“Of course,” Sarah said immediately. “Whenever you want. It would be an honor.”
They talked about dates and guest lists while Henry and Jack explored the property. Lizzie watched her mother and Jasper together, the easy way they moved around each other. She’d dreamed about them living in Miami so she could be close. That hadn’t happened. Jasper had chosen to move back to New York instead, back to the apartment he’d kept all these years.
But Lizzie had moved to Key West anyway. Left NYU for a writing program she could do remotely, left Brooklyn for this island and this woman and this new life they were building together.
She was writing about it all. A fictionalized version of the past year, changing names and details but keeping the heart of it. The story of two women who found each other in the worst possible circumstances and decided to fight for what they wanted anyway. The tale had a villain, of course. Cynthia, whom she’d renamed Celeste in the story. The real Cynthia had left NYU after rumors about her actions in Key West had bubbled up after spring break. The last time anyone had heard from her was a month ago, when she’d been picked up by police in Thailand over a suspicious package in her luggage.
Lizzie’s friend Maya had read the first fifty pages and declared it brilliant. She was flying down next week to visit, dying to see the famous Carlson Island. Since Sarah still technically owned it along with the rest of the Barnes hotelchain, they’d planned a few days out there. Just the three of them, sun and water and no responsibilities.
After settling her lawsuit with Jonathan, Sarah was the majority stakeholder of Barnes Hotels. The two had had a conversation the day they’d signed the papers and it had been surprisingly cordial. Jonathan had truly believed Sarah a gold digger but seemed to change his mind now. Who knew, in the future, they might find a way to be friends. It would be nice to have someone in her life who had known Billy and loved him as much as she had.
“Speech time,” Stavros announced. He clinked a fork against his champagne glass. “Sarah, get up here.”
Sarah climbed onto the porch railing. Everyone gathered around.
“I’m not good at speeches,” she started.
“You’re great at speeches,” Esmeralda called out.
“I’m really not. But I’ll try.” Sarah looked out at the crowd. Friends, family, people who’d stood by her when everything fell apart. “Six months ago I lost my job. My reputation. Nearly lost everything I’d worked for. Some of you were there. You saw it happen.”
The crowd went quiet.
“I could have given up. Probably should have given up. But someone very stubborn refused to let me.” Sarah’s eyes found Lizzie. “She gathered evidence, tracked down witnesses, built a case that proved what happened. She gave me the tools to fight back.”
Lizzie felt her face get hot.
“We released everything to the newspapers. My real story. You all know it by now, I don’t need to repeat it. I wanted to take this opportunity to thank a few people. Like Stavros, who defended me more fiercely than I could ever have imagined.”
“Damn right I did,” Stavros said.
“And Carlos and Esmeralda. And Chrisla. Maria… All of you who came together. Some people I only knew superficially like Jasper Bennet, or not at all, like Maya Rodriguz, who isn’t with us today, but who worked hard to get us here. All your help allowed me to settle an unfortunate lawsuit in my favor. And to start again, doing something I love. And of course, the most important person who worked to clear my name even when I wasn’t sure I wanted it. My love, my darling, Lizzie.” She held up the scissors. “Lizzie, come here.”
Lizzie climbed up beside her. Sarah handed her one handle of the scissors and kept the other.
“Together?” Sarah asked.
“Together.”
They cut the ribbon. It fell in two pieces to the porch floor. Everyone cheered.
Sarah kissed her. Right there in front of everyone. Lizzie kissed back, not caring who saw, not caring who might take a photo or write a story. Those days were over.
When they broke apart, Sarah was smiling. “Ready to check in our first guests?”
“Ready.”
They climbed down and headed inside hand in hand. The Writers Inn was officially open.
Extended Epilogue
Sarah
Two Years Later
Sunday morning light came through the curtains in stripes, falling across the bed in warm bands. Sarah woke slowly, the way she only ever woke on Sundays—no alarm, no agenda, just the gradual awareness of Lizzie’s body pressed against her back and Lizzie’s hand tracing lazy circles on her stomach.
“You’re awake,” Lizzie murmured against her shoulder.
