Chapter 9 - WHEN HE CAME HOME
Vincent came home on a Tuesday.
No black cars.
No entourage.
One suitcase.
I waited outside.
He stopped when he saw me.
Three years had changed him.
More silver.
A little thinner.
Same eyes.
“Claire.”
“Vincent.”
Neither of us moved.
Then he smiled.
“You waited.”
“No.”
His smile disappeared.
I walked toward him.
“I lived.”
Understanding appeared.
“And?”
“And I still love you.”
He exhaled.
“So do I.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“You're taking me to dinner.”
He laughed.
“Tonight?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I have a board meeting.”
He stared.
“You're making me wait?”
“Three years didn't kill you.”
He laughed harder.
Our first real date happened Friday.
A small Italian restaurant.
No guards.
No business.
No secret rooms.
Vincent ordered white wine.
I ordered pasta.
Halfway through dinner, he reached into his jacket.
I pointed my fork at him.
“If that's a ring, I'll stab you.”
He froze.
Then slowly removed…
His reading glasses.
I laughed until I cried.
The entire restaurant stared.
Vincent put them on.
“For the record, this is deeply humiliating.”
“Good.”
He smiled.
And for the first time, our relationship belonged only to us.
Not Evan.
Not Isabella.
Not Gabriel.
Not the organization.
May you like
Us.
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