Liars and Liaisons by Sav R. Miller

EPILOGUE

A sea of young, enthusiastic, unspoiled faces stare at me from varying spots around the auditorium. The lights in the audience are kept low to keep distractions from a minimum as I begin my lecture.

Up the stairs at the top of the room, the four doors leading inside are locked. That’s my policy; five minutes after our course is scheduled to begin, and my TA bars access until class is dismissed. Punctuality is important, especially when it comes to learning music theory.

I say as much to the students, and as always, there’s one in the front who raises their hand. “Ms. Singh,” I reply, leaning a hip on the edge of the shiny Baldwin on stage with me. “I beg of you to hold your questions until after I’m finished.”

She lowers her arm, smoothing a hand over her short, spiked black hair, acting as if that was her intent in the first place.

Turning back to the curtains behind me, I gesture toward the projection highlighted on the red velvet material. “Your textbooks and curriculum will try to over-complicate certain concepts when it comes to music. Like harmony, for instance. Understanding harmony is the key to creating a palatable score, or adding lyrics, or even just playing for yourself in your dorm while you try to ignore your roommate and the fourth girl they’ve brought home this week.”

Chuckles echo through the room, and I give the class a small grin in return.

I’d forgotten how much I loved teaching.

The reason I entered the field in the first place, while in part to separate myself from my family, was because I wanted to help others recognize their full potential, and cultivate talent.

I hadn’t planted the seedlings, but I was certainly going to help them grow.

Granted, my return was a bit delayed on account of everything that happened after my father and brother’s deaths. In the interim, I assisted Sonny in overturning Ezekiel’s assets, dissolving any lingering partnerships or contracts he had with varying artists and labels between LA and New York, and generally latching onto any spark of creativity I could find once the James estate was condemned.

It didn’t burn to the ground like my father and Nate wanted it to. At least, not right away.

I had to go back a few times to make sure all fourteen-thousand square feet was nothing but a pile of ash. Not to mention, keeping the fire contained was an effort in itself. One I had to recruit Duris’s city fire fighters in.

After everything, I wasn’t sure it’d be enough. The damage that the pair had done to not only my psyche but to those around me—I thought it was too much. Too daunting to ever recover from.

I was underestimating the power of a muse. A gift bestowed upon me by the cosmos themselves, as if my musical ability is some vital part of the universe that cannot be replicated or lived without.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway. A musician is nothing without his God complex.

It helps that she makes me feel like her god, too. Even if she says she doesn’t believe in Him, still. She believes in me.

And I don’t really give a shit what she believes in otherwise. I’ll be her god any day.

For the rest of our eternity, if she wants.

As I lean over the desk to switch to the next slide, I feel the distinct pressure of a velvet box against my thigh. A bead of sweat breaks out along my brow, and I wipe it with a forearm, ignoring the anxiety mounting in my chest.

She’ll say yes.

There are no other options for the little raven-haired vixen.

Partway through the lesson, I glance down at my watch and notice the time. Since I refuse to be late to this, I dismiss the class early and gather my things, sending Ms. Singh on her way and pretending not to notice when she slips in through the departing crowd.

My teeth grind together slowly as I shuffle some papers, then slide them into my satchel and sling the bag over my shoulder. I’m hoping to evade her presence altogether the way I do most afternoons, but this time she’s persistent.

White blonde hair fills my peripheral vision, and she clears her throat. It carries in the nearly-empty auditorium, and I’m momentarily taken back to the first time we ever stood in this room together. Back then, I’d stopped her from leaving, and altered the course of our reality forever.

I don’t stop to talk to her, and she doesn’t wait for me to. Instead, she falls in step as I walk past. She takes twice as many stairs as I do and is breathing heavy by the time we exit into the hall, but that doesn’t deter her.

Not even when I reach my office on the other side of the building, and attempt to shut the door on her. I see her slip in like the little ghost she is, and stand across from my desk with her arms over her chest, silently waiting for an opening.

“You look thin,” I say, sorting my papers into the filing cabinet behind my desk. “Is my mother not feeding you enough?”

Sydney’s exhale fills the room, rife with agitation. She’s likely used to this line of questioning by now; it’s typically as far as I allow our interactions to go.

“I am very grateful to Penelope for taking me in,” she says, like she’s reading from a pamphlet. “But I didn’t come here to discuss her.”

“No, why would anyone want to talk about the new face of the James family?”

She fell into the role rather seamlessly, too. As though she’d simply been waiting for my father’s end, in order for her life to finally begin.

I don’t begrudge her the fresh start. Or even that she felt the need to help Sydney after everything she’d been through herself. That was the story she told, after everything finally settled; that she’d seen a young girl in trouble, on the cusp of utter ruin at the hands of Ezekiel James, and wanted to do something to stop it.

The way no one had been able to for her.

I just wish they hadn’t kept it a secret from me.

Sydney, especially. She was a sister to me, and she hadn’t felt she could ask me for assistance at such a crucial time in her life. I’ve never felt so completely useless.

She’s still standing in front of my desk when I turn around, rocking on her heels. I note the slight, translucent circles beneath her blue eyes, and the little sapphire pendant around her neck, but I don’t mention either one.

We never do.

Micah’s memory is a silent presence we’ve somehow learned to live with. Not a ghost, exactly, but the weight of consequence. Like a small, puffy white cloud that hovers everywhere you look.

“Go ahead.” I roll my chair out from under my desk and sink into it, bracing my elbows on the broad wooden surface.

Sydney’s brows arch. “Go ahead and what?”

“Say your piece. That’s what you come here so often for, right? To explain yourself and beg my forgiveness?”

“I don’t need your forgiveness.” That cloud drifts closer, blotting out the sun. “But yes, I would like the chance to explain. Are you actually going to let me this time?”

“What new information are you planning to enlighten me with?”

She blinks. “I-I don’t have any—”

“Right, and I’m not particularly interested in rehashing the same story five thousand more times.” Steepling my fingers together, I point them in her direction. “I understand why you did it. You were pregnant, my father didn’t want the baby, and you didn’t know what else to do. People have faked their deaths for less than what my father was capable of, to be honest. I’m not angry with you because of your circumstances. I’m not even angry with my mother or Priya for helping. I’m…”

Trailing off, I spend a few seconds searching for an adequate word to describe what I’m feeling, and come up empty. The truth is, I lost a lot more than a couple of family members at the height of the Sydney fiasco.

There were months I spent unsure if I would ever play an instrument again. Unsure if I could still make music—the one thing that had been my solace when my father was making my life miserable.

People died because of Sydney. Not just her sister, but her peers. People I thought I was enacting a fiery vengeance on, and it turned out that there was none to even be had. Not on them, at least. Their crimes were proxy, and I became their unfaltering judge and executioner.

Meanwhile, she was in the house the entire time and just watched.

“Disappointed,” she finishes for me, after a long pause.

I don’t say anything, internally grunting as I try the word on for size.

I suppose I am.

Clearing my throat, I check my Rolex and realize that if I don’t leave in the next three minutes, I’ll undoubtedly be late. And as much as I enjoy ruffling the feathers of my girlfriend on a normal day, I need Violet in a good mood for later.

“This was fun,” I say, pushing to my feet with a single rap of my knuckles on the desk. “But I’m afraid I have a very important matter to attend to.”

She follows me out of the office, hovering still as I lock the door behind me. When I start off in the direction of the parking lot, she remains at my side.

I cut her a sharp glance. “If you’d been this loyal to me years ago, perhaps you’d be playing in the New York Philharmonic instead of nipping at my ankles like some sort of dog.”

A short scoff. “So, you are angry.”

“I am disappointed in your wasted potential.”

The Massachusetts sun is incandescent as I push open the university’s doors, lifting a hand to shield myself. Arsen sits behind the wheel of a sleek, black Town Car, its engine purring lightly as it idles at the curb.

Sudden pressure at my elbow keeps me from heading down the stairs. I look over my shoulder as Sydney grips my cashmere sweater in her bony fingers.

“I tried, you know.” She swallows, looking up at me with half-lidded eyes. Blue eyes that haunt me, still, the way I’m sure they haunt her. “To get your attention. Your mother wouldn’t let me out of the room, because she said the more people that found out, the less likely I was to stay a secret. She knew your father and brother hadn’t bought the death story, so she was super strict about that stuff.”

Astute observations from a woman who didn’t seem to notice that her son was being beaten bloody as a child.

“Priya only knew because Penelope couldn’t be there as often without arousing suspicion, and since you gave Priya unfettered access to the estate, it was easy for her to slip in and bring me stuff like food, toiletries, books. Especially when you were throwing the parties.” She pauses, her eyes growing distant for a moment. “But I did try. I knew how my death affected you. I watched, every time you’d go to the room and just stand around, silently seething. I could see you deteriorating, so I picked up that god-awful, out of tune flute in the room and would sit by the air vents, playing. The sound was atrocious, but for me, it was… better than nothing.”

The melody.

The one that seemed incessant, ricocheting off the interior walls of my skull. A constant reminder of what I’d thought I lost.

How desperate I was for it to end.

“I know what I did was wrong,” she adds, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ears. “And I can’t take it back. I can’t revive my sister, who died because I brought her into this world.”

Her voice is laden with heavy, insurmountable guilt.

I know the feeling.

“I’m not asking for your forgiveness. I never have.” She lifts a shoulder, then pulls an envelope from her inside jacket pocket. I see the university’s insignia and her name in the addressee section, and know before she’s even spoken what it is. “But seeing as how we’ll be back under the same roof in the fall, I figure a ceasefire might be a simpler request.”

My throat tightens. “You’re finishing your degree?”

She nods. “Your mother pulled a few strings.”

“Of course, she did.” I stare at the girl for a few beats, scanning the youthful face that seems to have aged decades in her time away.

Is it possible that being in hiding was harder on her than me?

Finally, I slide my sunglasses from where they’re hanging on my collar, and slip them on. “Then I’ll see you in the fall, Ms. Scott.”

It’s all I can give her for now. All I’m willing to give until I see if she’s serious about her education and career this time around.

My father and brother may be gone, but distractions will always exist.

An hour and a half later, after I’ve changed into a suit, ferried to Aplana Island, and then taken a cab to the beach, I’m focusing entirely on my one singular distraction these days. The one standing beneath the altar, adjusting a few of pink lilies twisted in the white lattice.

I don’t approach her immediately, choosing instead to admire the dark beauty she brings to the ocean scenery. Her obsidian hair is twisted in a single, loose braid that spills down her back, which is mostly visible in the sleek, form-fitting gown she has on. I trace the contours of her body, the soft curve of her hip and the side swell of her breast, taking note of every place I’ll taste later tonight.

The way I have every night—and morning—since we left the James estate.

It’s a miracle she lets me at all. That she wanted anything to do with me, after everything.

I’m not a man to discount the quiet blessings.

“You’re really bad at stalking, you know that, right?”

A smirk tugs at the corner of my lips, brought to life by the mere sound of her voice. Violet glances over one shoulder, her brown eyes warm and playful.

“Well, as it happens,” I say, adjusting the lapels of my suit jacket, “I’ve never claimed that to be my area of expertise.”

“No, that’d be mine.”

Deep laughter comes from my right, and I turn to see Aiden casually strolling toward us with the pink-haired Riley on his arm. I give a curt nod to my security advisor, then cock a brow at my nephew’s choice of attire.

She smiles at Violet, who immediately squeals and runs over to see the ring on her left hand. A fairly recent addition, and though the two girls have become rather close in the years since they first met, Riley still resides in her hometown in Maine, and Violet chose to remain on the island to be close to her brother and his family.

Still, they talk nearly every day, and I pretend not to notice the look of longing in Violet’s doe eyes.

As if she thinks we’re far behind.

Dipping my chin at my nephew, I shake my head. “Your mother would die if she knew you were wearing a hoodie beneath a sports coat.”

He shrugs, pushing up the sleeves to show off the ink and silver rings on his hands. “She’s got bigger problems since Dad started trying to reinsert himself in her life.”

Ah, yes. The things men will do when they have nothing else. Sonny took over our father’s ventures and became head of the unofficial James enterprises, but as he climbs in age and social status, I believe he’s beginning to flounder in loneliness.

We certainly didn’t get any closer, though he at least knew better than to ask questions about what happened. Or, as I more highly suspect, didn’t care enough to. With control over the family name and the businesses that accompany it, I didn’t think he’d care about anything, but perhaps there’s room for him to change, after all.

“Besides,” Aiden continues. “Mom likes that I’m consistent. She says it’s good for my brand.”

“And hoodies are a lot less trivial than sex tapes and stalking charges,” Riley adds, nudging him with her elbow. She looks up at him, blue eyes sparkling.

He snorts, then circles his thumb and forefinger around the ring on her left hand. “They were pictures, and frankly, my dick was the only thing really in focus.”

“I’m not arguing with you about this again.”

“Fine.” He squeezes her, and Violet laughs. “I’m still not apologizing for wanting the world to know you’re all mine.”

They take off to find their designated seats in the crowd of white wooden chairs before the altar. I turn to Violet, plucking a lily from the bouquet in her arms, and tuck it behind her ear.

“It’s no sunflower,” I say, my chest tightening just from looking at her. “But it’ll do, I think.”

“Hey, I tried to push the sunflower agenda on Lenny. I even told her I’d give them to her for free since we have a whole field of them, but no. Talk about your Bridezillas.”

I lean in, cupping the back of her neck, when we’re again interrupted—this time, by a deep British voice. Jonas Wolfe, the groom and brother of Aplana’s mayor, grins as he walks over, a tumbler of whiskey in hand. Alistair trails behind him in a tan suit, and a man with square glasses and an uncomfortable expression on his face isn’t far behind.

Cash Primrose, if memory serves. The lawyer married to Elena’s chaotic younger sister and the older brother of the bride.

“You knew exactly what you were getting into with Len,” Jonas says to Violet, ruffling the hair on top of her head. His blueish-purple eyes crinkle up at the edges, his dark curls tousling in the slight breeze. “I love the little puppet, but she is impossible to sway when she’s got her eyes set on something.”

“Pig-headed,” Cash snorts, though affection gleams in his dark gaze.

“As her wedding planner, I’m more than happy to take direction,” Violet says, leaning into my side slightly. I curl an arm around her waist, reveling in the sensation. “The sunflowers were just one of many suggestions.”

“I want you to remember that when you’re helping Cora plan ours,” Alistair says.

Given the stunning work she’s done with Lenny and Jonas’s simple beach wedding, she’s already been recruited by several friends and residents of Aplana. Right now, she’s running the show from her little flower shop up the road from the marina, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she outgrew that space soon.

“That would mean you’d have to ask her first,” she replies.

“Oh, I’ve asked. Repeatedly.” He rolls his eyes. “She just likes hearing me beg.”

Jonas cringes.

“Could always just remove the option from her entirely,” Cash suggests, like he has experience in the area.

I wonder if every person in this odd little group came to find love in less-than-conventional ways.

Perhaps that’s the glue that keeps them all together, aside from the convoluted web of blood relations. I’ve still not been able to fully piece it together.

Alistair shakes his head, turning to find the blue-haired psychopath at the bar across the venue. She’s talking to Elena and her ballerina sister, but shoots a lopsided grin our way as if she can feel the attention shift toward her.

“Not my wheelhouse. And anyway, she’d cut off my bollocks and feed them to me if I tried.”

“True,” Violet concurs, nodding. “She’d probably make me help, too, and I just don’t want to be a part of that. I’ve seen enough blood and gore for one lifetime.”

My fingers dig into her hip. A subtle, yet pointed, reminder that she sees blood more regularly than any of them would know. There’s a bandaged wound on my chest, just below my left nipple, healing from where she bit me just two days ago.

The sweet, not-so-innocent little vampire.

Eventually, the wedding planner snaps back to reality and begins ushering people to their places. We’re in the second row beside Elena and her two daughters—the older one of which keeps her head down, headphones on, while she colors what looks like some sort of ancient sea monster attacking a ship. The younger of the two sits on her mother’s lap, sucking on a cherry-shaped lollipop and giving me the stink eye.

As Violet does her last checks with the groom and his party—consisting of his brother and Kal—I lean over to Elena and lower my voice.

“You sure you want another one?” I lift my brows at her barely-there stomach, then at the judgmental child who seems to be considering sticking the lollipop to my suit jacket.

Elena laughs, placing her palms on her daughter’s head. “I don’t know. I’ve always been sort of partial to the number three.”

“Birthday?”

She shakes her head. “There were three of us growing up. Me, Ariana, and Stella. I like the continuity of that pattern. It feels… whole.”

“Fair enough.” At the altar, Violet adjusts Jonas’s pink tie, and then signals to Aiden’s band to begin the wedding processional.

“Besides,” Elena says. “This one’s a boy. I can feel it. So, he’ll undoubtedly offset my spoiled girls with a broody disposition to rival his father’s.”

I grin, leaning back in my wooden chair just as Violet makes her way to us and the march down the aisle begins. First is Ariana in a soft pink sheath dress, followed by Cora in a dress that matches in color but is strapless and much shorter.

They take the opposite side of the altar, clutching a bouquet of daisies and white lilies that I know for a fact Violet’s been growing in the garden outside our home. We bought a gothic revival close to the beach, about midway between the south and north sides of the island. She’s spent nearly every second outside, transforming the once-plain grounds into Aplana’s own little rainforest.

Next is Lenny Primrose, who looks stunning in a white mermaid gown, sequined with soft pink crystals that shimmer with each step she takes. She’s flanked on either side by Cash and his twin, who grows more teary-eyed by the second.

Violet rests her head on my shoulder when Lenny’s brothers hand her off, and Alistair steps up between them, beginning his speech on the sanctity of love and how rare it is to find someone who accepts every single piece of you. The dark bits, just as much as the light.

The ceremony only lasts a few minutes total, and then there’s the customary celebration of the new Mr. and Mrs. Jonas Wolfe. Aiden tries to recruit me to play a few songs, but I refuse, suddenly too nervous to do anything other than sway with the woman I love in the sand.

My hands are clammy on Violet’s hips as I turn her, forgetting every piece of formal ballroom training I had when I was younger.

I dip her slowly, pressing a heady kiss to her red lips while she’s tipped backward. Her hands raise, fingers tangling in my hair, and when I pull back she’s grinning wide.

“Is that a ring in your pocket, or are you just happy to be done with the ceremony?”

I blow out a long breath, then nod. “Marry me.”

She blinks. “Is that a question?”

“It’s—well, no. I mean, you can say no, but I’m hoping—praying, really—that you’ll say yes. To the non-question. To being my muse permanently, the way I used to ask the universe for. Just agree to be mine forever, Violet. Legally. Figuratively. In any way possible.”

“You prayed for me?”

“Not in so many words,” I say, straightening so we’re both standing again, moving rhythmically in the breeze. “But my soul did. It knew it needed yours long before my brain caught up to the message.”

She purses her lips. “Well, if our souls are connected, it wouldn’t be fair of me to deny you.”

I pause, gripping her tight. Pulling her flush against me, hot flesh to hot flesh. “It isn’t nice to tease, dirty girl.”

Leaning up on her tip toes, she presses a searing kiss to my lips. I’m tossed back in time to our first one, how my entire earth shifted on its axis with the mere meeting of our mouths. How nothing has ever been the same since.

“Fine, Grayson James. I’ll marry you.” She grins, big and wide and full of fucking sunshine.

And not for the first time since meeting her, I feel a little bit of that light inside of me too.

* * *

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