Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
She’s crying as she presses her face against my chest, clinging to me. “I love you so much. I love our lives. I love everything. Dad, get over here!”
I smile over at Charley. He sheepishly joins us, and then I clap him on the arm, and Amelia hugs him.
“You’re going to get your wish, Dad,” she says. “You’re going to meet your grandchild.”
EPILOGUE
FOUR YEARS LATER
Amelia
“The only reason I agreed to do this bloody interview is because it’s for charity,” Tommy says as we get ready backstage.
We’re in our private dressing room, Tommy wearing a tuxedo. I’m wearing a modest yet pretty dress, which is exactly how we both want it.
I’m a professional graphic designer—I’ve gone freelance this year—a mother and Thomas Tithing’s wife. Of course, Tommy can get obsessed with me even when I’m wearing a long dress with a high collar. He sinks his hands into my hips, his eyes lighting up as he leans down.
“I know a better way we could spend our time.”
My body sizzles at the thought. Then the TV worker—a guy with a clipboard and an earpiece—tells us it’s time. We’re on. We walk into the bright lights. It’s a ten-minute interview, part of a larger charity television broadcast. Ever since our wedding, people have wanted to meet the wife of Tommy—the woman who cracked his cold heart, as so many of the articles put it.
The interviewer is a tall, stylish woman called Cynthia. I look behind the cameras, spotting Dad with Oscar on his knee. When we tried to tell Oscar he couldn’t come, he shook his head firmly and said, “Nah-uh, I am coming, thank you very much!”
He has so much attitude and is very clever for his age. He and Dad are best pals, Oscar happily leaning against him. When Dad nudges him, Oscar sees me looking and waves. His hair is on the longer side, deep black like Tommy’s was when he was a kid.
Suddenly, Oscar yells, “Love you, Mommy! Love you, Daddy!”
The whole studio audience erupts into adoring laughter. I can’t help but laugh along with them, though a part of me longs to be back home, where Mom is taking care of Freya. She’s only a few months old. Leaving her for the first time made me ache, even if I’ve experienced it once before with Oscar. The bond is like nothing else, as though a piece of my soul is walking around outside myself.
I have the perfect home, support, career, and my dream man.
“I love you too, little man,” Tommy says, smiling at our son.
He’s dashing in his suit, more muscular than ever, confident, and brimming with love. I feel some women in the studio swooning. How couldn’t they? But I know he’ll only ever want me. Nobody else makes him obsessed like I do. We were made for each other, and that will never change.
EPILOGUE
SEVEN YEARS LATER
Oscar
“Happy birthday, Mister Eleven,” Freya says, leaning against the tree underneath me.
She has her brown hair in a braid and is carrying her flute. I still remember when she started at the fair a few years ago. It seems like ages. Dad won it as a prize. Freya grabbed it, and she was really good.
I’m in the tree at the end of the garden. Out of all of us—me, Freya, Jake, Tamara, and Luke—I’m the best climber. Luke’s a baby, so maybe he doesn’t count. Freya is tall for her age, almost my height. Jake is smaller but quick and strong, but this tree is my spot. I like relaxing here in the sun, sometimes reading a book or thinking about my stories. Mom likes to draw pictures based on my stories, and we’re working on a graphic novel together. How cool is that?
“Are you going to come inside?” Freya asks.
“Yeah, but let me show you this first.”
I take out the tennis ball from my special spot in the tree. It’s a real mess, torn half to pieces.
“That’s Loki’s old ball!” Freya says.
“The old man’s going to go crazy, right?”
Freya steps back as I slide out of the tree, landing in a crouch. I’m the best down-tree climber in the family, too.
“Why did you hide it?” Freya asks.
“He’s getting old, but when he sees a ball he hasn’t seen for a while, he gets so happy. It’s like he’s a kid again. Sometimes, I look at Tamara or Jake, and I remember being a little kid, and I get happy, so I know how he feels.”
Freya laughs, toying with her braid. “You’re weird, Oscar, but it’s your birthday, so I’ll let you off.”
She hugs me, and I laugh.
“Thanks, sis. Shall we go show him?”
“You know, this is your day for presents.”
“Gifts,” I say, remembering a game Mom and Dad play.
She’s American, so sometimes she’ll give him the American version when he says something. It’s fun. It’s neat.