Chapter 12 - THE FIRST DATE WITHOUT A LIE
Our first real date after the divorce took place in a small Italian restaurant in Brooklyn.
The same neighborhood where we'd lived when we were poor.
The same streets where we'd walked home carrying groceries because we couldn't afford a car.
Elena arrived wearing a simple blue dress.
Her hair fell loosely over her shoulders.
For a moment, I forgot how to speak.
She smiled.
"Marcus."
I stood.
"Elena."
She glanced toward the table.
"No bodyguards?"
I smiled.
"They're not joining us."
"No private room?"
"No."
"No expensive gifts?"
I shook my head.
"Just dinner."
She laughed softly.
"Good."
We sat.
For the first time in years, I didn't check my phone.
Didn't mention business.
Didn't talk about how much money I'd made.
I asked Elena about the gallery.
Her paintings.
The artists she admired.
The books she was reading.
And she told me everything.
Not cautiously.
Not as though she expected interruption.
She spoke like the woman I'd met fourteen years earlier.
The woman who loved old jazz records and rainy afternoons.
The woman who could spend hours in museums.
The woman who once said she'd rather have one honest conversation than a room full of diamonds.
I listened.
Really listened.
Then she asked about therapy.
I smiled awkwardly.
"It's going well."
"Still every Thursday?"
"Every Thursday."
She nodded.
"Good."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then she asked, "What have you learned?"
I considered the question.
"That I spent years confusing being needed with being loved."
Her expression softened.
I continued.
"I liked that you depended on me."
I swallowed.
"And when you became more independent, I felt threatened instead of proud."
Elena looked down.
"That sounds familiar."
I nodded.
"I know."
Then she asked something that frightened me.
"Do you still love me?"
I looked into her eyes.
"Yes."
"Or do you love the idea of getting your old life back?"
The question hurt.
But it was fair.
I took a slow breath.
"I love you."
I paused.
"But I don't want our old life back."
Her expression changed.
I continued.
"I want a life where you don't have to write letters just to be heard."
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then tears filled her eyes.
"Marcus..."
I shook my head.
"You don't have to answer."
She smiled sadly.
"That's new."
I laughed softly.
"I'm working on it."
We finished dinner.
Walked through the neighborhood.
Passed the building where we'd lived in our first apartment.
The windows had been replaced.
The old grocery store was gone.
But the staircase remained.
Elena stopped.
"Remember when the heat broke during that snowstorm?"
I laughed.
"We slept under three blankets."
"And you tried to fix the boiler."
"I nearly flooded the basement."
She laughed so hard she had to lean against the wall.
For a moment, I saw the woman I'd loved before the empire.
Before the affair.
Before the three hundred sixty-five letters.
Then Elena turned toward me.
"Marcus?"
"Yes?"
"Would you walk me home?"
I smiled.
"Of course."
We walked together.
At her apartment building, she stopped.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then she stepped closer.
"I had a good time."
"So did I."
She smiled.
Then kissed my cheek.
Not my mouth.
Not yet.
But the gesture nearly brought me to my knees.
"Goodnight, Marcus."
"Goodnight, Elena."
I watched her enter the building.
Then walked toward my car.
For the first time in years, I wasn't thinking about what I could take.
I was thinking about what I needed to earn.
Trust.
Respect.
A future freely chosen.
Then my phone vibrated.
Rebecca.
"Marcus, we have a major update in the Ashford investigation."
My stomach tightened.
"What happened?"
"Investigators recovered a final set of financial records."
I stopped.
"And?"
"The payments connected to Amelia weren't the only suspicious transfers."
A pause.
Then Rebecca said something that made my blood run cold.
May you like
"The foundation was involved in at least twelve other disputed infant identity cases."
And the records suggested Elena's pregnancy wasn't the first one Sophia Laurent had targeted.
