"I know. So will I." She kisses me softly. "But we'll figure it out. Together."
"Together." The word sits between us like an oath. "I love you, Ivy West. My equal. My partner. Mine."
Epilogue
Six Months Later
Lillianna
I check my phone for the third time in as many minutes. Ivy’s last text said they’re ten minutes out, which means they’ll be here any second now.
The great room is perfect. Purple and silver streamers—Madison’s favorite colors—cascade from the chandelier in elegant swoops. The “Happy 15th Birthday” banner hangs above the fireplace, and an ice sculpture of a swimmer mid-divesits on a table near the windows, water pooling artfully at its base. White-gloved waiters stand ready in the kitchen, and the caterers have everything under control.
But it’s the dozen or so teenagers crouched behind the furniture who make my heart race. Madison’s swim team friends and classmates, all of them barely containing their excitement as they hide in the shadows of the great room.
“Remember,” I tell the group for what must be the tenth time. “Complete silence. Not a giggle. Madison has excellent hearing.”
Tracy nods solemnly, her blonde ponytail bobbing. “We’ve got this, Ms. Blackstone.”
I move through the darkened room to where my family waits. Sebastian stands near the bar with Rosalia, his arm draped over her shoulders, her head tipped against his chest. Mother sits in a wingback chair positioned to see everything, a glass of bourbon in her hand. She looks more relaxed than I’ve seen her in years. Europe has been good for her. The perpetual tension she carried as the wife of Louis Blackstone has melted away, replaced by something softer. Happier.
Thorne paces by the window, checking his watch.
“They’ll be here,” I tell him.
“I know.” But he keeps pacing. This is Madison’s first birthday party with him, and he wants it to be perfect. We all do.
He’s been planning it for nearly a month and insisted it be in his home. After all, Madison loves to swim and he has an indoor pool. But it’s also to keep reminding her and Ivy that this is their home, and they can move back in whenever they’re ready.
And it is fully Thorne’s house now. I moved into my penthouse apartment on the water in Louisville last month. Rosalia tried to talk me into a condo, but I’m not ready to put down permanent roots.
My phone buzzes.It's Ivy.
Two minutes. She suspects NOTHING.
“Positions,” I announce in a stage whisper.
The teenagers duck lower behind the sectional and chairs. Sebastian and Rosalia move to stand near Mother. Thorne joins me by the entryway. We all hold our breath.
Through the windows, headlights turn into the drive. My pulse kicks up, excited for Madison.
The house is silent. Waiting.
A car door slams. Then another. Ivy’s voice carries through the evening air, saying something I can’t make out. Madison laughs in response.
“I don’t understand why we’re stopping here,” Madison says as they get closer. “I thought we were going back to the apartment.”
“Thorne asked us to pick something up,” Ivy tells her. “It’ll only take a second.”
Keys jingle in the lock.
The door swings open. Ivy steps inside first, her hand already reaching for the light switch—our prearranged signal. Madison follows, scrolling on her phone, completely oblivious.
Ivy flips the switch.
“SURPRISE!”
The room explodes with noise. Madison screams, her phone clattering to the marble floor as everyone jumps out from behind furniture. Her hands fly to her mouth, eyes going wide as she takes in all the decorations, the ice sculpture, her friends rushing toward her, all of us grinning.
