Chapter 7 - I did not rescue him from it.
That was progress for both of us.
Noah joined us occasionally.
He had decided to major in urban planning, which shocked everyone except Tessa, who claimed she had always known he enjoyed “telling cities where to put things.”
He moved into an apartment with two friends the following semester.
I offered to pay his rent.
He refused.
I secretly hated how proud that made me.
Then he called three days later because he did not know how to unclog a sink.
Balance restored.
Tessa eventually confessed that Adrian Cross had sent flowers after the party.
I stared at her.
“To whom?”
“You.”
“And you hid them?”
“They were extremely expensive.”
“That does not answer the question.”
“I thought your life had enough billionaires in it.”
“Tessa.”
“Fine. They were accompanied by a note.”
She retrieved it from a drawer.
It read:
Red suited you. Freedom will suit you better. Whatever form it takes. — A.C.
I smiled.
“That’s surprisingly decent.”
“Do not encourage him.”
“I’m not.”
“What should we do with the flowers?”
“They’re three weeks old.”
“I kept one alive.”
“Of course you did.”
Adrian never pursued me.
That, too, surprised me.
Months later, I saw him at a charity dinner.
He approached, glanced toward Dominic across the room, and said, “Still deciding?”
“No.”
His eyebrows rose.
“Interesting.”
“I chose.”
“More interesting.”
He smiled.
“I hope he understands the difference.”
“He’s learning.”
Adrian lifted his glass.
“Aren’t we all?”
Then he walked away.
Some enemies, I discovered, existed mostly because two stubborn men had spent too many years inheriting conflicts they no longer remembered choosing.
Dominic and Adrian never became friends.
But they eventually negotiated a joint redevelopment project without insulting each other in public.
Elena called this “historic diplomacy.”
Dominic called it business.
Adrian called it proof that age was making them dull.
I remained in my apartment for four months.
Dominic never asked when I was coming home.
Because there was no longer a home to come back to.
He sold the mansion.
The first time I visited his downtown apartment, I found him surrounded by unopened boxes and one chair.
“One chair?”
“I underestimated furniture.”
“You owned a mansion.”
“The furniture belonged to the house.”
“You sold your sofa?”
“It was uncomfortable.”
I looked around.
“What do you sit on?”
“The chair.”
“What if you have a guest?”
Dominic looked at me.
“I had not planned that far.”
The next Saturday, we went furniture shopping.
Not because I was moving in.
Because he needed a sofa.
That distinction became important to me.
We wandered through a showroom arguing over fabric.
He liked gray.
Of course.
I liked blue.
We compromised on dark green.
“This feels suspiciously domestic,” I said as he paid.
“You selected a sofa.”
“With you.”
“Yes.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“You’re pleased with yourself.”
“Moderately.”
We had dinner afterward.
Then dinner again the following week.
We began dating.
Actually dating.
At thirty-one, I went on my first date with my husband.
He took me to a tiny Italian restaurant with six tables.
No private room.
No staff treating him differently.
He asked about my work.
I had recently begun helping a literacy nonprofit with fundraising, using skills I had inherited without realizing it from my mother.
I asked about his plans for the family companies.
He told me the truth.
Some of it complicated.
Most of it boring.
All of it real.
We discussed things we should have discussed before marriage.
Children.
Money.
Religion.
Work.
Privacy.
How often family was allowed to visit.
Whether separate blankets were acceptable in winter.
He thought no.
I thought yes.
That almost ended us.
Five months after I left the mansion, Dominic came to my apartment carrying a paper bag.
“What is that?”
“Dinner.”
“You cooked?”
“No.”
“Then why do you look nervous?”
“I have a question.”
I stared at him.
He set the bag down.
Then reached into his pocket.
My heart began pounding.
“Dominic.”
He held up his hands.
“No ring.”
I blinked.
“No?”
“No.”
He sat on the sofa.
I sat beside him.
“The first time we married,” he said, “you believed saying no would cost your family something.”
My eyes stung.
He continued.
“I cannot change that.”
“No.”
“I also cannot change how badly I handled everything afterward.”
“No.”
“I can only ask what I should have asked at the beginning.”
He took a breath.
“Do you want to be married to me?”
No conditions.
No audience.
No ring.
No father.
No debt.
Just a question.
I looked at him.
This difficult, quiet, ridiculous man who had loved me badly before learning how to love me honestly.
I thought about my mother’s letter.
Love is not a debt.
Do not run from love simply because receiving it feels like owing something.
I smiled.
“Yes.”
Dominic closed his eyes.
For one second.
Only one.
Then he opened them.
“Are you sure?”
I laughed through my tears.
“Do not ruin this.”
“I need to confirm.”
“Yes, Dominic.”
He exhaled.
Then I held up one finger.
“But.”
His expression became wary.
“I keep my apartment for another month.”
“All right.”
“We go to counseling.”
“Yes.”
“We make decisions together.”
“Yes.”
“You do not secretly fix my family.”
“Yes.”
“You tell me when you are afraid.”
He hesitated.
I raised an eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“And I get candles.”
“No.”
“Dominic.”
“Fine.”
I kissed him.
It was not our first kiss.
Technically that had happened at our wedding, a brief brush against my cheek.
And there had been one real kiss three weeks earlier outside my apartment.
But this was the first kiss that belonged to a marriage we had both chosen.
That made it different.
When we pulled apart, Dominic rested his forehead against mine.
“I did want you,” he whispered.
“I know.”
“I always did.”
“I know that too.”
“I was an idiot.”
“That might be the healthiest thing you’ve ever said.”
He laughed.
And I realized I had almost never heard that sound before.
We did not have another wedding.
Not exactly.
On our first anniversary, we invited twenty people to Sofia’s garden.
Family.
Friends.
No reporters.
No business associates.
No obligation.
Noah stood beside me wearing a suit he complained about for three hours.
Tessa wore green and cried before anything even started.
Elena brought champagne and declared herself emotionally responsible for the entire reconciliation.
My father came alone.
He had been in therapy for seven months.
He had sold several unnecessary assets, consolidated his remaining legitimate debts, and taken a consulting job with an old friend.
Nothing miraculous.
Just small, steady repair.
Before the ceremony, he approached me.
“You look like your mother.”
I smiled.
“People always say that.”
“They’re wrong.”
I frowned.
He continued.
“You look like yourself.”
That meant more.
He did not walk me down the aisle.
I walked alone.
Not because I was rejecting him.
Because I wanted to.
Halfway toward Dominic, Noah grinned at me from his chair.
May you like
Tessa was openly sobbing.
Sofia pressed a hand to her heart.
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