Everyone remains quiet, reluctant to mar it with words.

Everyone but Stacia, who says, “O- kay… now that that’s done, can someone please tell me where to find that super-hot guy who’s dressed as a gladiator?”

Miles and Holt burst out laughing and lead her into the house, while Ava and the twins hang back with Sabine and Munoz, going over the details about the upcoming wedding, as Romy and Rayne beg to be bridesmaids.

Then Honor looks back and forth between Jude and me and says, “Okay, here’s the deal: I’m taking my Pocahontas-costumed self back inside so that you two can settle whatever it is you need to get settled. Seriously, have your little powwow, get it all out of your system, and then Jude, when you’re ready, when you’re ready to put your full attention on me, and only me, well, you know where to find me.”

I start to reach toward her, start to say that there’s nothing to settle, nothing to get out of our systems, that we’ve been through it all, that there’s no more to be said. But she turns, shoots me a look that shows she means business, so I let her go, turning my focus to Jude.

“So, Bastiaan de Kool.” I smile, hoping if I hold the look long enough, it will start to feel real. Wondering how it’s possible to feel so bleak after having accomplished so much. But I know why, and I intend to deal with that soon enough. “Out of all of your lives, was Bastiaan your favorite?” My gaze settles on his filmy white cotton shirt and paint-splattered pants.

Jude laughs, his aqua gaze on mine when he says, “Well, he is the one who got all the girls. Well, all except one.”

I look toward the window, catching Honor peering at us. Her face betraying just how anxious and worried she is at the thought of losing him to me. And while I have no way of knowing if they’re truly meant to be together for the long haul, they seem to really enjoy each other, seem to be good for each other, good to each other, and that’s all that really matters right now.

“Give her a chance,” I say, returning to Jude. And when he starts to cut in, I flash my palm, adding, “Last time, when you asked me what I thought of her, it’s no accident I didn’t answer. At the time, I really wasn’t sure. But now I am, and I think you should give her a real, genuine, full-blown, honest-to-goodness chance. She’s come a long way since I first met her, and she’s crazy about you.” I meet his gaze. “And honesly, I think you deserve someone to be crazy about you. I think you deserve all the happiness you can possibly handle.

Besides,” I shrug, “you’re no longer Bastiaan, and, despite my red hair,” I point toward my head, “I’m no longer Fleur. Nor am I Adelina, or Evaline, or Emala, or Chloe, or Abigail, or any of them. Those were just roles we played until it was time to move on to the next. And while we’ll always carry a part of them with us, we have so many more roles still to play. When you think about it, in the big scheme of things, our time together is like a dash of spice in a big cosmic soup—important for richness of flavor, but still, not quite the main ingredient. The past is over. It can’t and shouldn’t be reclaimed. All we ever have is now anyway.” I nod toward the window where Honor is waiting. “Don’t you think it’s time we embrace it?”

Jude stands before me, gives me a long lingering look, then nods in agreement. “And you?” he asks, remaining there even after I turn to walk away. “Is that what you plan to do?”

I glance over my shoulder, first at him, then down at the lotus blossom in my hand, saying, “Yeah. Starting right now.”

Chapter forty-two

On my way to Damen’s I make a quick detour.

Just one quick stop to utilize my manifesting powers while I still can.

Just one brief diversion that I hope will amount to something that Damen and I can enjoy together.

If not, then I can only assume that someone else will enjoy it for us.

But I can’t allow myself to think like that.

Can’t allow even the slightest bit of negativity to slip in.

I’m sure Damen will bear enough for the both of us, so it’s not like I need to add to it.

I wave at Sheila the gate guard, who surprisingly, considering how long I’ve been gone, just waves me right in. Then I make my way up the hill and around the series of turns, until I’m pulling onto his street. Remembering the very first time I came here—back when I was uninvited and forced to climb through an open kitchen window—only to find the place devoid of all furnishings in a way that wasn’t just empty, but eerily empty. Well, eerily empty except for the room upstairs where he kept all of his most cherished mementos from his past—a room that took me some time to learn to appreciate.

I leave my car in the drive and head for the door. Not bothering to ring the bell or knock, I just let myself in. Charging right through his enormous foyer and straight toward the stairs, knowing just where to find him, just where he goes when he’s feeling troubled like he is.

He stands at the window, his back turned to me, his gaze fixed on some faraway place, when he says, “There was a time when you thought this room was creepy. When you thought I was creepy.”

I pause by the old velvet settee, making no attempt to deny what he said. Taking in his collection of handwoven tapestries, crystal chandeliers, golden candelabras, gilt-framed masterpieces—a visual reminder of a very long, adventure-filled life—a visual reminder that what I’m about to ask of him is no small request.

“There was a time when you held great resentment toward me for what I’d done to you—for what I’d made you.”