I smiled. ‘Neither do I, Jack.’
He took my hand and guided it to his heart. I could hear it beneath his shirt, pounding in overdrive, as with his other hand he caressed my lips.
‘I love you,’ he said with solemnity. ‘I didn’t even really understand love before you, but I do know that I can’t imagine life without you. I love the children. I want to marry you and be there for all of you. I can’t promise you Hollywood lights, but I can offer you all of me, my attention, my loyalty, everything that I am. I will love you forever.’
‘Forever sounds good enough,’ I sighed happily, resting my hand on his chest, still stupefied by the truth that had been staring me in the face all this time. My destiny had not been written in the stars after all, but carved into a small corner of a Cornish field.
Epilogue
Los Angeles, one year later
In the movies, time and season jumps are the norm, which, while practical for the screen, is a real shame, because fictitious characters don’t get to enjoy every moment of happiness, every smile, every laugh and every loving caress like real people do.
Fictitious characters only appear to love their newlywed husbands, or rejoice at their son’s first real run across the green fields on a hot summer’s day, or bask in the warmth of their daughter’s embrace. And yet, movies are what I do now, while other times I just write my novels from my desk by the dining room window.
As the crowds gathered outside the theatre for the premiere of Written In The Stars, Jack squeezed my hand. ‘How are you feeling, love?’ he whispered into my ear as he smiled for the cameras on the red carpet. He loved being taken for Mr Conte, and even more, he loved spoiling us all rotten.
‘A bit nauseous,’ I admitted, caressing my huge tummy.
His eyes followed my hand and his eyes widened. ‘The baby? Is it coming now?’
I laughed. ‘No, silly. It’s just stage fright. I have no idea whether the audience is going to like the film or not.’
‘They’ll like it, stop fretting and enjoy Hollywood for once,’ came Luke’s voice at our side, his daughter Jessica on his arm, radiant in a blue dress.
Luke raised a glass to me. ‘You look beautiful tonight, Nina, you and your bump.’ He clapped Jack on the back. ‘Nice work, man.’
‘Thanks, mate,’ Jack answered.
Jessica smiled and turned to Chloe. ‘I told you it would all work out. Dads are the best.’
Chloe eyed Jack, and lifted herself on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. ‘They sure are, Jess…’
‘Mum!’ called Ben. ‘We have front-row seats and our names are on them!’ And as I watched, he jumped over them with great agility, just like Roberto Benigni had done when he won the Oscar for best foreign film.
Our French surgeon had performed a miracle on my baby. In the space of three months, he was up and really running like mad, signing up to all the sports Northwood offered, excelling in each and every one. I had always known that he could do anything he wanted, my boy. And it had been worth the tears, the anguish and the wait.
‘Look over there, is that… Oh my God!’ Chloe cried. ‘Is that Kate Winslet? Sitting next to… Jude Law?’
Luke shrugged. ‘They do star in the main roles, don’t they?’
Jack grinned down on me with enormous pride. ‘You did it, my love.’
‘We did it, Jack. I wouldn’t be here without you.’
‘And me,’ Luke butted in, raising his glass.
‘To love and friendship!’ Jack toasted, his arm firm around me.
‘To love and friendship,’ we all echoed.
To think that only a little over a year ago, I had been a practically destitute, single mum killing herself to survive. And now I was a happily married woman, full-time writer, and a mum of almost three. If you didn’t count Minnie and Callie.
Nina Conte Marrak lives in her newly renovated farmhouse on the outskirts of a beautiful Cornish seaside village with her husband, three children and dogs Minnie and Callie. Her first novel, Written In The Stars, has been made into a motion picture, while her subsequent books, The Chocolate Wardrobe Girls and Storm In A D-cup have already been optioned for the screen by Hollywood actor and producer, Luke O’Hara. Nina is currently working on her fourth novel.
The End
And because I promised you earlier, here it is, my mum’s recipe for Sicilian Arancini:
Ingredients
1 kg of rice
1 hard-boiled egg, diced
Ground beef, fried in finely chopped onions and just a touch of tomato sauce. (You can use what’s left for a Bolognaise.)
Peas, 250 grams
Breadcrumb, toasted in a pan with a touch of olive oil
Olive Oil for deep-frying
Procedure
1. Boil a kilogram of rice (leave it al dente) and place it to drain on a wide surface until it is dry and at room temperature.
2. Flatten two ice cream scoops of rice onto the palm of your hand. If they’re too sticky, put a drop of olive oil in your palms. Gently curve your hand up to create the first half of your rice shell.
3. Having mixed together the egg, beef and peas in quantities and proportions according to taste, place them in the centre, and wrap another scoopful of rice to close the arancino, rolling it gently so that it has a pyramid shape.
4. Once ready, roll in the breadcrumbs so they are coated, and then deep-fry or bake until orange.
Buon Appetito!
Acknowledgements
Many thanks go to, first and foremost, my lovely editor Rhea Kurien, who ‘got me’ from the very start, is always available, and is an absolute dream to work with. You are the best, Rhea!
Thanks also go to Hannah Smith, Vicky Joss and Nikky Ward at Aria Fiction for pulling this one off while in times of lockdown.
Also many heart-felt thanks
