Chapter 17 - No More Pretending
Roman’s first week home was harder than anyone expected.
Freedom required adjustment.
He woke at five.
Checked locks twice.
Sat facing doors in restaurants.
Reached automatically for a phone that no longer carried half the city’s secrets.
But he didn’t complain.
He started therapy.
Lily made him.
“I go,” she said. “You go.”
Roman looked at me.
I shrugged.
“Democracy.”
He hated democracy.
It saved him anyway.
The legitimate Duca logistics company offered him an advisory role.
He refused executive control.
Instead he spent his time separating remaining legal assets from the old organization.
Daniel checked everything.
Frequently.
They continued pretending to hate each other.
I suspected it had become friendship.
One morning Roman entered Honey & Rye carrying a cardboard box.
“What’s that?”
“Applications.”
“For?”
“Jobs.”
I laughed.
He didn’t.
“You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
“You own portions of three companies.”
“Passive holdings.”
“You don’t need employment.”
“I need something that isn’t inherited.”
That answer stopped me.
“What do you want to do?”
He looked around.
“Not baking.”
“Thank God.”
“I can manage operations.”
“You tried to buy twenty people’s breakfast to skip a line.”
“I have improved.”
“You have.”
He eventually began consulting for small transportation companies trying to expand.
Legitimate ones.
He was annoyingly good at it.
People feared him less once they discovered he made terrible jokes.
Our relationship changed too.
Without danger, we had to learn each other in ordinary life.
Roman hated reality television.
I loved it.
I slept with three pillows.
He thought that was irrational.
He alphabetized spices.
I considered that evidence of psychological distress.
We argued.
Sometimes about serious things.
Sometimes about whether pineapple belonged on pizza.
We learned apologizing.
We learned space.
We learned that love after crisis can be harder than love during crisis because adrenaline no longer disguises incompatibility.
Fortunately, we were compatible in the important ways.
Stubborn.
Loyal.
Protective.
Sarcastic.
Terrible at admitting fear.
One evening, six months after Roman’s release, Sophia hosted dinner in her new house.
Smaller.
Only six bathrooms.
She described it as poverty.
Lily brought her new boyfriend.
Roman became silent.
Very silent.
I nudged him.
“Behave.”
“He has earrings.”
“So?”
“Both ears.”
“That has been common for decades.”
“He drives.”
“He’s seventeen.”
“He drives badly.”
“You followed them?”
“No.”
I stared.
Roman sighed.
“I asked.”
“Who?”
“Lily.”
“And she answered?”
“No.”
“Roman.”
He looked offended.
“She is sixteen.”
“Almost seventeen.”
“Worse.”
Lily entered.
“Stop interrogating Noah.”
“I asked his GPA.”
“You asked his intentions.”
“That is reasonable.”
“No, it’s medieval.”
Noah looked terrified.
I handed him bread.
“Don’t worry. He’s mostly house-trained.”
Roman gave me a look.
Lily laughed.
That sound still changed him.
Probably always would.
After dinner Roman asked me to walk outside.
Sophia’s garden was strung with warm lights.
He seemed nervous.
That made me immediately suspicious.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“That is exactly what guilty people say.”
“Clare.”
He reached into his pocket.
I stopped.
“Oh.”
Roman looked suddenly uncertain.
The most feared man in Chicago had once faced federal investigators with less anxiety.
“This is not an arrangement,” he said.
“Good start.”
“There is no contract.”
“Better.”
“No compensation.”
“Excellent.”
He opened the small box.
A simple ring.
Elegant.
Not absurdly enormous.
He knew me.
“I spent years trying to make people stay by controlling everything around them.”
My eyes filled.
“You taught me that love doesn’t work that way.”
He took a breath.
“So I am asking. And you can say no.”
I laughed through tears.
“Very progressive.”
“Clare Bennett.”
He knelt.
“Will you marry me?”
Behind the hedge something moved.
I narrowed my eyes.
“Sophia.”
Silence.
Then Sophia whispered, “Continue.”
Lily hissed, “I told you she’d hear us.”
Roman closed his eyes.
I started laughing.
He looked up.
“This family is impossible.”
“It’s your family.”
“Potentially yours.”
I looked at the ring.
Then at the man.
Not the boss.
Not the criminal legend.
Not the stranger covered in flour.
Roman.
“Yes.”
The hedge exploded with noise.
Sophia screamed.
Lily ran toward us.
Noah clapped because everyone else did.
Roman stood and kissed me.
When we pulled apart, Lily was crying.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She nodded.
“My mom would’ve liked this.”
Roman’s smile became sad.
“Yes.”
Lily wiped her face.
“She would’ve made fun of you first.”
“Also yes.”
Sophia hugged everyone.
Then announced she had already booked a wedding venue.
I stared at her.
“You knew?”
“I hoped.”
“Sophia.”
“What? Reservations fill quickly.”
Roman whispered, “Run.”
I whispered back, “Too late.”
May you like
No more pretending.
This time the entire family knew exactly what we were.
