Her Cruel Bodyguard – Extended Epilogue
Fabio
One Month Later…
“You are not doing bad,” Eva chuckles against my chest. Some prints of her red lipstick are already smeared on the fabric of my baby blue suit, which is now being discarded as I toss it at the crowd behind me.
She laughs, and she has no right to.
She dared me to show her what a badass dancer I am, and she is in for a show. I can still bring it on. The pop song she has chosen can try to tamper with my moves, but nothing can stop me from trying to impress her.
She steps away from me and swings her hips, the fringe of her glacial dress for the after-party of our wedding giving her the dancehall dancer tone. She is still wearing her crystal-beaded heels, and I am a little worried for her because she has been dancing in them.
I love everything about her.
I love everything about today.
I can admit that I love this song, but if anyone had played it around me before today, I might have decked the person. Now I love it. My wife loves it, and that makes it the best fucking song in the world.
I will dance to it every day for the rest of our lives if she needs me to. I would dance for her every day for the rest of her life if she asked me. If it will bring this wide, teary smile that is now lining her face as she steps back to appreciate my moves.
I’m all in, shoulders, legs, and waist.
I’m not sure anyone other than Emanuele has ever seen me like this. The first and last time I was like this was when he married Eva’s mom.
A lot has happened, and somehow, my heart is telling me that this is the place it has led us all to.
I go down and swing, steadying myself not to crack something.
The crowd starts to come around. I see some familiar people and some heartwarming faces. My son, Jake, is in a similar outfit as mine since he was the ringbearer on Eva’s demand. I see Vittoria clapping and smiling brighter than I have ever seen her smile. I see Mindy with her date, some Jewish guy with curly hair and pale skin.
Then there is Emanuele, now making his way into the circle to join me on the dance floor. His suit the same color as mine has gone, leaving him with his black dress shirt and baby blue pants.
I didn’t know I still remembered the dance moves we had practiced for his wedding after so many years, but as he began to dance, I found my body moving on its own in sync with him.
When we spin to high-five each other, my mind traps it all: the shimmers of the crystal lights, the guests and the touches of laughter on their faces, the intimacy of the moment, the music, the waft of the spices from the food, the prickling of spilled champagne, the music blaring through the speakers. Tears swell in my chest, but I tamp them down.
This is everything I have ever wanted but couldn’t dare to wish for.
This is all the life I had wanted.
I wish my mother were alive and here to see that I didn’t turn out that bad. I wish my father could see that I am nothing like him, that I am a different man, a better father, and that I will work until my last breath to be nothing short of the best husband and partner.
Vittoria sweeps in to take my hands and dance with me while Emanuele goes to Eva.
“You better treat her right,” she smiles, swinging from side to side. “I will kill you if you mess up,” she delivers her threat casually, and I chuckle.
I know she would. But she will never have to.
Instead, I nod and then tip my head as she draws away to get Emanuele, and Eva comes back to me.
“I love my wedding,” she throws her arms over my shoulders. “I love my husband. I love life.” She laughs so loud that hard tears spill from the corners of her eyes.
And then the music dies and the lights go off.
But outside the hall, the sky lamps are being set off, and strategic white studio lights pour on…
Eva quickly lifts her hand to cover my eyes. “I have a surprise for you, Husband. Close your eyes,” she giggles, and I oblige.
I hear footsteps telling me the guests are filing out, but I do as Eva asks and keep my eyes shut, allowing her to lead me out of the hall.
I try not to stumble over my feet and use all my senses to gather information about my surroundings. The instant we step outside, the air is chill, and the wind bristles over my face, whistling in my ears.
Eva wanted a beach wedding, and she got it.
Whatever Eva wants, I will scour the ends of the world to give it to her. It’s gratifying to see her smile when she gets it. That’s reward enough.
I hear gasps and soft claps, and my body pinches to open my eyes and see what they are about.
“Open them,” Eva whispers in my ear, and I take my time, peeling my eyes apart to come face to face with the best gift anyone could ever give me.
Framed photos of me, dating from years back, and all unawares.
I spin because they are everywhere on canvases. And they are not monochrome. They have their colors. In one, I’m in motion; in another, I am loading my gun; and in another, I am sitting on the stairs in the main parlor of the estate. There are so many.
Eva steps forward, still holding my hand, while Gloria hushes the crowd with the clinking of a miniature bell.
“It’s…” Eva chuckles, clears her throat, and breathes. “It has always been you, Fabio. You were the reason I wanted to capture emotions. Because every time you slipped and showed any, it felt like finding presents under the Christmas tree,” she lifts my hand and plants a kiss on the back of it, the gesture like fluid through syringe shooting into my veins to find a connection to my heart. “You are my muse, and there is no world where I would have settled for anyone but you.”
I drop my eyes, breaking eye contact as I try to gather my thoughts and self. I am one word away from crying, and I can’t do that. I can’t remember the last time I ever cried. I don’t want to make a fool of myself, but she makes it hard not to.
I try not to look around because I already feel myself getting closer to embarrassing myself. But I feel them all around me. I feel the teary eyes, the deep breaths, the admiration, and the awws.
“Fabio De Luca,” she closes the distance, standing with her body brushing against mine. “You are everything and a little too much,” she feeds me back my words. “You are enough and yet more than I could have asked for,” she lifts my hand to her face and presses it flat on her tender cheek. “I cannot predict what the future holds, but,” she drags my hand down her face until it’s pressing flat on her chest. “But as long as life allows me to, I will love you stupid,” she sniffs.
I clamp my eyes, shaking my head as I feel the wetness of the tears tickle my eyelids. I am losing it. I keep them shut, as if the action can rein the tears back.
“I love you, amore, and I will always love you because there was never anyone else for me, and in every alternate universe, there is only you,” she sniffs again. As I open my eyes to hold her face and pull her in for a kiss, my tears run free.
That’s how to break a man.
She hits me where it gets to me the most—my heart.
She hits me with what is the most effective—her love.
Before now, I would have said I don’t deserve her. But to hell with that madness. It is not that I would say I deserve her now. Instead, I will say that I will work every day to show her why I deserve her.
She will never have to doubt that I am the only one for her.
She will never have to doubt that she is the only one for me.
It’s an oath.
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