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They luxuriated in the simple joy of spending time together with no end in sight. No one had to leave. No one had to hide. They could truly lean in to forever, and they did.

If Vesuvius had expected that they would grow immune to each other, he was disappointed.

He found her more beautiful by the day. He hungered for her more all the time, and in a variety of different ways.

When they finally got married, they did it quietly and privately. They got a private license and said their vows before a judge. There were no pictures. No press. They’d left the children with their grandparents, and spent the night in one of Chicago’s finest hotels.

Just the two of them, the way it had begun.

Vesuvius had heard that the views were excellent from that hotel, but he’d never know. He had only looked at her.

So it was that the former king and his beloved mistress-made-wife lived out a life that was far better than any fairy tale.

And no matter where they traveled, particularly as the children got older, they always spent their Christmases in Chicago.

They held each other close and looked out at the storms on Lake Michigan, and let the snow remind them how they found their way home to each other.

For good.

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