Chapter 10 - THE HOUSE ROMAN DIDN’T BUY FOR ME
Roman owned eleven homes.
Harper hated all of them.
Not aesthetically.
That would have been dishonest.
The penthouse had a view that made Chicago look fictional.
The Lake Forest estate had a library Harper wanted to marry separately.
The Wisconsin house had a dock.
But every property felt like Roman.
Controlled.
Secured.
Staffed.
Perfect.
After they had been together two years, Roman asked:
“Which one?”
Harper frowned.
“Which what?”
“House.”
“For?”
“Us.”
She stared.
“No.”
Roman sighed.
“Productive conversation.”
“I’m not moving into one of your fortresses.”
“The penthouse has excellent natural light.”
“It has retinal scanners.”
“One.”
“Roman.”
“Fine.”
He looked wounded.
“What do you want?”
Harper thought.
“A front porch.”
He blinked.
“That’s it?”
“No.”
“Continue.”
“Neighbors.”
His expression worsened.
“You want neighbors?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“So if we argue, someone can see you sleeping on the porch.”
Roman stared.
Harper smiled.
“I’m joking.”
“I am reconsidering marriage.”
Her heart stopped for half a second.
Marriage.
He noticed.
“So.”
“No.”
“I said one word.”
“You said it strategically.”
“Fine.”
He continued.
“Front porch.”
“Yes.”
“Neighbors.”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
“A kitchen we use.”
“We use my kitchens.”
“Your chef uses your kitchens.”
“He is excellent.”
“I want a junk drawer.”
Roman looked horrified.
“Why?”
“Because normal houses have one.”
“What goes in it?”
“Things.”
“What things?”
“Batteries. Tape. Menus. Screws.”
“That sounds like system failure.”
Harper laughed.
Eventually they bought a house together.
Actually together.
Harper paid part.
Roman initially objected to the percentage.
She ignored him.
Lincoln Park.
Brick.
Four bedrooms.
Front porch.
Neighbors.
No permanent armed guards inside.
Security exterior only after many arguments.
One junk drawer.
Roman organized it once.
Harper threatened divorce before marriage.
He never did again.
Living together exposed things romance had hidden.
Roman left suits over chairs.
Harper left legal pads everywhere.
He woke at five.
She hated mornings.
He needed silence when angry.
She needed answers immediately.
Their first major fight happened over Roman’s business.
One Falco logistics executive was accused of threatening a subcontractor.
Roman intended to handle it internally.
Harper’s face hardened.
“No.”
“It is my company.”
“Yes.”
“I have investigators.”
“Who report to you.”
“They are independent.”
“Funded by you.”
Roman’s jaw tightened.
“Not everything requires external scandal.”
“I did not say scandal.”
“You are implying I cover misconduct.”
“I am saying your history makes internal-only review insufficient.”
Silence.
Roman walked away.
Harper followed.
“Do not.”
He turned.
“What?”
“Do not use walking away as control.”
“I am preventing myself from saying something cruel.”
That stopped her.
Good answer.
“Fine.”
He went into the study.
An hour later, he returned.
“External investigator.”
Harper nodded.
“Good.”
“Selected by board committee.”
“Better.”
“Not you.”
“I did not ask.”
Roman stared.
“I know.”
Investigation found the executive had indeed used improper threats.
Terminated.
Subcontractor compensated.
Policy changed.
Roman admitted:
“I wanted it quiet because I was ashamed.”
Harper softened.
“Of what?”
“That people still act that way under my name.”
“That is not entirely yours.”
“No.”
He paused.
“But leadership is not innocence.”
That was David Bennett language.
Harper kissed him.
Roman looked suspicious.
“What?”
“Growth.”
“Do not patronize me.”
“Therapy.”
He groaned.
Then Harper’s mother came to visit.
Elaine Bennett.
Sixty-five.
Retired school counselor.
She assessed Roman within four minutes.
“Do you love my daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Do you frighten her?”
Roman looked at Harper.
Elaine snapped:
“Do not ask her.”
Roman blinked.
“Sometimes.”
“Good answer.”
Harper covered her face.
“Mom.”
Elaine continued.
“Do you think money gives you authority?”
“I used to.”
“Do you now?”
“Sometimes instinctively.”
Elaine nodded.
“Better.”
Then:
“Your eyebrows are stronger than Connor’s.”
Roman looked confused.
Harper left the room.
The proposal came six months later.
No gala.
No rooftop.
No private jet.
Roman took Harper to the old Bennett Trust office.
Now converted into a legal-aid training center funded partly by the recovered settlement.
David Bennett’s photograph hung in the hall.
Harper frowned.
“Why are we here?”
“Meeting.”
“On Saturday?”
“Yes.”
“Liar.”
Roman smiled.
He led her into the old conference room.
The same room where Harper found the fraudulent approval file.
The boxes were gone.
New tables.
Law students.
Clinic space.
On the wall:
DAVID BENNETT HOUSING JUSTICE FELLOWSHIP.
Harper’s throat tightened.
Roman did not fund it.
She knew.
Trust settlement did.
Good.
He stood beside her father’s photograph.
“I thought about proposing somewhere beautiful.”
Harper looked at him.
“This is beautiful.”
“I know.”
Her eyes filled.
Roman took out a ring.
Simple.
Vintage.
Emerald-cut diamond.
Not absurdly huge.
He had listened.
“I loved you first because you were difficult.”
Harper laughed through tears.
“Excellent.”
“Then because you were right too often.”
“Better.”
“Then because you made me answer questions I spent my life avoiding.”
His voice softened.
“You did not save me.”
Harper cried.
“You did something more annoying.”
“What?”
“You made me responsible for saving myself.”
She covered her mouth.
Roman knelt.
“For most of my life, I thought loyalty meant staying no matter what.”
He looked at her.
“You taught me loyalty means telling the truth even when staying becomes harder.”
Tears fell.
“I want a life with you.”
“Not ownership.”
“Not protection that becomes permission.”
“Not rescue.”
He smiled faintly.
“Though I reserve the right to help if you ask.”
Harper laughed.
“Will you marry me?”
She looked at the man Connor once feared.
The man Chicago whispered about.
The man who made mistakes.
Admitted them.
Changed slowly.
Asked.
Again and again.
“Yes.”
Roman stopped breathing.
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
He put the ring on her finger.
Then Harper said:
“One condition.”
Roman closed his eyes.
“Of course.”
“No wedding at Westbridge.”
“Agreed.”
“No nine-hundred-person guest list.”
“I know fewer people than rumored.”
“No business seating.”
“Fine.”
“No Connor symbolism.”
Roman looked surprised.
“What?”
“This wedding is not the ending of that story.”
His expression softened.
“No.”
Harper touched his face.
“It is the beginning of ours.”
Roman stood.
Then kissed her.
And somewhere, Harper liked to imagine David Bennett was laughing.
May you like
Because his daughter had finally found a man wealthy enough to buy almost anything.
And stubborn enough to learn that she was not for sale.
