When He Was Wicked: The 2nd Epilogue Read Online Free

team—this was the first indication Francesca had that there were teams—because he hopped to his feet and celebrated in kind.
    Eloise opened one eye. “My child didn’t kill anyone, did he?”
    “No.”
    “No one killed him?”
    Francesca smiled. “No.”
    “Good.” Eloise yawned and resettled into her chaise.
    Francesca thought about her words. “Eloise?”
    “Mmmm?”
    “Do you ever…” She frowned. There really wasn’t any right way to ask this. “Do you ever love Oliver and Amanda…”
    “Less?” Eloise supplied.
    “Yes.”
    Eloise sat up straighter and opened her eyes. “No.”
    “Really?” It wasn’t that Francesca didn’t believe her. She loved her nieces and nephews with every breath in her body; she would have laid down her life for any one of them—Oliver and Amanda included—without even a moment’s hesitation. But she hadn’t ever given birth.
    She had never carried a child in her womb—not for long, anyway—and didn’t know if somehow that made it different. Made it more.
    If she had a baby, one of her own, born of her blood and Michael’s, would she suddenly realize that this love she felt now for Charlotte and Oliver and Miles and all the others—Would it suddenly feel like a wisp next to what was in her heart for her own child?
    Did it make a difference?
    Did she want it to make a difference?
    “I thought it would,” Eloise admitted. “Of course I loved Oliver and Amanda long before I had Penelope. How could I not? They are pieces of Phillip. And,” she continued, her face growing thoughtful, as if she had never quite delved into this before, “they are…themselves.
    And I am their mother.”
    Francesca smiled wistfully.
    “But even so,” Eloise continued, “before I had Penelope, and even when I was carrying her, I thought it would be different.” She paused. “It is different.” She paused again. “But it’s not less. It’s not a question of levels or amounts, or even…really…the nature of it.”

    Eloise shrugged. “I can’t explain it.”
    Francesca looked back to the game, which had resumed with new intensity. “No,” she said softly, “I think you did.”
    There was a long silence, then Eloise said, “You don’t…talk about it much.”
    Francesca shook her head gently. “No.”
    “Do you want to?”
    She thought about that for a moment. “I don’t know.” She turned to her sister. They had been at sixes and sevens for much of their childhood, but in so many ways Eloise was like the other half of her coin. They looked so alike, save for the color of their eyes, and they even shared the same birthday, just one year apart.
    Eloise was watching her with a tender curiosity, a sympathy that, just a few weeks ago, would have been heartbreaking. But now it was simply comforting. Francesca didn’t feel pit-ied, she felt loved.
    “I’m happy,” Francesca said. And she was. She really was. For once she didn’t feel that aching emptiness hiding underneath. She’d even forgotten to count. She didn’t know how many days it had been since her last menses, and it felt so bloody good.
    “I hate numbers,” she muttered.
    “I beg your pardon?”
    She bit back a smile. “Nothing.”
    The sun, which had been obscured behind a thin layer of cloud, suddenly popped into the open. Eloise shaded her eyes with her hand as she sat back. “Good heavens,” she remarked.
    “I think Oliver just sat on Miles.”
    Francesca laughed, then, before she even knew what she was about, stood. “Do you think they’ll let me play?”
    Eloise looked at her as if she’d gone mad, which, Francesca thought with a shrug, perhaps she had.
    Eloise looked at Francesca, then at the boys, and finally back at Francesca. And then she stood. “If you do it, I’ll do it.”
    “You can’t do it,” Francesca said. “You’re pregnant.”
    “Barely,” Eloise said with a scoff. “Besides, Oliver wouldn’t dare sit on me.” She held out her arm. “Shall we?”
    “I