Chương 10 - Before We Say I Do
Six months later.
The crisp, vibrant chill of late autumn had painted the oak trees of Lake Forest in brilliant shades of gold, amber, and crimson.
The scandal that had rocked Chicago high society had finally run its course through the federal courts. Julian Pierce had been sentenced to thirty-five years at a maximum-security penitentiary in Terre Haute without the possibility of parole. Vanessa Bellini, stripped of every cent of her family’s assets, had taken a twenty-year plea deal for corporate espionage and attempted murder.
The Moretti conglomerate had emerged stronger, cleaner, and completely restructured, with Luca establishing a new oversight council managed entirely by long-serving division workers.
And on the fourth floor of the Moretti estate, the past had been completely erased.
The guest suite had been transformed into a light-filled art studio. Canvases filled with vibrant oil landscapes lined the walls—paintings I had created as my fractured hand slowly healed back to full strength under the best physical therapy in the country.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
Luca stepped inside.
He wore a dark charcoal suit, but there was no tension in his broad shoulders today. The hard, calculating shadows that had lived in his eyes for months were completely gone, replaced by a deep, radiant peace.
He walked over to where I sat near the French balcony, looking at the finished painting on my easel. It was a depiction of Lake Michigan at sunrise, painted in soft golds, pale blues, and warm whites.
"Arthur said your final mobility scan came back clean this morning," Luca said, resting his hands gently on my shoulders, leaning down to press a warm kiss against the top of my head.
"Ninety-nine percent flexibility," I smiled, holding up my left hand. The scars across my wrist were faint, silver lines—badges of survival rather than wounds of shame. "I can hold a brush for four hours without cramping."
"And a champagne glass?" Luca asked, a teasing, melodic warmth in his deep voice.
"Easily."
Luca reached into his pocket and placed a sleek velvet box on the small table beside my palette.
My breath caught in my throat. My heart fluttered with a sweet, breathless anticipation.
"Luca..."
"Open it, Claire."
With trembling fingers, I opened the velvet lid.
Sitting on the black silk was a breathtaking ring. A flawless cushion-cut sapphire, deep and pure as midnight water, flanked by two brilliant triangular diamonds set in platinum. It wasn't an ostentatious family heirloom meant to show off corporate wealth at high-society galas.
It was modern. It was strong. It was beautiful.
Luca knelt on one knee beside my chair. He took my left hand in his—the hand that had carried soup trays, the hand that had fought Vanessa in the dark, the hand that had held the key to saving his life.
"Six months ago, I was surrounded by people who smiled to my face and plotted my death in the shadows," Luca said, his voice rich with profound emotion. "I thought loyalty was a transaction, and marriage was just a legal contract."
He looked directly into my eyes, laying his soul completely bare.
"You taught me that real strength isn't about control, Claire. It’s about standing in front of someone when the storm hits. You saved my life, but more than that, you saved the man I wanted to be."
He lifted the sapphire ring from the box.
"I don't want an empire without you. I don't want a tomorrow where you aren't waking up beside me. Claire Dawson, will you marry me?"
Tears of pure, unadulterated joy spilled over my lashes, tracing down my smiling cheeks. "Yes. Yes, Luca. A thousand times, yes."
Luca slipped the ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly.
He stood, lifted me into his arms, and spun me around the sunlit studio, his deep, joyous laugh echoing through the vast hallways that had once felt so cold and terrifying. When he set me down, his mouth claimed mine in a kiss that promised decades of laughter, safety, and boundless love.
***
Two weeks later.
The small stone chapel overlooking Lake Michigan was filled with three hundred people—not politicians or corporate sharks, but the real people who made the Moretti world turn. Dockworkers in their Sunday suits, household staff seated as guests of honor in the front pews, and the honest friends who had stood by Luca when the dust settled.
The church organ swelled into the opening chords of the bridal march.
The double doors opened.
I walked down the stone aisle on the arm of Dr. Harris, who beamed with paternal pride. I wore a simple, breathtaking gown of ivory silk with long lace sleeves that brushed my wrists, carrying a bouquet of white calla lilies and blue hydrangeas.
At the altar stood Luca.
He looked magnificent. His dark eyes were locked entirely on me, glistening with unshed tears, looking at me as if I were the only living soul in the universe.
When I reached the altar, Luca took both of my hands into his. His grip was warm, steady, and unbreakable.
The priest raised his hands, smiling warmly at the two of us.
"Do you, Luca Moretti, take Claire Dawson to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, until death do you part?"
Luca looked down into my eyes. His thumb gently stroked the back of my hand, resting right against the sapphire that sparkled in the afternoon light.
"Before God and every person in this room," Luca spoke, his voice ringing with absolute certainty, "I do."
"And do you, Claire Dawson, take Luca Moretti to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
My heart was overflowing, radiant and fearless.
"I do."
"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Luca, you may kiss your bride."
Luca didn't wait.
He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me close against his heart, and kissed me as the entire chapel erupted into thunderous, joyous applause.
The threats were gone. The shadows had fled.
May you like
And as the church bells rang out across the blue, open waters of Lake Michigan, I knew that our story wasn't ending.
It was only just beginning.
