Rating: PG
A/N: This is an epilogue to my story The War and the Ring and is a two-shot. Thank you Marigold for the plot bunny! And of course, many thanks to Moonlighter for being my beta and sounding board. Couldn't do it without you!
Epilogue - The War and the Ring, Part 1
“Oh, Grandmother! This is a lovely place!” Catarina said in their native Italian. “I’m so glad we took this trip together!” They accepted their menus from the waiter. “No sharing a dessert this time – we’ll each get a big one to ourselves.”
*****
Following the maitre d’, Mick guided Beth with a gentle hand at the small of her back. Once seated, Mick removed his sunglasses; the colorful umbrella provided plenty of shade.
“Oh, Mick!” Beth said with a sigh. “This is beautiful!” They were sitting outdoors at a sidewalk café along the Seine, the Eiffel Tower visible in the distance. “The people, the shops, the scenery – I love it!”
“Wait till you see it at night. It’s called the ‘City of Lights’ for a reason, you know.”
She smiled across the table at Mick, her eyes dancing. “I still can’t believe I’m in Paris – on my honeymoon!”
*****
“Are you alright?” Catarina asked, concerned. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost!”
“I think I have,” her grandmother said in a shaky voice. “Do you see that couple over there?”
Catarina turned to the side to look. “The Americans?”
Her grandmother looked at her sharply. “How do you know they’re American?”
“I overheard them talking while we were waiting to be seated. What about them?”
“That man, he looks… he looks just like the soldier who saved me during the war. Only with longer hair, of course.”
Catarina had heard the story her whole life. “Grandmother, any soldier from the war would be an old man by now. A good ten years older than you, at least,” she said gently as she turned to look again. “That man looks like he’s around thirty.”
“Yes, I know,” she sighed. “You’re right of course. I’m just a silly old woman. Let’s eat these sinful looking desserts.”
*****
Beth perused her menu while Mick picked up the wine list and opened it.
*****
Her fork clattered to the table.
“What’s the matter? Are you ill?”
“The ring. Catarina, that man… he’s wearing the ring!” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“What ring? The one in the story you used to tell? The St. John ring?”
“Yes, I think it is! But I would have to see it closer to be sure.”
“You can remember it?”
“Oh yes, dear. I used to get it out of my mother’s dresser drawer to hold it and stare at it. Sometimes she gave it to me to hold, but more often I took it out of the drawer to look at it when she didn’t know. I would recognize it, I’m sure.”
*****
“Mick, the people at that table over there keep staring at us,” Beth whispered across the table. “The one with the old woman and the twenty-something. I’d guess it’s her granddaughter.”
Mick cast a casual glance quickly to the side. “Looks to me like they are enjoying their dessert.”
“I mean it! One, then the other will look over here, like they’re talking about us.”
“So let them talk. Maybe they are saying you have that newlywed glow about you.” He smiled and gave her a wink.
*****
“I need to talk to them, Catarina. At least to him. I have to know.”
“Well, how do you propose to do that? You can’t just walk up to a couple of strangers and say, ‘Where did you get that ring?’” She giggled when she said it, trying to picture it in her mind. Then her smile faded as she realized her grandmother wouldn’t hesitate to do just that.
“Then you think of something.”
*****
“She’s coming over here, Mick.”
“Who is?”
“The young woman from that table. The ones staring at us.”
“Excuse me. You are American, yes?” Catarina asked politely.
“Yes we are,” Beth replied.
“Can we help you with something?” Mick added.
“Yes, I hope so. My grandmother…” she nodded towards her table. “She wonders if you would come to our table and speak with her.” Looking directly at Mick, she went on. “She thinks you look like you could be related to someone she used to know.” Glancing between Mick and Beth she saw their hesitation. “I really don’t mean to intrude, but it would mean so much to her.”
Beth spoke up. “Yes, of course we’ll come.”
“As soon as we have finished,” Mick added.
“Grazie. Thank you, thank you. Grandmother will be so pleased.” Catarina turned and went back to her table.
Beth leaned in closer to Mick. “Do you really think it could be someone who knows you?” she whispered.
“I don’t see how. I don’t know anyone in France except for the Duvalls. And she is definitely not a Duvall. Or a… family member.”
“But they’re not French, Mick. Didn’t you hear her accent? And she said ‘grazie’ – they’re Italian. Or at least the granddaughter is Italian.”
Mick looked over at the old woman at the table. Italian? He absentmindedly rubbed his ring with his thumb. No, it couldn’t be. What are the odds?
“Mick? What is it? Do you know her?”
He leaned forward. “Remember when I told you the story of how I got my ring during the war?”
Beth nodded. “The woman with the little girl. I remember.” She glanced over towards the other table. “You don’t think…? It couldn’t be!”
Mick sat back in his chair. “I did the math in my head; it’s possible. That old woman could be the little girl.”
“You really think so? What was her name again… Annie something?”
“Anna Maria.”
“But she was only a child at the time!”
“I know that. But that’s the only person I can think of from Italy that might know me.” He leaned across the table again to whisper. “Listen, if this does have anything to do with someone from the war, I am the grandson of that person, got it?” Beth nodded solemnly. “I guess that makes me Mick St. John III. It’s easier to remember than trying to have another name or nickname. And let me handle any war conversation, okay?” Beth nodded again. The waiter returned with Mick’s credit card, which he put in his wallet. “Ready?”
“Sure am!” Beth replied as Mick pulled out her chair. “My reporter senses are tingling.” Mick laughed as they made their way to the other table.
Catarina stood up as they approached; Mick extended his hand. “Hello, I’m Mick St. John and this is my wife Beth.”
“Hello, I am Catarina Mancini,” she said as she shook his hand and then Beth’s. Mick reached over to shake the elderly woman’s hand as Catarina added, “And this is my Grandmother…”
“Anna Maria,” the old woman said looking directly into Mick’s eyes. Mick froze in the middle of the handshake for a second before releasing her hand; only Anna Maria noticed.
“How do you do?” Beth said politely shaking hands with them both.
“Please sit down,” Catarina said as she motioned to two empty chairs. When everyone was seated she looked between Mick and her grandmother. “I know this may sound a little unbelievable, but Grandmother says you remind her of a young American soldier she met in World War II. Did you have a relative in the war?”
“Yes I did. My grandfather was in the war. He was also named Mick St. John. As was my father. Technically, I’m Mick St. John III.”
“Well you could be his twin!” Anna Marie exclaimed. “If your hair was shorter.” The others at the table laughed.
Anna Maria nudged Catarina with her elbow, wanting her to get to the point. Catarina nodded and took a deep breath. “Anna Maria was a young girl during the war. She remembers her mother giving a family heirloom to this soldier because he helped her family.”
“And because there were no more sons in the family to give it to.” Mick took his ring off of his finger and set it on the table in front of Anna Maria. “Is this the heirloom, Anna Maria?”
To be continued...
Nooooo!!!!! 
that they're on their honeymoon... 
I'm so glad that my comment was useful to you! 
I can't wait to read part two! 
I need to hurry and find out! 
But how I love that Mick took his Beth to Paris on their honeymoon. (Their honeymoon, squee!)