Chapter 14 - THE PHOTOGRAPH HE NEVER MEANT ME TO SEE
Roman looked almost embarrassed.
I had seen him face armed men with less discomfort.
"Why did you have my photograph?"
We were standing in the mansion library.
Snow had melted outside.
January sunlight filled the room.
Roman leaned against the desk.
"It wasn't exactly a private file."
"Adrian said Vivian found it in your desk."
"That part is true."
I crossed my arms.
"Roman."
He sighed.
"Last Christmas, Mrs. Patel took photographs of the staff party."
I remembered.
Nothing glamorous.
Kitchen employees.
Housekeepers.
Drivers.
Security officers.
Everyone standing around a giant table eating leftovers after the guests left.
I had been laughing.
My hair was tied up.
No makeup.
Flour on my sleeve.
"Why keep that picture?"
Roman looked at me.
"Because you were happy."
I stopped.
He continued.
"I'd seen you working for a year. You were always polite. Always careful. Always trying not to take up space."
My throat tightened.
"But that night you were laughing."
His expression softened.
"I liked seeing it."
I didn't know what to say.
For years, Vivian had made me feel too large.
Too ordinary.
Too noticeable in all the wrong ways.
Roman had noticed the exact thing I'd tried hardest to hide.
My happiness.
"You could've told me."
"I was engaged."
"You weren't married."
"I was still committed."
I studied him.
That answer mattered.
Even if the engagement was political.
Even if he didn't love Vivian.
He hadn't treated commitment as meaningless.
"Then why end it now?"
He gave me a look.
"She sent you into a blizzard."
"Fair point."
He almost smiled.
Then grew serious.
"But even without that, I would've ended it."
"Why?"
"Because Christmas forced me to admit the arrangement was making everyone involved worse."
He stepped closer.
"Vivian wanted a husband who increased her family's power."
Another step.
"I wanted an alliance."
He stopped several feet away.
"Neither of us was building a marriage."
I swallowed.
"And what do you want now?"
His eyes held mine.
"Something honest."
My heart beat faster.
"With me?"
"Yes."
The word was simple.
No performance.
No manipulation.
I looked away.
"Roman, your life is complicated."
"I know."
"You have enemies."
"I know."
"Half the city is afraid of you."
"I'm working on that."
I laughed despite myself.
He smiled.
Then I became serious.
"I won't be owned."
"Good."
"I won't become someone's secret."
"Good."
"I won't let money decide whether I can leave."
His expression changed.
"Claire, if we ever become something more, I want you able to walk away."
I stared.
"That's a terrible romantic line."
He smiled.
"It's the truth."
It was.
And somehow truth was becoming more attractive than romance.
I stepped closer.
"Ask me again."
His eyes darkened.
"Ask what?"
I smiled.
"You know."
For the second time, Roman DeLuca—the man who could make a room of powerful people go silent—looked nervous.
"May I kiss you?"
I nodded.
"Yes."
His hand lifted slowly.
He touched my cheek.
Then kissed me.
Gentle.
Warm.
No ownership.
No demand.
Just a question I'd already answered.
When we pulled apart, I was smiling.
Then Mrs. Patel burst into the library.
Her eyes were wide.
"I'm sorry."
Roman turned.
"What happened?"
She held out her phone.
A news alert filled the screen.
Charles Mercer had been arrested on multiple financial charges.
Vivian faced additional charges connected to the Christmas Eve attack.
But beneath those headlines was something else.
A court filing.
The charitable waterfront trust had been formally restored.
Its board had requested that I become permanent director.
And there was one additional beneficiary.
Roman stared at the document.
"Gabriel."
His uncle.
The money Mercer had tried to steal would now support medical-debt relief.
Exactly what Margaret and Dad had wanted.
Roman looked at me.
"What are you going to do?"
I smiled.
"For once?"
May you like
I took his hand.
"Exactly what I want."
