Wait For You

22. The goodness of Love is all and above

Epilogue

𝔍𝔬𝔥𝔫𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 " 𝔓𝔥𝔬𝔢𝔫𝔦𝔵 " 𝔗𝔞𝔱𝔢

Several years later

It's the tickling on my face that wakes me up. I glance over at Grace's form as she sleeps splayed out on her side of the bed, hogging the covers. She snores loudly. I turn back and see my son standing next to the bed. Cherry sits at his feet, wagging her tail.

I check the clock. Four in the morning. Jesus.

Sydney peers at me, her four-year-old face scrunched in concentration. It's the same look she gets when she plays checkers with Cooper. She inherited Grace's widow's peak and artistic intelligence. From me, she got her grandmother's frame and kind nature—or that's what Grace says. I never would have described myself as kind, but she believes in me. I'm mellow, living my best life at forty. It's funny how I always worried about what came after Phoniex Media, and you know what? Happiness came. Oh, it's not always perfect. There's always a dab of chaos here and there, but how you handle it makes life beautiful.

Sydney's tawny hair is mussed, and her daisy pajamas are wrinkled from sleep.

"Hey, little princess. Did you wake up too early? Wanna crawl in with me?" My voice is groggy with sleep as I tug the duvet down for her to get in the bed. She sleeps with us sometimes. After a bad dream or during a storm. Cherry too.

She shakes her head.

"Okay, did something happen? You all right?" I scrub my jawline as I sit up. She had a stomach bug last month. Vomit. Diarrhea. Crying. Record-breaking awful. Grace and I got it next. That whole week feels like a blur. See, chaos.

She smirks, an expression straight from Grace.

I glance at her hand—the one she just put behind her back. "Is that a Sharpie?" I grunt. "Ah, so that was the tickling. What did you draw on me?"

"A smiley face. A crown."

She doodles on everything: her body, toys, and closet wall.

Getting out of bed, I grab my plaid pajama bottoms and slide them on. I take her hand, and we tiptoe out of the bedroom so we don't wake Grace. Her feet padded softly against the marble as I stop in front of the mirror in the master bath.

I sigh. I can't even be mad about it. I mean, yeah, it's in permanent marker and will be a bitch to get off, but the detail and clean lines are damn good. The crown is on my forehead, complete with her inside of it, his hands on the wheel. Like me, she loves shiny crowns. There's a tiny smiley face on my nose.

I brush her hair. "You're going to help me get this off later when I'm awake. You ready to go back to sleep?"

She pauses, her lips quivering. "I got up to pee, then heard something in the house. So I made art."

I ease down and rub her back. "Hey. I'm here. It's okay. I like your art, just not on my skin."

"Can I draw on Mama's?"

A conspiratorial laugh comes from me. "I'd love to see it, but best to ask first. Go ahead and pee."

She slips onto my toilet, does her business, and then comes back out and gazes up at me with adoration in her autumn leaves eyes. "Will you check the house, Daddy?"

Daddy. I take a deep breath. That word never gets old and still gets to me emotionally, especially in her sweet voice.

"Sure thing. Let's walk it together, yeah? We can figure out what woke you up. Big-girl stuff."

Holding her small hand in mine, I walk through the modern-style two-story house, our beach home in the Hamptons. With most of the walls made of heavy glass and concrete, the space is about three thousand square feet, with a small cottage and a heated pool. I bought it for Francesca's birthday four years ago, right after we got married. It came with ten acres of land and 250 feet of private beachfront. It's an oasis. Manhattan is her true love, but this is our escape from me running the nonprofit and her gallery. Plus, it's bigger than the yacht. It's become the hub for our get-togethers with the family. We throw a Christmas party, celebrate our birthdays, and have a huge spring event, complete with an egg hunt and me as the Easter Bunny. Cassie and Lewis come in from California, Cooper sits in a chair and points his cane at us—well, except for the kids who attend. He adores those. Brogan and his current love interest attend, and Ronan and Nova and their brood come.