was now due in six weeks and the little girl Matthew and Nina were expecting in about two.

Right now, the stereo was blasting a playlist Joni had made by a friend of hers who electronically mixed rat pack standards with bachata and salsa beats. It made for a surprising amalgamation that satisfied all age groups in attendance—the younger kids enjoyed the beats while the elders could dance to salsa while singing along with Dean Martin.

I was resting my feet in one of Nonna’s wingback chairs, just taking it all in. It was eons away from the luxe lifestyle I’d been living with Xavier for the last several months. To my surprise, I was becoming accustomed to the little benefits of being married to a man richer than God. Things like using a hot water dispenser at the sink instead of waiting for the kettle to boil. Or buying organic almond butter whenever I liked instead of saving up for my guilty pleasure. Having a car at my disposal at any time of day instead of arranging my schedule around public transportation.

These didn’t ultimately matter in the grand scheme of things, and I didn’t exactly mind the way it used to be. Nothing compared anyway to the comfort I felt right here, surrounded by all the people I loved.

I had two homes now, I realized.

One was here, in the house where I’d been raised, a place my siblings and I would always identify as a safe haven, no matter how old we got. And we’d passed that safety along to our kids. Sofia was scampering around with her cousins like she had all her life, and had taken Olivia, Matthew’s new stepdaughter, under her wing as the other girl in the family. Nina watched her daughter with a shining face, and I knew without a doubt that their new baby girl would no more be a stranger to this group than Xavier’s and my son. Our family lasted. Always.

Another part of me that yearned for the quiet home Xavier and I were building for ourselves just a little further away.

We’d stayed in London through Christmas, taking a few more months to tie up loose ends before coming home for the foreseeable future. Henry’s secret journals lay safe in a vault deep inside Coutts, where the Parkers (along with half of England’s aristocrats) had stowed their most valuable treasures and secrets since the sixteen hundreds. It took some time, but in the end, Xavier had decided to keep the title hisrealfather had fought so hard for him to have, though he did give up his hereditary seat in the House of Lords. Should the day come when someone or other wanted to hold the matter of his legitimacy over his head, we had the evidence that would confirm his claim, even if it would potentially blow up another man’s world.

Not that we worried much about it. The only other person who knew about the journals was Bernard Douglas, the Viscount of Ortham, who was now an entirely useful advocate in Parliament. Discovering that we not only knew about his past but didn’t judge him for it made Lord Ortham even warmer toward Xavier. Like an uncle, maybe. Or a stepfather.

But even more important was that, for the first time in his life, Xavier’s world was a matter of his own choice. Not someone else’s. Not hostage to a signature or one man’s recognition.

It belonged to him.

Henry had given him that, even if unwittingly.

Maybe, deep down, Henry Parker knew that every person deserved the truth. Especially since, in our case, it really did set us free.

It was in that spirit that Xavier and I had purchased a townhouse on Riverside Drive, one of the quietest parts of the Upper West Side. Initially, I had argued that we should wait to make a decision on where to live until we knew which school I was going to attend next fall. Xavier, however, was fully aware that Columbia was at the top of my list, just like it was when we first met, and wouldn’t believe in anything other than my immanent acceptance.

“I’d never bet on failure,” he’d told me when we toured the house right after the new year. “Not when it comes to you, babe.”

And then he had proceeded, in very Xavier-like fashion, to lay out a perfectly logical argument about the centrality of the Upper West Side to all the other boroughs, no matter where I was accepted. That, combined with the fact that it was my very favorite part of the city and, of course, where we’d first met, won me over.

Xavier had always understood the unique combination of whimsy and pragmatism that enchanted the path to my heart.

“Frankie!” Lea barked from the other side of the kitchen counter. “For God’s sake, Nina’s cooperating. Stop being so difficult so we can freaking surprise you!”

“Better do what she says, babe,” Xavier murmured. “I tried to offer advice on how to dice the onions for the sauce yesterday, and I thought your sister was going to chop my balls up instead.”

I snickered, too easily imagining Lea waving a knife Xavier’s way, but obeyed and shut my eyes.

“Finally,” Lea breathed. “Come on, Katie. These things weigh a ton.”

I squinted with one eye open in time to watch Lea and Katie walk into the room, each bearing one of the familiar sheet cakes from Gino’s. One was decorated in pink for Nina’s baby, the other in blue for us. Both were outlined with ribbons of thick, buttery icing, scrawled with “It’s a Boy!” and “It’s a Girl!” on our respective sides, along with appropriately colored rattles.

---