My heart speeds as he sorts through the collection in his hand and picks out a certain one. He passes it to me, the blue paint chipped on the X-Men’s costume. This was his favorite superhero when we were little. Not Hellion, who appeared in comics in our adolescence. And not Scott Summers, who slowly grew into a man that he admired.
In the beginning of everything, he empathized most with Quicksilver. For being the son of an undesirable man. For being rebellious and wishing that life would just hurry up already. He’s not perfect by any means, but that’s why Lo loves him: every imperfection, every flaw. He is a hero in my eyes because of each one.
“Maximoff,” he says. My tears brim. I flip the ornament over and see Lo’s name etched into the back. He draws me closer and rubs his sleeve below my eyes. “Say something.”
“I love it,” I say with a laugh the produces more tears. Maximoff. Quicksilver’s last name. And then it clicks. “Remember when we said that the best Ravenclaws are the ones who can cheer for the Gryffindors and the Hufflepuffs?”
Lo nods.
“Luna,” I say. “For a girl…”
He smiles. “It’s perfect…just don’t tell Rose and Connor that it’s because of them.” He knows that Luna makes me think of my sister and his best friend. “It’ll go to their heads.” Very true.
If we have a girl, the origin of her name is a secret that stays between us.
I stare back at the ornament in my hand. “This isn’t pretend anymore, is it?” We spent three years playing house together before we became an official couple. Lines between our relationship and our worlds have always blurred. Like one foot in an alternate reality and one in Earth-616.
“No, love.” Lo tilts my chin up so I meet his swirling amber eyes. “This is real.”
{ Epilogue }
2 years : 05 months
January
LILY CALLOWAY
“House meeting is in order,” Rose announces. I think she wishes that she had a gavel to bang on the table, but she has to settle for the less dramatic route. Silence.
She sits poised on a Queen Anne chair in front of the fireplace. With Connor in the adjacent chair beside her, they look like royalty presiding over us common folk. I think they know that, which is why they both seem a little too excited.
“Did you guys have house meetings back in Princeton?” Daisy asks Lo and me. Even though we all roomed together in the townhouse during Princesses of Philly, this is different. That situation was temporary and our setting was strict and guided by production. Here we have more freedoms, and that means learning to deal with each other on a new level.
Daisy curls up with Ryke on the suede couch, adjacent to the one Lo and I sit on.
“Yeah, but King Connor and Queen Rose never had their own throne,” Lo says, his arm around my waist and fingers tucked in the band of my leggings. At least I wasn’t the only one thinking they looked like royalty.
Rose narrows her yellow-green eyes. “When you detail everyone’s complaints and suggestions and announcements, then you can sit in my chair,” she says, waving a piece of printer paper, signifying all the work she’s done.
“Or you can just sit on my lap, darling,” Connor offers to Lo, the corners of his lips curving in a grin.
Lo laughs, “Tempting.”
“Can we just fucking start?” Ryke asks, running a hand through his damp hair from his shower. Daisy’s is equally as wet, tangled in a messy bun on her head.
All three guys went to the gym this morning, and Daisy joined them at Ryke’s request. My little sister and Lo’s older brother are flying out to Costa Rica tomorrow, and Ryke needed to assess her skill level at the gym wall. She told me with a mischievous smile that he wanted to “bust her ass on real rock” which sounded so dirty in my mind, and I’m still slightly unsure whether that was a hidden innuendo for anal sex.
I should have just asked because it’s been plaguing me every time I see them together. Like dirty pop-ups. Right now, I keep my focus on Rose and her supreme posture.
“First, and most importantly,” she says, “there’s the issue about cleanliness.”
Oh yeah, I knew Ryke would be burned by Rose for the mess he leaves around. And by the disarray of Daisy’s room during the reality show—clothes everywhere—I know she prefers living in disorderly chaos too.
“Daisy and Ryke,” Rose says. “You both need to wash your dishes or put them in the dishwasher. The sink is not a trashcan. Neither is the coffee table or the garage or the den.”