Chapter 7 - The House With Open Curtains
One year later, every curtain in the Corso estate was open.
Fay noticed because she had once opened them one by one.
Back then, the third floor had smelled of stale air and anger. Dominic had hidden in darkness, daring anyone to enter.
Now sunlight filled the bedroom.
The broken books had been repaired.
The expensive rug had been replaced—not because of oatmeal stains, Dominic insisted, but because “the wheels hated it.”
Fay believed neither explanation nor man.
She stood before the mirror fastening earrings.
“You're late.”
Dominic's voice came from behind her.
“I’m not.”
“Seven minutes.”
“That isn't late.”
“It is if I’ve been waiting.”
She turned.
For one moment, the sight of him still had the power to steal her breath.
Dominic sat in his wheelchair wearing a black suit, white shirt open at the collar, tattoos visible near one wrist.
His hair was shorter now.
His face healthier.
The hollow darkness in his eyes was gone.
Not all pain had disappeared.
Some never would.
He still used the wheelchair most of the day.
He could stand with braces and support.
On exceptionally good days, he could take several assisted steps with a walker.
On difficult days, spasms sent him back to bed.
Recovery had not become the miracle strangers liked to imagine.
It became something better.
Reality.
Slow.
Frustrating.
Imperfect.
His life was not waiting for a cure before beginning.
Fay had taught him that.
Dominic had taught her something too.
Survival wasn't supposed to become a permanent personality.
Sometimes people were allowed to stop fighting long enough to live.
“You're staring,” he said.
“You're vain.”
“You were staring.”
“I was thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
Fay approached and adjusted his collar.
Dominic's hands settled lightly on her waist.
“You look beautiful.”
She wore a simple dark green dress.
No diamonds.
No designer label.
Dominic had learned better than to surprise her with expensive clothing.
He had once bought her a coat.
She made him return it.
He bought her boots.
She accepted those only because her old pair had finally split completely.
They had compromised.
Fay allowed thoughtful gifts.
Dominic stopped attaching price tags to affection.
“What time does the ceremony start?” she asked.
“Six.”
“And you're rushing me at four thirty?”
“I have plans.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“What plans?”
“You ask too many questions.”
“That usually means you're doing something irritating.”
He smiled.
“Come downstairs.”
The estate had changed during the past year.
So had the Corso empire.
Some businesses were sold.
Others legitimized.
Illegal operations were shut down one by one.
It cost Dominic allies.
Money.
Influence.
For several months it almost cost him his life as powerful men resisted.
But Dominic no longer wanted to rule through fear.
He kept the logistics companies.
Construction firms.
Restaurants.
Several waterfront properties.
Carmine became director of security for the legitimate corporation and complained constantly that board meetings were more dangerous than criminals.
Matteo eventually pleaded guilty to financial conspiracy, corruption, and charges connected to Dominic's crash.
The evidence spoke louder than revenge ever could.
Dominic never visited him.
When asked why, he simply said, “I already gave him too many years.”
Fay respected that answer more than any threat Dominic could have made.
Her own life had changed too.
Dominic offered to pay her rent permanently.
She threatened to resign.
Instead, he helped her find a better apartment at market price.
Then, three months into their relationship, Fay decided to enroll in a professional caregiving and rehabilitation-support program.
She paid the tuition herself.
Mostly.
Dominic secretly funded a scholarship through the school.
Fay discovered it.
They argued for two days.
Eventually she allowed the scholarship to remain after learning it would support ten additional students.
“That is manipulative,” she told him.
“Philanthropic.”
“Manipulative philanthropy.”
“My specialty.”
Now she was six months from certification.
And she no longer worked as Dominic's maid.
That had lasted exactly two weeks after their first kiss.
Mrs. Gable had ended it.
“I refuse to schedule a woman to clean her boyfriend's bathroom,” she'd announced.
Dominic laughed for approximately ten minutes.
Fay threatened both of them with a mop.
Downstairs, the house buzzed with activity.
Cook prepared trays.
Mrs. Gable directed staff.
Carmine wore a tuxedo and looked deeply unhappy about it.
Fay stopped.
“Why is everyone dressed up already?”
Dominic continued rolling toward the garden doors.
“No reason.”
“Dominic.”
“Fay.”
“Don't imitate me.”
“I wasn't.”
“You absolutely were.”
Outside, rows of chairs had been arranged beneath the old oak trees.
Fay stared.
White flowers.
Candles.
Musicians.
Dozens of familiar faces.
Her classmates.
Mrs. Gable.
Cook.
Dr. Elena Ruiz.
Several employees from Dominic's companies.
Even Mr. Benson, her former landlord, stood awkwardly near the back.
Fay turned slowly.
“What did you do?”
Dominic looked entirely too pleased with himself.
“You remember the community rehabilitation foundation?”
“Yes.”
Months earlier, Fay and Dominic had started planning a nonprofit to provide home accessibility equipment, transportation, caregiver assistance, and rehabilitation grants for people whose insurance or income left enormous gaps.
Fay had insisted that Dominic's name not appear across everything.
Dominic had complained.
Fay won.
“Today is the opening?” she asked.
“Partly.”
“Partly?”
Mrs. Gable appeared.
“Go stand by the fountain.”
Fay stared at her.
“You're involved.”
“Obviously.”
“You've all been lying to me.”
“We prefer 'protecting the surprise.'”
Carmine walked past.
“Lying.”
Mrs. Gable glared.
Fay crossed the garden.
Dominic stopped near the fountain.
An elegant building stood beyond the trees.
The old guesthouse had been renovated.
Above the entrance, a simple sign read:
THE OPEN WINDOW FOUNDATION
Fay covered her mouth.
Dominic watched her reaction.
“You named it after the curtains?”
“You opened them.”
Tears immediately filled her eyes.
“Oh, no.”
He laughed.
“I haven't even started.”
“Dominic.”
He reached into his jacket.
Fay froze.
“Don't.”
His eyebrows rose.
“I haven't done anything.”
“I know what that shape is.”
“What shape?”
“The small-box shape.”
Guests nearby began laughing.
Fay looked mortified.
“You invited an audience?”
“You'll understand.”
He removed a small velvet box.
Then he looked at the wheelchair.
A mischievous expression crossed his face.
“I was informed tradition requires me to get down on one knee.”
Fay laughed through tears.
“Don't you dare.”
“Fortunately, I have spent the past year learning that traditions can adapt.”
He opened the box.
Inside sat a modest ring.
Elegant.
Simple.
Exactly the kind Fay would choose.
Her hand covered her mouth.
Dominic's expression became serious.
A year earlier, he would have prepared a speech designed to control every emotion in the room.
Now he simply told the truth.
“When you walked into my house, I thought I had lost everything that made me a man.”
Fay shook her head, crying.
“You hadn't.”
“I know.”
His voice softened.
“Because you made me understand that strength wasn't walking into a room. It wasn't frightening people. It wasn't money, power, or making sure nobody could hurt me.”
He took her hand.
“Strength was waking up when I hated waking up.”
Mrs. Gable wiped her eyes.
“Trying again when yesterday went badly.”
Elena smiled.
“Apologizing when I was wrong.”
Carmine muttered, “Still working on that one.”
Laughter rippled through the guests.
Dominic glared at him.
Then smiled.
“And loving somebody enough to let her choose.”
He looked at Fay.
“So I’m not going to tell you that you belong with me.”
Her lips trembled.
“I’m going to ask.”
Dominic drew a breath.
“Fay Willis, will you choose me?”
She stared at the ring.
Then at him.
Memories flooded back.
Rain.
Leaking boots.
An eviction notice.
A dark hallway.
A shattered bowl of oatmeal.
A furious man trapped behind curtains.
A thirty-second spasm.
His hand beneath hers.
Breathe.
The first smile.
Day three.
The first time he trusted her enough to let her help him from bed.
The first time he admitted he needed her.
The night Matteo arrived.
Their first kiss.
All of it had begun because Fay had been too poor to quit.
But she had stayed for an entirely different reason.
She lowered herself until they were eye level.
“Yes.”
The garden erupted.
Dominic blinked.
“That's it?”
She laughed.
“Yes, Dominic.”
“I prepared more speech in case you hesitated.”
“You talk too much.”
She kissed him.
Applause rose around them.
When Fay pulled back, Dominic slid the ring onto her finger.
Perfect fit.
“Carmine measured one of your rings.”
She looked over Dominic's shoulder.
Carmine immediately pointed at Mrs. Gable.
“She ordered me.”
“Traitor.”
“Professionally qualified.”
Fay laughed again.
Later that evening, after guests toured the foundation building, Dr. Ruiz found Dominic near the rehabilitation room.
“Ready?”
He looked toward Fay.
She understood.
“You planned another surprise.”
“Possibly.”
“Dominic Corso.”
“Fay Willis.”
Elena positioned a walker.
Dominic locked his wheelchair.
Fay's smile faded.
“You don't need to prove anything.”
“I know.”
That answer mattered.
A year earlier, he would have done it because he needed everyone to see that he wasn't broken.
Now he wanted only to share something he had worked for.
Carmine stood nearby in case he needed help.
Dominic secured his braces.
He placed both hands on the walker.
Then pushed.
His body rose.
Slowly.
Carefully.
He stood.
Guests became silent.
Fay pressed her fingers against her lips.
Dominic breathed.
One step.
Small.
Unsteady.
His foot moved forward.
Elena remained beside him.
Another step.
Dominic's arms trembled.
Fay started toward him.
He shook his head gently.
Not yet.
He moved again.
Three steps.
Four.
Then fatigue hit.
Carmine moved closer.
Dominic sat safely back into the wheelchair.
Applause exploded.
Dominic looked irritated.
Fay laughed.
“You hate applause.”
“Deeply.”
She approached.
“You were amazing.”
“No.”
He took her hand.
“I walked four steps.”
“That's amazing.”
“Maybe.”
He looked toward the foundation.
“Tomorrow I might not walk any.”
“Then tomorrow you'll roll.”
“And if therapy goes badly?”
“We complain.”
“If I throw oatmeal?”
“I charge you for the rug.”
Dominic laughed.
It was full and unguarded.
People turned.
Not because they feared him.
Because they loved hearing it.
As darkness settled, the final guests disappeared.
Mrs. Gable retired upstairs.
Carmine went home.
The musicians packed away their instruments.
Fay and Dominic remained in the garden beneath strings of warm lights.
She sat beside him on a stone bench.
For several minutes neither spoke.
Then Fay asked, “Do you ever think about my first day?”
“Every morning.”
“Really?”
“No.”
She elbowed his shoulder.
Dominic laughed.
“Yes. I think about it.”
“What part?”
“The moment you told me you'd clean up anything I threw.”
Fay smiled.
“I was terrified.”
His head turned.
“No, you weren't.”
“I absolutely was.”
“You never looked afraid.”
“Because I needed forty dollars an hour.”
He shook his head.
“All this time, I thought you were fearless.”
Fay leaned against him.
“No one is fearless.”
“Then what were you?”
“Busy.”
Dominic laughed again.
She continued.
“I had rent due. Wet shoes. No food at home. And some rich angry guy was yelling because he didn't like chicken.”
“It was dry.”
“It was perfectly fine.”
“Terrible.”
“You ate it after I left.”
His head snapped toward her.
“How do you know?”
“The plate was clean.”
“I could have thrown it out.”
“You didn't.”
“I might have.”
“You ate the vegetables too.”
Dominic looked betrayed.
“You've been keeping that information for a year?”
“Waiting for the right moment.”
He shook his head.
“Manipulative.”
“I learned from you.”
The humor faded gently.
Dominic looked toward the mansion.
Every third-floor window glowed.
No curtains closed.
“I spent six months believing my life ended in that accident.”
Fay squeezed his hand.
“I know.”
“I don't anymore.”
They sat quietly.
Then he looked at her engagement ring.
“Are you sure?”
Fay understood the question wasn't really about marriage.
It was about everything.
The wheelchair.
The pain.
The uncertain future.
The reputation he was still repairing.
The life that would never become simple.
She turned his hand over and traced one of the black-and-gray tattoos on his wrist.
“Dominic, I met you while cleaning oatmeal off a floor.”
“Fair point.”
“I’m not expecting simple.”
“What are you expecting?”
She smiled.
“Breakfast tomorrow.”
He smiled back.
“And after that?”
“Lunch.”
“Very ambitious.”
“Then dinner.”
Dominic looked toward the house.
“One day at a time?”
“One day at a time.”
He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers.
Months later, the wedding took place in the same garden.
Dominic used his wheelchair down the aisle.
He did not hide it beneath decorations.
He did not attempt to stand for photographs.
He did not apologize.
When Fay appeared beneath the oak trees, wearing a simple ivory dress, he looked at her with the same stunned expression he had worn the morning she first helped transfer him from bed.
Carmine stood beside him.
“Don't cry.”
“I’m not.”
“You're definitely crying.”
“Say another word and you're fired.”
“You've fired me fourteen times.”
“Fifteen.”
Mrs. Gable laughed from the front row.
Fay reached Dominic.
He took her hand.
Their vows were simple.
No promises that life would always be easy.
No promises of miraculous recovery.
No promises that pain would disappear.
Only choices.
To stay.
To speak honestly.
To ask instead of command.
To fight problems without fighting each other.
To keep opening the curtains.
At the reception, Dominic watched Fay dance with Mrs. Gable and several classmates.
He could have felt cheated.
Once, dancing had been easy.
Once, he would have stood in the center of the floor.
Instead, when Fay returned, she sat sideways across his lap.
“You're supposed to dance with your wife.”
“I married a troublemaker.”
“That doesn't answer me.”
Dominic wheeled them slowly toward the dance floor.
Music softened.
His chair moved in a gentle circle.
Fay wrapped her arms around his neck.
People made room.
Nobody stared.
Nobody pitied.
They simply danced differently.
Fay rested her forehead against his.
“Happy?”
Dominic considered the word.
A year earlier it would have sounded impossible.
Now the answer was simple.
“Yes.”
Outside the ballroom, morning was beginning to lighten the horizon.
The first sunlight entered through tall windows.
Fay looked toward it.
“You know what's funny?”
“What?”
“You spent months keeping the curtains closed.”
Dominic followed her gaze.
“And?”
“Now they're never closed.”
He smiled.
“That isn't true.”
“When?”
“At night.”
She groaned.
“You ruined the moment.”
“I’m still Dominic.”
“Unfortunately.”
He kissed her.
The man everyone feared had not been rescued because he walked again.
He had not been saved by money.
Or doctors.
Or revenge.
He had been saved slowly, imperfectly, by the realization that losing one version of his life did not mean losing the future.
And the poor, shy maid who once entered his house because she needed rent money had discovered something equally important.
Survival had gotten her through the gates.
But love gave her a reason to stay.
A year earlier, nobody had lasted three days with Dominic Corso.
Fay Willis stayed through the third.
Then the fourth.
Then every difficult day that followed.
And in the end, neither of them saved the other alone.
They simply stopped running from the parts of themselves they feared most.
Then they chose each other.
Again.
May you like
And again.
One day at a time.
