Chapter 10 - THE PROPOSAL THAT LEFT THE DOOR OPEN
Roman waited another year before proposing.
He considered a restaurant overlooking the river.
Too public.
A private garden.
Too arranged.
A gala.
Absolutely not.
He chose Celeste’s kitchen.
Not the penthouse kitchen they now shared.
The smaller kitchen in Rebecca’s Ohio home, where Celeste had hidden during the final months of pregnancy.
They were visiting for Lucia’s seventh birthday.
Lucia slept upstairs.
Rebecca had gone to a hotel after declaring that if Roman proposed badly, she did not want to become an accessory.
Roman stood beside the kitchen table holding a simple ring.
Celeste entered wearing socks and one of his sweaters.
She stopped.
“You look terrified.”
“I am.”
“Is someone after us?”
“No.”
“That would make more sense.”
Roman opened the ring box.
He did not kneel yet.
“If you say no, nothing changes about how I parent Lucia.”
Celeste stared.
“If you say no, I will not ask again unless you tell me I can.”
Tears filled her eyes.
Roman continued.
“I used to think love meant holding tightly enough that nothing could leave.”
His voice shook.
“I built companies that way. I treated family that way. I treated you that way even before I betrayed you.”
He looked toward the ceiling, where Lucia slept.
“I want a life with you. But I do not want one you had to surrender yourself to enter.”
Celeste wiped one cheek.
“You practiced that.”
“Twenty-seven times.”
“Only twenty-seven?”
“Marco threatened to resign after fifteen.”
She laughed through tears.
Roman finally knelt.
“Will you marry me?”
Celeste held out her hand.
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes.
For several seconds, he remained kneeling because standing felt impossible.
Then Celeste touched his face.
“This is not a reward.”
“I know.”
“It does not erase Bianca.”
“I know.”
“It does not erase the hospital appointments.”
“I know.”
“It means I choose the man you have become without pretending the man you were never existed.”
Roman looked at her.
“That is more than I deserve.”
“It is not about deserving.”
“No.”
“It is about choosing.”
The prenup took four months.
Separate property.
Independent accounts.
Defined support for Lucia.
No spouse acquired automatic business authority.
No security could be imposed on Celeste except during an immediate emergency in which consultation was impossible.
All major financial guarantees required independent counsel.
The agreement also stated that reconciliation or remarriage would not alter the existing parenting rights without separate written consent.
Roman read every page.
He hired independent counsel.
Celeste did too.
No documents arrived after the ceremony.
No signatures were treated as administrative.
Their wedding took place the following spring at Rebecca’s lakeside property in Ohio.
Forty-two guests.
Marco stood beside Roman.
Rebecca stood beside Celeste.
David Chen attended and looked deeply uncomfortable near flowers.
Lucia carried the rings inside a small wooden box.
Before the ceremony, she asked Roman, “What if Mom changes her mind?”
Roman crouched.
“Then we stop.”
“Even with everybody here?”
“Yes.”
“Even after the cake?”
“Yes.”
Lucia considered the consequences.
“Can we still eat it?”
“Absolutely.”
Satisfied, she walked away.
Celeste had overheard.
Her eyes filled.
During the vows, Roman did not promise never to fail.
He promised to tell the truth when he did.
Celeste promised partnership without surrender.
When the officiant asked whether she accepted Roman, he did not breathe until she answered.
“I do.”
Lucia cheered before the officiant finished.
The reception ended before midnight.
No armed display.
No mafia spectacle.
No contracts hidden beneath the marriage license.
Roman and Celeste spent their honeymoon in Maine because Lucia declared tropical islands suspicious.
The first serious disagreement of their new marriage concerned Roman’s plan to buy the cottage next door for security.
Celeste said no.
Roman argued for four minutes.
Then stopped.
“I’m doing it.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
They rented the cottage for one month instead.
Marriage did not eliminate old instincts.
It gave them a safer place to correct them.
Back in Chicago, the nursery remained Lucia’s room.
The painted stars stayed.
The rocking chair moved near the window.
The notebook remained locked inside Celeste’s private desk.
Roman knew where the key was.
He never touched it.
May you like
A closed drawer no longer felt like a threat.
It felt like evidence that the people inside his home were allowed to possess things he did not control.
