A slow, dazzling smile spread across Jamie’s face as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. In words meant only for me, he said, “Verranica, when ye called me out for doubtin’ our Divine Ruler and told me I had to put the people of Doon before my own desires, I knew you were my perfect match, and we were meant to be together. I’m verra sorry that it took me so long to trust what was between us.
“But, in my heart, ’tis always been you. When I saw ye that first time in my dreams, I felt as if I’d known you all my life. And over these past weeks, I’ve only fallen more in love with you. You challenge me and make me laugh. Just lookin’ at you makes me want to sing.”
Jamie loves me! I felt the smile in my heart before it reached my face.
“And if ye need more proof of my intentions”—he reached into his jacket and pulled out a crumpled cream colored square—“open this.”
It was the envelope from his coronation, containing his choice for queen. My hands shook as I took the rumpled packet. I couldn’t believe he’d been carrying it throughout everything. I flipped it over, and the MacCrae crest, a regal lion’s head, stared back at me from the blue wax seal.
From the crowd, someone sounding suspiciously like Fergus shouted, “Open it!”
I glanced at Jamie with a tentative smile, ripped open the flap, and pulled out the folded slip of paper. Written in a bold script was a single word:
Veronica
Suppressing a squeal, I lifted my head to see that Jamie’d dropped to one knee before me—again. “Verranica Welling, I love you with all my soul. I will happily be your king, if you will consent to be my love, my wife and my queen for all of our days in Doon and beyond.”
This time, I didn’t need to think about my answer. “Yes, Jamie. Yes!” I pulled him to his feet and jumped into his arms.
The responding roar from the people of Doon was so loud, it almost shook the beams of the old church. Suddenly, all the feelings I’d bottled up inside chose that moment to pour out. “I love you. I love you. I love you,” I repeated as I kissed his cheeks, his nose, his dimpled chin, and his perfect mouth.
His responding laughter, beautiful and deep, warmed me all the way to my toes. As my feet slid back down to the ground, he arched a golden brow and said, “I’ll be expecting this treatment ever’ day for the rest of our lives, ye know.”
“In your dreams,” I teased.
He chuckled low and sexy as he took my face in both his hands and kissed me until I knew I’d never be cold again.
After several earth-shattering moments, whistles and catcalls broke us apart. Stepping off the dais, hand in hand, we made our way toward the people—our people. Somewhere in all the well wishes, hugs, and tears, I became a part of Doon in truth.
Finally, I’d found the place where I belonged. My destiny.
EPILOGUE
Mackenna
I stowed my intern orientation packet under my folding chair and concentrated on the rhythmic voice of Adrenaline Theatre’s artistic director, Weston Ballard. Butterflies tapped through my stomach, choreographing a frenetic rendition of All That Jazz. We were on the stage, seated in a circle, doing our first icebreaker of the season. Thanks be to Kander and Ebb, the patron saints of Chicago, we were not playing Scene Freeze.
Chills raced up my spine as I struggled to direct my mind away from the most horrifying night of my life and back to the present. Today was huge—the beginning of everything I ever wanted. Well, not everything. Mostly everything.
And I could—I would—live with that. It’s not like I had a choice.
“For the next eight and a half months, this theater will be your home. It will be your privilege, your possibility, and your passion. It will be your sanctuary.”
I focused on the cadence of Weston’s voice as he strolled among us. The speech no doubt was the same one he delivered each year for incoming interns. But the way he lingered in my space seemed special.
With precise diction and perfect projection, Wes continued, “Let’s get started with a creative exercise. I want you to envision the most fantastical place imaginable.”