Epilogue
Ten Years Later
Vegas hasn't changed much.
It's a strange thing to realize while walking down the same street you and your husband last saw ten years ago, and neither of you are able to recognize a single business. But their replacements have all been so similar in type, even so, virtually nothing is really different. The only explanation is – Vegas is Vegas, and it always will be.
But it's an even stranger thing to realize when the only reason you're back in Vegas at all is the opening of the city's very first location of the themed restaurant you both work for - which just so happens to have been built on the exact piece of land that used to contain the hotel you stayed at for your honeymoon.
Jamie smiles at me as he opens the door into the big stage/arena enclosure for this new Castle Leoch. We soft-launch in seventy-two hours, so almost everyone around us is in a major flurry to get things done – but our anniversary is tomorrow night, so Jamie is feeling romantic, and more than a little nostalgic.
He leads me out to the middle of the stage area, to the raised platform free of hay bales, sand and sawdust, and gestures to some unseen sound-tech people.
The speakers pop and crackle into life, and a slightly distant, slightly tinny music starts playing -
". . . it's only a paper moon,
Sailing over a cardboard sea.
But it wouldn't be make-believe,
If you believed in me. . ."
I grin as Jamie sweeps me into his arms. It's the same song we danced to the very first time we ever danced together – in that grubby little club we ended up at right after getting married.
All these years, and he's remembered. . .
Which means Jamie hasn't changed much either.
There hasn't been a single minute in all that time when he's ceased impressing me.
I look up as sounds start coming from a VIP booth up on the restaurant level. It is cheerful, teasing applause, mixed with rather impressively loud wolf-whistles.
I grin, and shake my head.
Mum and dad and Lamb haven't changed at all. Neither have Joe and Gail.
I see Young Alec and his husband and their two boys are up there too, and as I watch, Colum appears, his wheelchair being pushed by his wife, Leticia. I'm glad to see them here – I wasn't 100% certain they'd accept the invitation they were sent. But here he is – grim-faced as usual, but a mostly benevolent presence nonetheless.
He retired from Leoch Foods almost two years ago, now. To Dougal's great relief, he did not appoint Jamie to be his successor. But, to Dougal's even greater chagrin, he did appoint me.
I feel a little bit of pity for poor old Dougal. Not much, but a little. He's probably the only one of the family who won't be here for opening night. A strange thing to say about Leoch Food's most natural grandstander. The man can speechify, I'll give him that, but I don't think he ever made a plan in his life that didn't backfire in some way. Even his marriage to Laoghaire six years ago had only lasted three weeks. And what a three weeks that had been! It's one thing to make the news for losing a harassment case, like he had with me, but it's something else entirely to make the news for being cheated on – while on your honeymoon – by a wife half your age – with three men at once – while they were making videos for her wildly popular OF page - and having the clip of you finding them go viral.
And there was also an anaconda involved somewhere in there, but I was never certain how. . .
The poor man has barely left his New York penthouse ever since, and I think he's earned a little bit of my pity. Taken all together, I'm more than a little thankful for him too, really. If he hadn't been such a scheming bastard, I might never have met Jamie at all.
But he had been, and Jamie and I did meet, and our longstanding, quiet, steady happiness must be the most galling thing about us, to Dougal.
I smile a little. That much, he deserves.
The very minute Jamie learned I was Leoch's new CEO, he had immediately started the process to move us to Scotland. With the twins just about to start university – Bree going for landscape archaeology in Munich, and Fay for commercial illustration in Florence – not to mention Fergus saying he would like to go for a degree in English Literature from Edinburgh in a few years - us living in Europe for a while would be a good idea anyway, Jamie had said, and besides, "A company's evan worse ta see to long-distance than a bairn, Sassenach. Best be on the spot, aye?"
I had smiled, agreed, and then went to feed Wee Ian, who had just woken up for his four-thirty nurse.
It had taken a good six months to move us all and get settled in properly, especially with a newborn in hand, but we'd done it.
And one of the very first things I'd done as CEO was buy this place.
The land had been on my radar for years – the old Highland Glen Hotel and Casino having gone out of business two years after we stayed there, and the property being totally dead on the market ever since. If we moved cautiously, we very likely could get it for a good bargain. I had long thought Leoch needed a location in Vegas, and once I had settled into my new position, looking into acquiring that seemed the logical first step to make. So, I called the owners, and made a cautious opening bid.
And they had been so desperate, they accepted that offer – a horribly low figure I never dreamed they would jump at like they did. I was expecting a hard negotiation, a drawn out bidding process - but apparently all they wanted was out. I'd had the land surveyed and assessed at once – anyone willing to accept a price like that had to have a terror on their hands – but no. Everything was about as might be expected after years of standing empty. The owners just wanted out. I'd shrugged, and finalized the sale.
Nearly all of the old building had needed to be pulled down, sadly. Years of neglect and decay had taken their toll. But the foundations were still sound, and rebuilding on a previously developed piece of land is nearly always cheaper and easier than breaking new ground, and so in less than two years, stables and horse pens, and practice stages and kitchens, and staff accommodations, and gift shops and arcades, and one of the biggest restaurants by footprint in all of Vegas replaced the old, kitschy and rather commonplace hotel and casino.
The big double doors slam open behind us, and our wee William darts pasts us, pursued hotly by Fergus, who is yelling, "William Henry Elias Fraser, give me back my phone!"
William only laughs and runs harder, but his seven-year-old legs cannot keep ahead of Fergus's sixteen-year-old ones for long, and soon he's been tackled into a large pile of straw on the other side of the stage, the two boys rolling and wrestling playfully, laughing and chaffing each other good-naturedly.
"Let yer brother up, Fergus!" Jamie calls, after letting the roughhouse play go on for a generous minute or two.
Fergus responds with a pert few phrases of decidedly non-English words.
"Cheeky wee plague!" Jamie snorts, "I kent I'd regret lettin' ye take French!"
"Aye papa!" Fergus laughs, and with exaggerated care and a playful cuff or two, sets William on his feet – after extracting his phone from his younger brother's grip, of course.
Despite everything, I decide, even Fergus hasn't really changed much.
Jamie confessed to me recently that, to begin with, he'd been worried he wouldn't be able to love our eldest son enough. That he'd miss Marsali too much to give him the support he needed. I had only smiled and kissed him, saying I could have told him even back then that such a worry was misplaced. I knew it had been clear to both of us from the very first moment Fergus told us who he really was that Marsali had only ever been a performance – an alias, a costume, a dress he'd been told to wear so often, he'd thought for a long time that he had no other options – that he was trapped forever behind the mask imposed upon him by a birth mother who only ever saw the surfaces of people, and not for any benevolent reasons, either.
I knew then just as well as I know now that Jamie was not and could never be the sort of man - and much less the sort of parent – who would fail to see the torment in that, or refuse to do anything about it. Of course he'd be able to love Fergus enough. Marsali was Fergus, and always had been.
Thankfully though, most of the changes had happened in a simple, undramatic fashion, not only giving us all more than enough time to acclimate, but to rejoice in how. . . ordinary the whole process ended up being. . . Usually. Haircuts and wardrobe changes happened relatively quickly, but those were mostly uncomplicated anyway. Hobbies and friend groups were not, and there were some inevitable tears along the way with them, very naturally. But the big one was that it had taken until I was pregnant with Wee Ian for the name Fergus to become an absolutely settled thing. First there had been a long stretch of him asking to be called Solly, instead of Sally, and Sol for short, instead of Sal. But then, when I'd had William, he'd wanted to be introduced to his new brother as Claudel, confessing that this was the name he'd thought of himself as for years - instead his original middle name of Claudia. And then he'd wanted to be St. Cloud, and then Pink Cloud, and briefly several other unconventional things, during that very confusing time for all of us – puberty. Fergus had been a fairly steady choice for his new middle name by then, but it didn't enter the running for first name until quite late in the day.
The moment of finality came on his fourteenth birthday, when he'd told Jamie and me he'd made his decision at last, and gave us the name he legally wanted to change his to, and that being so, he didn't know what to wish for anymore - that the only birthday wish he could ever remember making was to wake up the next morning a boy. And now that it was about to come true, he wanted to give his wish to Jamie, since he'd never seen his father make a birthday wish at all.
Jamie told me later that at that moment, he had felt the very last bits of anger and resentment towards Annalise slip away, her presence entirely gone, his revenge utterly complete.
But what our son didn't know was that he was making one of my longstanding wishes come true, because ever since then, Jamie has let me throw him a birthday party.
Well, a public one, anyway. He's let me give him something special for his birthday privately for years. . .
After that though, things settled down significantly, and two months after Fergus Claudel Julian Fraser became official, Wee Ian Lambert Edward Fraser was born, and Jamie and I had our even half-dozen – Faith, Brianna, Fergus, Joan, William, and Ian.
Our dance ends, and Jamie leads me upstairs to our huge, lavishly appointed CEO suite. There are five bedrooms, three bathrooms, a full kitchen, and a dining room with a window overlooking the performance stage. It's the most VIP experience Castle Leoch has to offer, and our family is installed in it.
Mary greets us as we walk in, not-quite-two-year-old Ian on her shoulder.
"Problem?" Jamie asks.
"N-no. J-just a fuss. He f-fell and bumped his l-lip on a chair. N-no damage, just n-needed a good cry."
Jamie goes over and gives our smallest son a soothing few pats on the back, "We'll be going down ta lunch in the family's VIP booth soon – d'ye want me ta take him?"
Mary nods, and hands Ian to Jamie, going off to her own room to get ready.
Five years ago she'd married Xander Denys, a curate at the little Anglican church she attends every Sunday. She hadn't wanted to give up working for me, but did want to give up Leoch then, since being my PA was a full-time job, and she wanted some more flexibility. I'd told her this was only natural, and that since Mrs. Bug had retired the year before, I needed help with the kids. Mary only too gladly stepped into the role, and she and Xander have been members of the family ever since.
The moment she disappears, Bree and Fay come clattering into the living room, arguing companionably about who-knows-what -
"Bu' why canna I see yer phone? Ye texting Roger again?" Fay teases.
"No," says Bree, a shade too quickly, and with a thoroughly revelatory blush, "Are you texting Louise?"
Fay blushes too, "No! And whoever said I was c'n-"
"Jesus, Mary an' Bride, what is it wi' ye chickadees an' phones taday?" Jamie laughs loudly at them, amused and frustrated all at once, "By all that's braw, I dinnae care who is texting who – if they arenae spoon material they're nowt. Now, go get ready for lunch, the lot of ye!"
He points, and they obey.
A week and a half ago, while we'd still been at our home in Inverness, the Lallybroch folks had sent Jamie and I over a lovely case of a dozen antique silver Apostle spoons. An anniversary present from Jenny and her Ian. We'd opened the package in front of our chickadees, and they all loved them nearly as much as we had. The evening ended with Jamie and I deciding a pair of them will go to each of our children upon their marriage – one for each of them, and one for each of their eventual spouses. Because everyone in our family knows, and better than most, that when you marry someone, you marry their family too.
Whoever our chicks choose to marry, those people will then become our children, and just as deserving of an antique spoon.
It is an odd thing to think that I've only ever been pregnant twice, but will still end up having had a dozen children. . .
"Wumma?"
Jo-Jo might be thirteen, but her voice and manner are still that of a ten year old. That she's only about as tall as one helps the illusion too. But she doesn't let any of that stop her. Sweet she is, and gentle and kind, but she is also loud, and bold, and ferociously capable. Tiny she may be, but even Bree looks up to her.
"Yes, my sweet?"
"Hamish and some of his friends have invited me down ta the arcade for lunch. Since I'm family I c'n have a free-to-play bracelet too – no tokens needed! - but we do havta buy our own lunches – c'n I have some money, Wumma?"
I smile a little sadly, as I reach for my purse. Joanie is the only one who calls me Wumma anymore. The rest of our older chicks started calling me mum after they were old enough to understand what Annalise had done to Jamie. Will and Ian have never called me anything else. Mum is all they know. But wee Jo-Jo barely remembers her birth mother. Calling me Wumma is very nearly all she knows, so she's hung on to the name, when everyone else has let it go.
I hand our middlest chick a coin purse with a few twenties tucked into it.
"You'd better put a scooter in your cabooter, kiddo. Time's a-wastein'!
Joanie laughs at me, "Oh, Wumma! You're so silly!"
Then she kisses my cheek, gives Jamie a flying hug, and bounds off to be with her friends.
Jamie watches her go, Ian in his arms, a sweet smile in his eyes.
"Bairns are all the same, Sorcha. And yet, there is nae end ta their variety."
"You've got that right."
The rest of us go down to lunch in the VIP booth.
Hours later, Jamie and I make it back to our rooms, a little slyly. Everyone else is watching a rehearsal showing of Leoch's Culloden re-enactment. They were all so engrossed, Jamie and I found we could sneak away without anyone noticing.
And so we did. . .
Jamie locks the door of our bedroom behind us, and flips on the lights.
And Vegas hasn't changed much.
This is a big, important suite, and built on the very same ground that our honeymoon suite had been. Of course there is still an over-the-top use of tartan that nowhere truly Scottish ever uses. Of course there is still a focus on golf and whiskey and bagpipes that isn't really Scottish either. But it is a much more dignified room – more coherent, and approachable.
More. . . us.
Though, there is still an incomprehensibly enormous bed in it. . .
Well, perhaps that is like us too. . .
And, of course - because this is Vegas - there is a hot tub in the corner.
Jamie looks between me and it, and grins.
"Ye nevar did try out that wee hot tub we had in our auld honeymoon suite way back when, Sorcha. . ."
I smile softly, remembering, "No, I didn't. I had. . . other occupations on my mind at the time."
His eyes sparkle delightfully, "Mmm. So I recall. Annyway, let's fix that now, aye?"
Slowly, and with many loving, intimate touches, mischievous looks, and naughty, teasing jokes, he undresses us, and eases us both into the bubbling, steaming water. I float a little while, luxuriating in the beautiful, soft, free feelings that being naked in front of my husband have always inspired in me.
He catches hold of my hand, and floats me over to his lap. He turns on some massaging jets, and holds us in front of them, relaxing into my side, kissing my neck, and wrapping his arms around my shoulders.
Ten years haven't changed us much either.
My heart still flutters at the sight of him. My lips still tingle after he kisses me. My hands still yearn to touch his skin. . . to hold his chest against mine. . . to caress his back, his sides, his hips. . . He's still the most delicious man I've ever laid eyes on, and my whole self still hungers for him, body and soul, night and day.
I still make him laugh, he still makes me forget my own name.
And he still makes me waffles after he does it, too.
I slip my hand into his, and contemplate our entwined fingers. We are like that. So closely knit it is impossible to imagine us apart, now.
Sometimes I think back to that spring morning, ten years ago – before Dougal asked me for a favor, before I'd met this love of my life, before the idea of marrying for a Green Card was anything more than a quaint, fanciful story my father used to tell about the foolish boy he'd been thirty, forty, fifty years in the past.
Before I was a mother. Before I was a wife. Before my world changed.
Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if Dougal had ever had any sense, or at least not nearly as much audacity. Sometimes I think Jamie and I would have met anyway – the sort of love we share certainly feels inevitable enough. But I often wonder if that's really so. I wonder if the world as a whole would have been in any way different if we'd never met.
Probably not. . .
Yet sometimes, I think back to old Mrs. Graham, and how she'd said we were infinite soulmates, destined and predestined to meet in all possible universes, and in all possible timelines.
I have no way of knowing if that's even the least bit true, of course.
But with Jamie at my side, I don't need to. We're together here and now, and that is enough.
It has always been enough.
It always will be.
Fin
