EPILOGUE

      ‘READY?’

      Athan’s tone was a mix of encouragement and support. His arm, to which Marisa was clinging tightly, was steady as a rock. A rock she knew she could always lean on—all her life. Including this evening.

      ‘OK, let’s do it,’ he said.

      He started forward, opening the door and leading the way into the room beyond. Marisa was conscious of a slight increase in her heart rate, but that was only to be expected. She walked in, Athan at her side. Together they paused on the threshold.

      ‘Marisa!’ Ian’s voice was warm and welcoming as he hurried up to them. He bestowed his golden smile on her, and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

      His smile encompassed Athan as well, and Athan returned it. His regard for his brother-in-law had increased dramatically now that he was assured that nothing of Martin Randall’s faithless nature was in him. Ian had proved increasingly loyal and steadfast, working hard to make his new job a success, and ensuring Eva was the happiest wife in the world.

      Almost the happiest, he amended, and his glance down at Marisa at his side was rich and full with love. He felt his heart constrict. How very much he loved her! She was the centre of his world—the other half of his being …

      ‘Marisa?’

      Ian’s voice interrupted Athan’s reverie.

      ‘This is a moment I have longed for. Will you take my hand?’

      Still with an edge of tension inside her, Marisa placed her free hand in Ian’s and he closed his fingers tightly over hers. The three of them walked forward to the figure standing by the ornate fireplace on the far side of the drawing room in Ian’s family house. Though her vision was focussed on the figure standing there Marisa was conscious of Eva, sitting in the armchair beside the fire, smiling encouragingly at her.

      For a moment as Marisa approached she thought she saw a tension in the features of the figure’s face that equalled her own. She could understand its cause only too well. Then once more Ian was speaking. Not this time to Marisa, but to the older woman.

      ‘This is Marisa,’ he said. His voice was level, his gaze steady. ‘My sister.’

      For a moment time seemed to hang still. Then, with a little sound in her throat, Sheila Randall broke the tension. She held out her hands to Marisa.

      ‘My dear,’ she said. Her voice was rich with emotion.

      As Marisa took the outstretched hands, dropping her hold on both Athan and her brother, she felt an answering emotion well up in her. In Sheila Randall’s face was nothing but kindness—and the haunting of past sorrows.

      Her hands pressed Marisa’s. Her eyes looked deep into hers. ‘I sincerely believe,’ she said, ‘that your poor mother suffered as greatly as I did, and for that reason I know I can never blame her or accuse her.’ There was a choke in her voice now. ‘I can only be glad that Ian found you. So glad that you are part of our family,’ she said. Her gaze went to Athan. ‘I can think of no happier ending,’ she said.

      Marisa’s hands slipped from hers, took Athan’s waiting hands instead, and felt their warmth and strength flow through her.

      ‘Nor I,’ she agreed.

      And love, like a swelling tide, swept through her.

      With eyes only for her, his beloved, Athan lifted Marisa’s hands to his mouth, kissing them one after another, holding them close against his heart.

      ‘Nor I,’ he said.

      For an endless, timeless moment their eyes poured into each other’s. Then a soft pop drew their attention back to their surroundings.

      ‘Time for champagne,’ said Ian.

      Eva was there in an instant, holding out glasses to be filled with the gently fizzing liquid. When all the glasses were charged, Ian lifted his first, to give the toast.

      ‘To Athan and Marisa,’ he said. ‘And the triumph of true love.’

      It was a toast that no one there objected to.