Chapter 15 - THE WOMAN HE FOUND BENEATH THE TABLE
Two years later, I stood inside the ballroom of the same Chicago hotel.
The chandeliers glittered.
The orchestra played.
And my mother was once again trying to introduce someone to a wealthy bachelor.
I watched from across the room.
Then laughed.
Vincent appeared beside me.
He wore a black tuxedo.
His tattoos peeked beneath his cuffs.
The scar across his eyebrow remained.
He followed my gaze.
“Your mother?”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
He sighed.
“Some things never change.”
I laughed.
We had married the previous spring.
A beautiful ceremony.
Small.
Intimate.
Filled with people we loved.
My mother cried.
Isabella cried.
Vincent's security chief pretended not to cry.
Our marriage wasn't perfect.
We argued.
We disagreed.
Vincent still had a tendency to issue instructions.
And I still had a tendency to ignore them.
But we had learned to talk.
To listen.
To choose each other.
Vincent had continued rebuilding his life.
He focused on legitimate businesses.
Supported community projects.
And spent more time at home.
I continued running my design firm.
My career remained mine.
My choices remained mine.
That evening, Vincent took my hand.
“Come with me.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Where?”
He smiled.
“Trust me.”
I followed him into the empty banquet room.
The same room.
The same long table.
The same ivory tablecloth.
I stared.
Then burst out laughing.
“Vincent.”
He grinned.
He lifted the tablecloth.
And there, beneath the table, sat a small picnic basket.
I covered my mouth.
“Chicken sandwiches?” I asked.
Vincent nodded.
“Obviously.”
I laughed so hard I nearly cried.
He held out his hand.
“Join me?”
I looked at him.
Then smiled.
“Only if you share.”
Vincent grinned.
“Always.”
We crawled beneath the table.
Two grown adults.
Married.
Happy.
Still hiding from our mothers.
Vincent opened the basket.
Handed me half a sandwich.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then he looked at me.
“Do you remember what I said the first time we met?”
I smiled.
“Which part?”
He laughed.
“The part where I said I had been looking for you.”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
Vincent took my hand.
“I was looking for answers.”
His eyes softened.
“But I found you.”
My heart melted.
I leaned closer.
“Vincent Marino.”
He smiled.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
I kissed him.
Above us, the ballroom doors opened.
My mother's voice echoed through the room.
“Evelyn?”
Vincent closed his eyes.
I covered my mouth.
Then Isabella spoke.
“Vincent?”
We looked at each other.
And burst out laughing.
Vincent squeezed my hand.
“Same plan?”
I smiled.
“Same plan.”
We stayed beneath the table.
Sharing chicken sandwiches.
Laughing like teenagers.
And I realized something.
The night I'd crawled beneath a banquet table to escape an arranged marriage, I'd believed I was running away from my future.
But I had actually stumbled into it.
Not because our mothers had planned it.
Not because our families had made promises.
Not because of power or money.
Because two people who had spent their lives being told what to do had finally found someone who made them want to choose love.
Vincent kissed my forehead.
“I love you, Evelyn.”
I smiled.
May you like
“I love you too.”
And somewhere above us, our mothers continued searching.
