Page 178 of Savage Roses
epilogue - delphine
3 years later…
On the anniversaryof her death, I visit Mom’s grave with fresh flowers. It’s a tradition of mine from the time she first passed and I struggled with my grief. I used to visit her grave often, at least once a week, where I’d break into silent tears and talk to her as if she could actually hear me.
Though I no longer visit as frequently, I still visit on the day I lost her. When I do go, hers isn’t the only grave I’m visiting.
The plot of land next to hers, with a gravestone as large and ornate, gets its own bouquet of flowers. Even if our relationship was more complicated and messy at the time of his passing.
A sad smile comes to my face as I stare at Mom’s and Dad’s graves and speak to them about my life. I tell them about the renovations Salvatore and I are doing on our home and the latest client I’ve taken on at the firm. I update them on Marcel and the latest girl he’s dating—I don’t think they’d approve, though I make sure to leave that bit out.
“Salt and Pepa are slowing down,” I say. “Which is funny because Olive couldn’t be more hyper. We’ve potty trained her and she’s learned to walk on leash. She drives the cats crazy.”
The wind soughs as if they’re answering me. My bittersweet smile spreads. I carefully place the bouquets at their graves.
Momalreadyhas a bouquet of fresh flowers on hers, likely from Aunt Beatrice, or maybe another close friend of hers who has visited frequently.
I tell them I’ll try to come by more often.
“Marcel’s coming for the holidays. He’ll visit you too.”
I stand up carefully, cognizant of the fact that if I seem to struggle too much, Stitches will hurry over and help me. He insisted he do so anyway, but I told him I wanted privacy. I didn’t need him watching over me like a hawk.
He does regardless—I can feel his gaze on me from twenty feet away, as he stands with his hands shoved in his pockets and his wire-framed glasses low on his nose.
I cast a quick glance in his direction before returning my attention to their graves.
“I should get going,” I say. My voice strains as I battle the grief that I’ve learned to live with. That I’ve accepted is a natural part of life when you lose those you love. “I love you, Mom. Dad…”
With a deep inhale, I move to turn away, and then stop at the premonition that trickles over me. Instead of seeking out Stitches’s watchful gaze, I’m searching for the other pair of eyes I can feel on me. I look up and around, surveying the otherwise empty cemetery.
No one else is here.
Until I reach the faraway gate just past the rows of gravestones.
A funny, unnameable feeling twinges inside me. Almost like I’m aware the moment’s surreal and I might as well be dreaming.
A man in a tailored suit who approaches a town car, his hand sliding down his tie as his chauffeur holds the door open and he gets inside.
Tall and broad-shouldered. Dark brown skin. A lemon yellow tie that’s part of his twenty-six tie rotation.
I blink and he’s gone. The town car’s disappeared down the road and I’m left staring at no one.
“You ready?” Stitches asks, coming up on my side.
“Did you see anyone else here?” I ask.
Stitches goes into alert mode, his ears perking up. He glances every which direction. “No. Nobody. Why? Somebody dangerous around?”
I stare at the same spot where I’d seen the mirage, past the cemetery’s gates, and then shake my head. “Let’s go home.”
“Good idea. It’s supposed to start drizzling any minute.”
***
Salvatore’s in his workshop when we get home. It’s steadily become one of his favorite rooms in the house. If he’s not in the gym working out, in his office catching up on some business, or in the bedroom doing his best to devour me in any way I’ll let him, he’s in his workshop.
At first it was a hobby he took up at the suggestion of his therapist, Rhino’s ex-wife. She had told him it’d be a good idea to channel his temper into a hobby. His natural pick was the gym, in his training as a fighter, but she suggested he choose something less obvious.