Chapter 9 - THEIR FIRST DATE ENDED IN THE KITCHEN
Adrian arrived twelve minutes early.
Hannah made him wait outside.
He stared at the apartment door.
“You know I can hear you.”
“Good.”
“Why can’t I come in?”
“Because I said seven-thirty.”
“It’s seven-eighteen.”
“Excellent math.”
“Hannah.”
“Patience is growth.”
He looked at his watch.
At exactly seven-thirty, the door opened.
Hannah stood there wearing a black dress.
Simple.
Knee-length.
No diamonds.
No stylist.
Her curls were pinned on one side.
Adrian forgot every sentence he had prepared.
Hannah waited.
“Well?”
“You look…”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Careful.”
“Beautiful.”
Her expression softened.
“Good answer.”
Mia shouted from the kitchen.
“Ask him whether he owns a normal car!”
Adrian frowned.
Hannah closed her eyes.
“Ignore her.”
“I brought a sedan.”
Mia appeared.
“Driver?”
“Yes.”
She looked disappointed.
“Progress.”
Hannah pushed her sister back into the apartment.
They left.
Adrian had selected a small restaurant in West Loop.
Private enough to avoid attention.
Normal enough that Hannah would not feel she had entered another negotiation room.
No bodyguards inside.
Marcus remained nearby.
Hannah noticed.
“One?”
“One.”
“Good.”
They sat.
For the first ten minutes, both were strangely formal.
“How was work?”
“Fine.”
“How is Lily?”
“Fine.”
“How is the bakery?”
“Fine.”
Hannah finally placed down her menu.
“This is terrible.”
Adrian exhaled.
“Thank God.”
She laughed.
“I thought mafia bosses had charm.”
“We delegate.”
“Clearly.”
The tension broke.
They talked.
Really talked.
Not about threats.
Not about Hartwell.
Not about Lily for nearly twenty minutes.
Hannah told Adrian she wanted to study pastry professionally but never had the money.
He asked whether she still wanted to.
“Yes.”
“Why not now?”
“Bakery.”
“That did not answer.”
She stared.
“I hate when you do that.”
“What?”
“Listen.”
He smiled.
She told him about her father.
Truck routes.
Cheap motels.
Christmas mornings when he was too tired to stay awake.
Adrian told her about Vincent before the organization swallowed most of him.
“He used to make pancakes.”
Hannah looked horrified.
“Vincent?”
“Yes.”
“I refuse to believe this.”
“He made terrible pancakes.”
“That I believe.”
Adrian told her Claire loved bad reality television.
Hannah smiled.
“What kind?”
“Dating shows.”
“No.”
“She pretended they were sociological research.”
Hannah laughed.
He smiled at the memory.
The grief was there.
But different.
Claire no longer appeared between them like a forbidden subject.
She existed.
As she should.
Hannah asked, “What made you love her?”
Adrian was quiet.
“She was unimpressed by me.”
Hannah laughed.
“I see a pattern.”
“She told me on our third date I was exhausting.”
“Intelligent woman.”
“She was kind without being soft.”
His expression changed.
“And she loved Lily before Lily existed.”
Hannah listened.
“She wanted six children.”
“Six?”
“I negotiated two.”
“How did that work?”
“We had one.”
His smile faded.
“Then she got sick.”
Hannah reached across the table.
Stopped.
Then placed her hand over his.
Adrian looked down.
The contact was simple.
Voluntary.
Everything about it mattered.
After dinner, they walked.
Cold air.
City lights.
Hannah slipped slightly on wet pavement.
Adrian caught her elbow.
“Careful.”
She looked at his hand.
He released immediately.
That small movement touched her more than if he had held on.
At the apartment building, he walked her to the door.
Hannah turned.
“Well.”
“Well.”
“You survived.”
“So did you.”
She smiled.
Adrian looked at her mouth.
Hannah noticed.
Of course she did.
“You’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“Staring.”
“I’m considering something.”
“Dangerous.”
“Yes.”
Silence.
“Can I kiss you?”
Hannah’s breath caught.
Not a move.
A question.
The man whose life was built around authority was asking.
“Yes.”
Adrian leaned in.
The kiss was gentle.
Almost too gentle.
Hannah smiled against his mouth.
“You’re scared.”
“No.”
“You’re absolutely scared.”
“I’m being respectful.”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”
He kissed her again.
This time she stepped closer.
Adrian’s hand settled carefully at her waist.
Hannah felt every old insecurity flash through her.
Her body.
Her size.
The women she imagined men like Adrian Mercer usually wanted.
Vanessa.
Elegant.
Tall.
Thin.
Designed for magazine photographs.
Hannah pulled back slightly.
Adrian immediately released her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Hannah.”
She looked away.
He waited.
“I know what I look like.”
Adrian frowned.
“That is generally useful.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Don’t.”
“Then say what you mean.”
Her throat tightened.
“I am not the woman people expect beside you.”
His expression became very still.
“I know.”
That hurt.
He saw it instantly.
“No.”
He stepped closer but did not touch her.
“I mean I know people will have expectations.”
Hannah looked at him.
“I don’t care.”
“You say that now.”
“I have spent forty years caring what powerful families expect.”
“Thirty-nine.”
“My birthday is next month.”
“Still thirty-nine.”
He almost smiled.
Then became serious.
“I was going to marry Vanessa because she fit an expectation.”
Hannah swallowed.
“I will never do that again.”
“What happens when people laugh?”
“They can.”
“What happens when society women whisper that you replaced Vanessa Hartwell with your plus-size housekeeper?”
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
“They’ll be inaccurate.”
Hannah frowned.
“How?”
“You are no longer my housekeeper.”
She almost laughed.
“That is not the important part.”
“It is to me.”
He held her gaze.
“You’re Hannah Brooks.”
Her eyes filled.
“That should be enough information for anyone.”
Hannah looked down.
Adrian continued.
“And if anybody thinks your body gives them permission to decide whether you belong beside me—”
She lifted a finger.
“Do not threaten them.”
He stopped.
“I was going to say they can leave.”
“Good.”
“Possibly escorted.”
“Adrian.”
“Growth takes time.”
She laughed.
He smiled.
Then Mia opened the apartment door.
Both jumped.
Mia stared.
“I need milk.”
Hannah looked at her.
“At ten forty-five?”
“Yes.”
“You were listening.”
“Absolutely.”
Adrian laughed.
Mia looked at him.
“Did you kiss her?”
Hannah covered her face.
Adrian smiled.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Mia!”
“What?”
She walked away.
Hannah groaned.
“My family has no boundaries.”
“I find it familiar.”
The date should have ended there.
Instead, Adrian’s phone rang.
Marcus.
His smile disappeared.
“What?”
He listened.
Hannah watched.
“What happened?”
Adrian’s face became grim.
“My father collapsed.”
Twenty-five minutes later they were at Northwestern Memorial Hospital.
Vincent had suffered an episode of atrial fibrillation.
Not a heart attack.
Doctors expected full recovery.
Adrian sat in the waiting area, elbows on his knees.
Hannah remained beside him.
“You don’t have to stay.”
“I know.”
“You have work tomorrow.”
“I know.”
He looked at her.
“Why are you staying?”
She smiled.
“Because I want to.”
At one-thirty in the morning, Vincent woke.
Adrian entered first.
Hannah waited outside.
After ten minutes, Adrian appeared.
“He wants to see you.”
She blinked.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“That seems medically unwise.”
“He insisted.”
Hannah entered.
Vincent looked smaller in a hospital bed.
Older.
No suit.
No authority costume.
Just a tired man.
“Hannah.”
“Hi.”
He glanced toward the door.
“You were with Adrian.”
“Yes.”
“Date?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“You almost had a heart event and this is your priority?”
A weak smile.
“I am curious.”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“Good.”
Hannah stared.
“That was disturbingly easy.”
Vincent looked toward the ceiling.
“I nearly passed out during dinner with three accountants.”
“Terrible way to go.”
“Exactly.”
She laughed.
He became serious.
“I spent a long time telling Adrian what kind of life was suitable.”
Hannah waited.
“I was wrong.”
“Yes.”
“I expected more resistance.”
“I don’t want to exhaust you.”
Vincent almost smiled.
Then his eyes filled unexpectedly.
“Claire would have liked you.”
Hannah’s throat tightened.
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
He paused.
“But she liked women who annoyed me.”
Hannah laughed.
“Then maybe.”
Outside, Adrian heard the laughter through the door.
He leaned against the hallway wall.
For years, every relationship in his life had been measured by whether people fit.
Hannah fit nowhere.
Not in Vincent’s plan.
Not in the Hartwell alliance.
Not in the image Chicago society understood.
Yet somehow she kept making broken rooms warmer.
When Hannah emerged, Adrian took her hand.
This time he did not ask because she was already reaching for his.
And they stood together under hospital lights while Vincent slept.
No strategy.
May you like
No negotiation.
Just two people beginning something neither of them knew how to calculate.
