THE FRENCH KISSERS ― Thomas Shelby

epilogue

All times with him were wonderful, but the best part was always the waking up – and seeing the sun rise in his eyes first as he smiled adoringly at her.

They were as in love as two people could be – maybe even more in love than the word itself could contain. It was a love forged in the nine circles of hell but that gave them heaven, and as the seasons turned and flowers bloomed and leaves fell, it didn't fade. It grew stronger, roots stuck deep into the earth and steady branches pointed high at the sky.

They were each other's, and the world was theirs, and nothing could change that.

***

20th December 1925

Five days before Christmas, La Vie Encore Plus Rose opened to the public. It was still in the French Quarter, but far enough from the previous location that people could think of this café as something new and grand, not just a replacement of the old one. Far enough that Rose could look at it and not think of how terribly her beloved La Vie en Rose had ended.

Rose's new café quickly became one of London's hot spots, visited by artists, nobles and the general public alike. It spread over an entire building, and apart from the usual café, restaurant and pub, the new establishment also had a cinema theater, a tearoom, a ballroom for galas and musical recitals, a groundbreaking spa offering both Turkish baths and Finnish saunas, and a big open terrace on the rooftop with live music, art performances and cocktails of every flavor and color.

The building was enormous and hard to miss in the foggy-grey streets, stretching up into the sky with its Art Deco architecture and polished, modern look made of clean, rectangular lines, golden and red decorative elements and Rose's trademark floral motifs. Rose had been afraid that because the café looked different, it would also feel different, but the feeling one got once they stepped inside it was the same: a childlike sense of wonder and a chance to escape the outside world for a few hours, to leave the horrors of life behind and experience its wonders for once. It was enchantment and escapism, promised magic and guaranteed fun.

It was a fresh start and marked a new chapter in Rose's life, so she wanted to do well. She needed this to go well. Most of the people important to her were here, except for Renée and Christopher, whose baby girl, Evelyn, was still too young to travel so far. It tinted Rose's happiness with a small hue of sadness, quickly fading away when she remembered they would all reunite in France when Jules and Angeline married there later in the year. Amidst one of their illustrious concerts at Royal Albert Hall, Jules had finally proposed. The gesture had been so moving it had made it into the newspapers, their fiery kiss plastered on the front page the next day.

They were kissing now too, on a secluded corner of the café, hidden by rose pots and ivy vines, Jules long, pianist fingers buried in Angeline's silky hair. No matter how much time passed, it would always be weird to see her snarky sister like this – sweet and pliant, her mouth holding a smile that was genuine instead of treacherous, a voice that could speak softly without cracking hearts.

Against all odds, Angeline had asked Rose to be one of her bridesmaids along with their sisters – and Rose, teary-eyed and baffled yet bursting with joy, had accepted, promising her she would be well enough by then to play a sonata at the wedding.

And she had faith she would be, or she wouldn't have made such a promise. The rehabilitation treatment was going surprisingly well – even the doctor was stunned at Rose's improvement and her constant drive to do better. Although she could not yet play as deftly and as comfortably as she used to, she could already use her arm to pluck out from the violin the same sorrowful notes that she used to, something she'd never expected to do again.