So this got a bit out of control. There will be a second part to the epilogue, as it sort of took on a life of its own. Sorry about that, or not.

Thanks for reading!

Sookie

I sat crosslegged on the bed, smiling as Eric rehearsed his speech for the millionth time.

"You're nervous."

He raised an eyebrow at me and set his notes on his dresser. "For someone that speaks in front of hundreds of people all the time, I'm ridiculously nervous."

I patted the spot next to me. "Come to bed. You've still got a couple of days to perfect it, and I think it's pretty good."

"What can I stand up there and say that's of any value? I've only known her for less than a third of her life. Her other father should be doing this." He paced a bit, looking for about the millionth time at the wedding bands that he'd been entrusted with for Ceci, who was serving as first flower girl and ring bearer, with Gaby trailing behind. Max had opted for the very adult role as usher when given the option.

I shook my head, and stood up behind him, snaking my arms around his waist. "He hardly knows her at all now. He doesn't know Johan, and they hardly speak. And she asked you. You're the one she wants."

"It's not enough that I have to say it. I have to stand up in front of the man that raised her in my absence and pretend that I did my job. To everyone there that doesn't know, they'll just think I'm her dad, and that those eighteen years never happened."

I rested my head on his back, listening to his heart beat through his chest. I wasn't sure what to say about that. It wasn't untrue, and for everyone in Stella's life now, Eric was her dad. He was the one that was paying her tuition, the one who she spent holidays with. The one who was footing the bill for the wedding. They had the same last name, until Saturday, anyway.

But I knew that he still beat himself up over those eighteen years. I don't think it was something he thought of every day, but when our kids reached a milestone, and Stella was around, it was plain as day, the guilt he felt. I'd never forget when Max lost his first tooth and Eric spent a whole day with Stella shopping in the Village.

Eric hated nothing more than shopping. Except maybe the Village.

"Maybe you and Gus can do a speech together."

"What, he can do the first two thirds, and I'll wrap it up?" He shook his head. "I don't think she wants that. I don't even know if people really know what happened, the people she knows now, anyway."

"Who is coming from Sweden?"

"Gus, her siblings, Ingrid's mother. Some of her school friends that needed an excuse to have an American vacation. Johan's people."

"There's nothing you can do about any of it, you know. I know that's kind of a bitchy thing to say, but there isn't. And you've done what you could to make it right when you knew. It's not your fault you didn't know. We could sit here and play what ifs all night. What if you'd been a terrible father at eighteen? What if you and Ingrid had got your shit together and made a go of it..."

"That would never have happened," he said with a chuckle. "We were far, far too far gone by then. Ingrid and I were never right for each other. We just had chemistry, probably because I didn't know what it was like to have chemistry with anyone else then. And you're right, I know you are, but I don't know. This just feels off. I'll feel like I earned it with Ce. I don't with her."

"But you're the one she chose. And you don't know what kind of a father Gus was. He certainly hasn't been much of one to her recently. I'm not sure who is more at fault there, him or her, but they haven't made it work. You and her? You've made it work, and you've had more odds against you."

"I don't like the olive in the kitchen," He said, turning around and pulling me to his chest. "Can we pick another colour?"

"Right now?"

"Tomorrow. Before people come."

I looked up at him, confused. "You want to paint the kitchen?"

"I want us to paint the kitchen. Pam can keep the kids for the afternoon, and it'll be dry by the time this place turns into wedding central on Saturday. I think it would look better in Navy, or maybe a dark beige. The green looks weird with the stainless appliances."

"Why don't you tell me how you really feel?" I said, in mock anger, crossing my arms.

"I did. I think if we'd talked about it, we wouldn't have picked olive. I know you were matching it to the rafters, and not the appliances."

"If you really, really want to pain the kitchen, and you'll feel better if it's a different colour, then fine. We'll do it. But no navy. Beige." I thumbed through my closet and pulled out a trench coat. "This beige. Not too dark."

He examined the fabric, nodding. "Fine. Yes, that will work."

I hung up my housecoat and crawled until the covers. "Now come to bed. I'll make it worth your while."

He glanced at me, and his eyes stopped at my chest, which was fairly on display in the heavily air conditioned room. We were spending a fortune to stay cool this year. More than ever before.

"Oh yea?"

I tugged off my thin tank and smiled at him. "Yea. We can do whatever you want."

"Whatever I want?"

I nodded, enjoying the bit of control that had crept into his voice after the uncertainty it had been laced with for the past day. "Whatever you want."

He tossed his t-shirt in the hamper and sat down on the bed, his expression thoughtful as his eyes travelled over my chest and down to my stomach. "I want to see you. All of you."

I smiled demurely and shoved the blankets down, before hooking my thumbs around my underwear and tossing them in the hamper.

We were good again, him and I. And not in a band-aid over the problem way. In a cut it open and stitch it up kind of way, complete with dissolvable stitches that went away all on their own, leaving a clear expanse of skin with the tiniest hairline scar. One that wouldn't even be noticeable to the untrained eye.

We'd know it was there, of course. We'd put the stitches in.

And when it came to us, we were the most skilled surgeons in the world.

"Hands over your head," he murmured, his eyes scanning my body, pausing briefly at all the key areas. As most women, I imagined, anyway, I spent a lot of time critiquing my body, but when he looked at me, with that hungry expression, I'd never felt sexier. I watched his face and tried to anticipate his next move.

He looked up thoughtfully, before locking eyes with me. "You've got thirty seconds to hide, and then I'm going to come and find you."

I sat up. "What?"

"You're wasting valuable hiding time." He raised his eyebrows. "Go."

A part of me wanted to sit there and argue with him, to make some statement about how childish and silly his game was, but as I sat in the pair of underwear I'd managed to have the sense to tug on in the linen closet in the upstairs bathroom in the pitch dark house, my heart pounding away, I could hardly wait to see what the hell he was going to do when he found me.

Despite the lack of hiding places, it took him about ten minutes to find me, and each time I heard him open a door closer to where I was, my adrenaline picked up a little more and my mind raced, wondering what he had planned when he actually found me.

When he whipped the door open, I screamed, before clamping my hand over my mouth.

And he pulled out his Iphone. "Nine minutes and forty seconds. That's impressive."

My heart still pounding, I crawled out of the closet and stood in front of him, curious about what he was going to do now.

He simply looked at me some more, a grin on his face.

"What now?" I finally asked.

"Sit on the edge of the tub."

I did, and he quickly shoved my panties down and practically dove between my legs.

For exactly nine minutes and forty seconds. I was brought out of my euphoria by a beep on his phone and his skilled tongue's absence from exactly where I wanted it to be.

"Huh?" I choked out, unbracing myself from the tub.

"You better hide better. I'll give you a minute this time." He tossed me my underwear.

"I didn't know what we were..." I gasped, momentarily confused, until I realized that once again the clock was counting down. "Shit."

I slammed the bathroom door behind me, and took off for somewhere I'd once realized I could fit when Lily had braced herself behind there during the fourth of July fireworks. Behind the couch.

This time seemed longer. It wasn't obvious on first glance that I could squeeze back here. To the untrained eye, it looked nearly flush with the wall.

I could hear him walking around, and I honestly couldn't remember the last time I'd been so turned on. I was surprised we'd never thought of this before. We'd been in the Hamptons without the kids tons of times, but we'd never thought of this.

"Sookie? Come out, come out where ever you are," Eric said, in a sing songy voice. "I've got something for you."

I snickered at that, before clamping a hand over my mouth. It was such a cheesy and ridiculous thing to say, that I could hardly help myself, and I giggled as quietly as possible, until I saw his face peering in at me.

"Gotcha," he whispered, moving aside so I could crawl out. "You need to work on that poker face, Northman."

"How long did I last?"

He checked his phone, which was now tucked in his shorts, and one quick glance revealed that he was also enjoying the suspense.

"Fifteen minutes, Lover," he cooed. "I never would have found you back there, but you kind of gave it away."

"You're such a cheeseball, I couldn't help it," I giggled.

He tossed his phone on the coffee table, and nodded at the couch. "Lay down, and leave the panties on."

I kept my eyes on his face and sprawled out. "Okay?"

"Perfect," he replied, before moving on top of me and pushing on of my legs up into my chest as he shoved his shorts down with the other.

I gasped as he shoved the panties aside and filled me deliciously with one thrust.

"Eyes on me, Lover," he said, a commanding playfulness in his voice.

Fifteen minutes was not enough. My mind switched between enjoying the sensation that his slow deep strokes were providing, and trying to figure out where the hell I was going to hide so I could actually get off.

When his phone beep, he let out a groan as he pulled out. "I should have thought this over before I made the rules. Fuck," he whispered. "Go hide again. And please, make it somewhere good."

I adjusted my underwear, practically buzzing, I was so close. "Can't we change the rules?"

He thought about it. "Yea, sure we can. Yea, let's do that. Bed?"

"Yea, then we can just pass out." Even though we didn't have to get up with the kids, since they were at Pam's, my internal alarm clock still went off awfully early.

I nodded, squealing as I ran and he took off after me, pinning me underneath him again.

I slept late the next morning, and woke up to find Eric in a pair of disposable coveralls and a can of paint standing over the bed.

"We have until six. Pam's going to go get the kids fitted for their wedding clothes. I already primed."

"What time is it?"

"Ten. I got the quick drying paint. I figure it won't take more than an hour."

I smiled up at him, amused by the focus in his expression. My husband was certainly focused. "Give me ten minutes and I'll be out."

I cocked my head at the flawless taping job he'd done. He was on this. "Was the green really that bad?" It hadn't turned out exactly how I'd wanted it either. It was more of a pea soup than the olive I'd picked out.

"It just wasn't right for this room."

And then it hit me. I knew exactly why he wanted to paint the room. If he had to look at the green, he'd be forever reminded of the month we'd spent apart, when we hadn't talked about it, and I'd just picked a shade. I contemplated calling him on it for a minute, and talking it out, but I was sure he already knew, and now I got it.

"Alright, let's do this then." I tugged on the disposable coveralls over my sweats.

He was right. It took about an hour, and we were left with a brighter happier kitchen, and both of us stood there with smiles.

"I like it. It really goes with the countertop," he commented, looking for flaws in the the paint job.

I nodded and patted his back. "It's good, and we made good time. It'll be dry by the time the kids get back."

He nodded. "I need to pick up my suit at the dry cleaner for the rehearsal dinner tomorrow. Want to get out of the fumes and take a drive?"

"Sure."

We made an afternoon of it, getting lunch and taking care of a few last minute details for the weekend, including getting my jewellery cleaned.

We leaned on the counter as the tiny old man that ran the shop made his way to the back and vanished with my bag of bling.

"We should get married again," Eric remarked, glancing down at the case of elaborate engagement rings.

I eased my shoulder into his arm. "We don't have to get married again. I think this time has worked out just fine." I smiled as he wrapped his arm around me. "And besides, I think we both know it's the marriage that's important. Not the ceremony."

"I know. I'm just glad we're giving this a real shot."

When I thought back on leaving Bill all those years ago, versus my break from Eric, the differences were as clear as night and day. There was the slow realization that for years, Bill had sought to deprive me of something I'd always wanted, and Eric, well, Eric had given me everything I ever needed for so long, and the sharp absence of that had felt like a knife to the gut. I'd likened it to dying slowly of some disease with no cure to being shot inches from the heart in a drive-by.

The latter left one with choices.

"And I think we're doing well. We feel like us again."

"We do have a distinct feeling, don't we?" He smiled broadly, the lines around his eyes creased with years of smiling, most of which I'd had the privilege of witnessing.

I nodded vigourously. "Like cashmere covered sandpaper."

"You're ridiculous," he grinned. "Do you think it would be weird for me to do my speech in Swedish and English? At least parts of it?"

"She is your Swedish daughter. If you did a speech for one of our kid's weddings in Swedish, it might be a little weird because they wouldn't understand."

"We were really going to teach them Swedish." he shook his head. "Oh well."

"We'll just make sure they get to Ikea as much as possible. Read the Haggar the Horrible comics."

"Chow down on lingonberry and smoked salmon." He smiled at the jeweller as he handed back my cloth Tiffany bag.

We walked out into the beautiful July day and climbed into the car. I slid my rings back on, feeling naked without them even for a few minutes.

"Are you feeling better about your speech?"

He nodded. "I think I'm just going to be very upfront and gracious. I'll say what I should have said years ago."

"What's that?"

He started the car and we headed for home. "Thank you."

Sometimes he just needed a reminder that he wasn't the same boy he was once. "You know, the ultimate measure of a person is their ability to adapt and grow."

"I had a story about Ingrid to tell, but I don't think that seems right, since she was likely sleeping with Gus and I, and it was all such a mess." He shook his head. "There's no way to spin what happened with he and I that makes either of us look very intelligent."

"Maybe that's why Ingrid kept her mouth shut for so long."

"She was protecting herself. Not even Stella. Just herself. My family had money. They would have kicked in if she'd let us know. And I would have got my shit together. Not with Ingrid, mind you, but I would have been there for Stella the best I could have been. I've thought a lot about it over the years."

"What was it? The story?"

He smiled. "It was Midsummer festival in Stockholm, and we didn't go together, but we met up there. I was probably seventeen at the time, and was trying to be very cool, and pretending I didn't care that she was ignoring me, but I did. So after a few beers, my courage was stronger, and I presented her with some flowers I'd picked, and instead of being a bitch like she usually was, she smiled, and we went and sat in the grass together. She was so beautiful to me then, perhaps because I knew she'd never be mine; not really anyway, and that day she was just really sweet and open, not sarcastic like she so often was, and we talked for hours about what we wanted in the future, and she just always want to be a mom. I've thought back on that a lot since then, and probably the only thing that has made me feel okay about what happened all those years ago is that I know that Stella was always really and truly wanted, even if how it all happened wasn't exactly picture perfect."

"I think you could edit that into something presentable."

He shrugged. "Maybe."

"Do you talk about her, with Stella?"

He shook his head. "As little as possible. Even after all these years, it feels wrong somehow with what I did to talk about her the way I remember her."

"You have to give her credit, Ingrid, for seeing the raw potential in you, all those years ago. She must have seen something. I mean, you're good at sex now, but I doubt it was always the case. It couldn't have just been about that." If I had to guess, the two of them probably had great chemistry, but no ability to take it to the next level. Probably because they were both young and foolish then.

"Maybe. I always held her up on a bit of a pedestal too, until you came along and knocked her into next Tuesday."

"I remember you wanted me to meet her." I smiled over at him. "I had to say it, but if we'd met Stella, I would have wondered, just like Pam did."

"I wonder how that meeting would have gone. She probably would have been very cold towards you."

"Maybe. Or maybe she would have been pleased that you were happy."

After picking up lobster and salad fixings for dinner, we made our way home and peeled off the tape, just in time for the kids to burst through the door. We stopped them before they could run through the kitchen.

"Let's go out back and play with Lil," Eric said, both of us breathing a sigh of relief as they made their way through the kitchen without touching the mostly dry, but still tacky paint. "Are you okay to make dinner and I'll entertain them?"

"You just don't like killing the lobsters, do you?" I winked, standing in front of them so the kids wouldn't notice the massacre that was about to take place. They always wanted to play with them, and then it just felt wrong boiling them alive.

"You got me. I'll help you shell them though," he whispered, kissing my forehead before he ushered the kids outside.

It was a nice evening, a break before the wedding chaos descended on us early the next morning with a puffy-faced Stella standing over our bed in a pair of yoga pants and a ratty t-shirt. I opened an eye and shrieked, before quickly making sure we were both adequately covered.

"Gus brought a date. She's one of Mom's friends."

Eric sat up and peered at the clock on the wall. "Jesus, Stel, what time is it?"

"Seven. I thought you'd be up."

I glanced at Eric, "And I thought you'd locked the bedroom door."

"I left it open when I let Lil out at four," he grumbled. "Can you give us five minutes here, Stel? Let us pull some clothes on?"

She nodded, scuffling out. "I'll start coffee."

I pulled the blanket over my head. "So many issues. And you wanted to have another wedding? No thanks."

"I forgot he got in last night and they were all having dinner. It's going to be a long day."

"How did she even get here?"

"Drove? Maybe she slept on the couch? I have no idea."

I watched as he pulled a pair of sweats over his boxer briefs and threw on a t-shirt. "What are you going to say?"

He shrugged. "I have no idea. It's not like I've encountered this before. I guess I'll probably pat her back while she tells me how much she hates Gus, and be happy that it's not me she's hating."

"Good plan. I'm going to run out and get some pain au chocolate for breakfast and some fruit, and then pick up the stuff we ordered for lunch. Johan's people are coming over for lunch, right?" There were so many things to keep straight.

"Yea, his Mom and Step-Dad. His Dad Dad doesn't get in until tonight for the rehearsal dinner."

I was glad we were going out for that. It was a lot of people, when you factored in everyone's extended families. Brunch with the Almans wasn't going to be so bad.

I pulled on my robe, impressed that the kids were still sleeping, and that Stella had, after all these years of visiting, mastered our coffee maker. I smiled at the two of them chatting quietly in the hazy back yard, her head on his shoulder and his arm around her back.

I made a real point of not interfering in their relationship. I'd worked so hard not to be one of those stepmothers, the ones that kids, even though she was far from a kid, disliked. I never wanted to replace her mother, hell, it was physically impossible for me, since there was barely ten years between us.

But I knew, as I had on my wedding day, it was the worst kind of pain, not having your mother around.

I pondered that, wondering if there was anything I could do to make it the tiniest bit easier for her without it appearing that I was trying to fill that hole.

"Momma?" Ce whispered, rubbing her eyes. "Why is Stella here?"

I scooped her up, saying a silent prayer to whatever higher power was out there that I'd be around when Ce's turn came to get married. "She wanted to see her dad."

"My Dad."

"He's both of your dad. You know that." I tickled her a bit. "Do you want to come with me to get some breakfast for everyone? Pain au chocolate?"

Her eyes lit up. "Chocolate for breakfast? Okay."

I sent her off to dress herself, which usually went surprisingly well. I figured I had Pam to thank for that. I pulled on a sundress after a quick shower and poked my head out into the back yard.

"I've got Ce, but Max is still in bed. We'll be back in a bit. You want anything?"

They both glanced up at me, and I knew I was right, from the synchronicity in their movements. I would have seen it the moment I laid eyes on her. She was his daughter through and through.

"I think we're okay," Eric said, a smile on his face. Stella had been crying, her normally flawless skin splotchy and her eyes red. "See you in a bit."

I smiled, at Ce happily chattering away to herself about her sleepover at Pam's and how beautiful she was going to look on Saturday, and how everyone was going to take her pictures and how she was going to get her hair done.

It was kind of adorable.

The Almans were nice. Well, I guess they weren't really the Almans, since his mother had remarried. I didn't ask what they were. They were both blond, and far, far older than Eric, which I think made him feel a little better about being the father of the bride. Stella looked happy to see Johan arrive, and traded Eric's shoulder for his.

When everyone finally vanished four, I looked at our sleepy kids and sighed. It was going to be a long night at this dinner with everyone. "Nap time kiddos," I said, hopeful that we wouldn't get any arguments. "If you want to stay up late."

They whined a little before stomping upstairs and leaving Eric, Stel and I to have a minute of quiet. "Everything good with tonight?"

"Well, besides Gus bringing that whore and my sister having an awful facial piercing, everything's just fine. Johan's parent's hate each other, but I'll hoping that will balance out the dysfunction on my side." She glanced at Eric. "Who would have thought you'd end up being the most functional of them all? I bet Mom is laughing about this somewhere."

And then it happened. She started laughing. Nervously at first, releasing all the pent up feelings that were taking hold of her. And then Eric started.

And then two of them laughed for the better part of an hour, uncontrollably at times. It was infectious, and eventually I was unable to stop myself from joining in, desperately trying all the while to sush them so they wouldn't wake up the kids.

And it was then that I had a thought. I got up and came back to the living room with my jewellery box. "You need something old, new, borrowed and blue."

"Pam gave me all that stuff," she choked, still laughing, "but maybe you have something better."

I smiled, knowing I did, because I had Eric's mom's jewellery. Most of it, anyway. Pam had been interested in a few pieces, mostly the ones with a designer name stamped on them. Which left me with the pieces she bought because she liked them, and the things Eric's dad had had made for her, which, while not the most expensive, were the most interesting. And I knew Stella would take interesting over expensive.

I wasn't sure why I hadn't thought of this earlier. I guess were all so touchy about denying her her other side that we hadn't thought of playing up her being a part of Eric's family, which was clearly where she felt comfortable at this point in her life. "Go nuts. Borrow whatever you want. There's some sapphire earrings in there if you want blue. They'd go with your ring. Actually, if you like them, you should keep them."

Stella fished them out and looked at Eric, surprised. "Really?"

He shrugged, and gave me the most genuine of smiles. "Oh, I'm not much for drop earrings. I prefer studs. They're all yours if Sookie's on board. I didn't even know what was in there."

"Do you have anything of your mom's?" I asked apprehensively, hoping I didn't send anyone into tears.

She nodded. "I have a bracelet of hers. It's just tiny silver links, but I didn't want to ask Gus about bringing stuff and get into all of that."

Eric smiled, glancing at her wrist, where it was tangled up with her watch and a few other bracelets. "I remember that bracelet. I broke the clasp." He picked it up. "Look, there's a staple holding it together."

She flipped her wrist over and examined it. "Huh. I never noticed."

"Your mom was pissed at me," he said, a boyish grin on his face. "So you don't like Gus' girlfriend?"

"You know Elie," Stella said bluntly. "Of course I don't."

The colour drained from Eric's face. "Your dad is seeing Elie? Elie Borg?"

"Well she's been married three times. I have no idea what it is now." Stella crossed her arms. "But yes. I thought you might know her."

Eric was visibly shocked by hearing her name. It was curious. "They were best friends. She's here?"

"It's shocking." Stella raised her chin. "She moved right in for the kill. I don't care if Mom's been dead for eight years. Gus should have been off limits."

In some ways, Stella was a lot like Pam. She didn't give any thought to her father moving on, even after so many years, because she didn't like it. Maybe they found comfort with one another in their grief in a bad situation. I had no idea. But after a few minutes, it became apparent that their discomfort extended past Northman selfishness. Way past.

"Okay guys, what did this Elie do that's so awful. You both look like I killed your kitten."

Eric swallowed. "It's just that, well, she's got a bit of a reputation..."

Stella interjected. "She's like the black widow of Stockholm. Three rich dead husbands, all dead under unusual circumstances. It all happened when I was a kid. Ever three years or so she'd trade up. She was investigated, but nothing ever stuck. What were they, Dad?"

"I think one was electrocuted, one died of an overdose, and the other was..."

And then the colour drained from Stella's face. "Killed by a hit and run."