Chapter 13 - THE SECOND FIRST DATE
Vincent returned to Chicago fourteen months after leaving.
Claire knew three days in advance.
He did not surprise her.
Progress.
They met for coffee.
Public place.
No bodyguards at the table.
Vincent wore a navy sweater.
Claire stared.
“What?”
“You own sweaters?”
“I learned.”
“Montana changed you.”
“Apparently.”
He looked different.
Not weaker.
Less armored.
They talked for two hours.
Nothing about reconciliation at first.
Work.
Ethan.
Sebastian’s retirement threats.
Marco’s new compliance obsession.
Then Vincent asked:
“Are you happy?”
Claire considered.
“Yes.”
He smiled.
Not sadly.
Genuinely.
“Good.”
That mattered more than any speech.
“And you?”
“Getting there.”
“Good.”
Silence.
Then Vincent said:
“I owe you something.”
“No more apologies.”
“Not an apology.”
He looked at her.
“An answer.”
“To what?”
“You asked once whether I ever chose you.”
Claire’s chest tightened.
He continued.
“The first time, no.”
Honest.
“I married you because Anthony required it.”
“Yes.”
“The second time, I chose the empire over knowing you.”
“Yes.”
“The third time, when you left, I wanted you back because losing you felt like losing something that belonged to me.”
Claire said nothing.
“Then eventually I understood none of those were choosing you.”
His hands remained on the table.
No reaching.
“So what now?”
“Now I choose to care about your life even if I am not in it.”
Claire looked away because that one hurt.
In the right way.
Vincent continued.
“I love you.”
Her eyes returned.
“I don’t say that expecting anything.”
“Good.”
“I should have learned it before saying it.”
“Yes.”
“Also good.”
Claire smiled.
Then:
“I love you too.”
Vincent stopped breathing.
She held up one hand.
“That does not mean remarriage.”
“I know.”
“Or moving back.”
“I know.”
“Or returning to what we were.”
“I would rather be shot.”
She laughed.
Real laughter.
Their first date came two months later.
Claire called it that deliberately.
Not reconciliation dinner.
Not anniversary.
First date.
A small Italian restaurant in Evanston.
Vincent made a reservation under “Vince Bennett.”
Claire stared at him.
“Bennett?”
“I panicked.”
“You stole my name.”
“I can change it.”
She laughed.
The waiter thought they were married.
Neither corrected him quickly enough.
Interesting.
They dated slowly.
Vincent met Ethan properly.
Ethan disliked him professionally.
Then personally.
Then slightly less.
Claire enjoyed every second.
One night, six months later, Vincent stopped outside her apartment.
“I have a question.”
“No rings.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
“Would you consider therapy with me?”
Claire stared.
“Couples therapy?”
“Yes.”
“We’re divorced.”
“Exactly. Lower stakes.”
She laughed so hard she had to lean against the door.
Then said yes.
Therapy was brutal.
Useful.
Vincent admitted resentment.
Claire admitted how long she had accepted emotional starvation because foster care taught her scraps were still food.
That realization changed her too.
Healing was not simply Vincent becoming better.
Claire had patterns of her own to break.
Then her doctor called.
Routine testing.
Everything had normalized.
Fertility looked healthy.
Claire sat alone afterward.
She wanted children.
She finally admitted it.
Not immediately.
But someday.
That night she told Vincent.
He became very still.
“I want them too.”
“With me?”
“If you choose me.”
Again.
Choice.
Then he added:
“But even if not, I’m glad you got that possibility back.”
Claire cried.
May you like
And for the first time, Vincent did not try to fix her tears.
He simply stayed.
