Chapter 9 - DANIEL CARTER ASKS PERMISSION
Daniel and I did not fall in love immediately.
That would have been ridiculous.
First, I hated him.
Then I tolerated him.
Then Noah liked him, which was deeply inconvenient.
Daniel helped Noah apply to a better school.
I objected.
Daniel withdrew the application.
That surprised me.
“You're not going to argue?”
“Your mother left very specific instructions.”
I laughed.
Months passed.
Daniel testified about parts of his father's organization.
He shut down several operations.
Sold others.
Some people called it reform.
Some called it strategy.
I called it unfinished.
He agreed.
That mattered.
One evening, nearly a year after the gala, Daniel came to our apartment.
He brought pizza.
No security inside.
No expensive flowers.
No solutions.
No checks.
We ate with Noah.
After Noah disappeared to his room, Daniel looked at me.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Depends.”
“Dinner.”
“We just ate.”
“Not tonight.”
I stared.
“Are you asking me on a date?”
“Yes.”
“You're terrible at this.”
“I've never had to ask.”
“That is possibly the least attractive answer you could have given.”
“I realized it after I said it.”
I smiled.
He waited.
That was new too.
He didn't assume.
Didn't instruct.
Didn't arrange.
“Okay.”
His expression changed.
“Okay?”
“One date.”
“Tomorrow?”
“No.”
“Friday?”
“Daniel.”
“Right. Waiting.”
Friday.
I said yes Friday.
The relationship was slow.
Messy.
Noah hated seeing us kiss.
That became one of Daniel's favorite activities.
“That's disgusting,” Noah would shout.
Daniel would kiss me again.
Maturity remained a work in progress.
Two years later, Daniel proposed.
Not at a gala.
Not in his hotel.
In my mother's old kitchen.
The blue dress hung nearby in a garment bag.
He didn't kneel immediately.
First he asked:
“Do you want me to ask?”
I stared.
That question mattered more than the ring.
“Yes.”
May you like
Then he knelt.
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