Chapter 9 - THE QUESTION ROMAN FINALLY ASKED
Roman proposed two years after I arrived in Grey Haven.
Not in a restaurant.
Not at Bellandi House.
Not during a crisis.
At Juniper & Rye.
4:15 a.m.
Of course.
I entered the bakery and found him standing beside the proofing cabinet.
I laughed immediately.
“No.”
His face fell.
“I haven’t asked.”
“You’re doing a setup.”
“Unfair.”
“Roman Bellandi does not voluntarily enter a bakery before sunrise without conspiracy.”
He pointed toward the back wall.
A small envelope was taped there.
I stared.
“Seriously?”
“Open it.”
Inside was not a ring.
A recipe.
Handwritten by the children.
FAMILY BREAD
500g flour.
325g water.
10g salt.
5g yeast.
All normal.
I smiled.
Then bottom line:
1 Grace, optional but strongly recommended.
I laughed so loudly Nora shouted from upstairs.
Roman took the recipe.
“Children wrote that.”
“I assumed.”
“I objected to the word optional.”
“Healthy parenting.”
He grew serious.
Then reached into his coat.
Ring.
Simple.
No giant diamond designed to announce status.
He knew me.
“Grace Miller.”
He said.
“You met me at the worst point in my life.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
He paused.
“My wife had died.”
“My children were afraid of me.”
“My cousin was betraying me.”
“My businesses were full of things I refused to examine.”
“I thought power meant solving whatever stood in front of me.”
“You were the first person who kept telling me that some problems could not be solved by taking control.”
His voice shook.
“I loved Isabel.”
“I still love what we had.”
That mattered.
No erasing a dead woman to make room for me.
“She gave me my children.”
“She also left behind a truth I was too difficult for her to trust me with.”
He looked toward her notebook.
“I will regret that for the rest of my life.”
Then back at me.
“I do not want you to fit into my future.”
My eyes filled.
“I want the future to belong equally to both of us.”
He knelt.
“Will you marry me?”
“Yes.”
Then:
“One condition.”
His face tightened.
“What?”
“No Avery flour.”
He stared.
Then laughed.
“Done.”
The children burst from behind the storeroom door.
They had been listening.
Of course.
Nora came downstairs wearing a robe and holding a rolling pin.
“You people are loud.”
Clara screamed:
“She said yes!”
Nora looked at me.
“Poor judgment.”
I hugged her.
We married six months later.
Grey Haven.
Small church ceremony followed by reception at the restored old mill.
The old mill Roman once refused to help Isabel convert.
After everything, he funded its restoration through a community trust with no Bellandi naming rights.
He called that marital penance.
I called it overdue civic investment.
Mrs. Sutton came.
Colin came with his girlfriend, Hannah.
Yes.
I invited him.
Roman found this bizarre.
“You invite ex-fiancés?”
“Secure men survive.”
He stared.
“Manipulative.”
“Effective.”
Richard Avery did not attend.
He was incarcerated.
Dante too.
No theatrical forgiveness.
Actions had consequences.
Victoria? wrong story. Ignore.
At the wedding, Theo walked me partway down the aisle.
Then stopped.
“Why are we stopping?”
He smiled.
“Because you said nobody gives you away.”
My chest broke.
He kissed my cheek and sat.
I walked the rest alone.
Choice.
Roman waited.
Not as rescuer.
Not owner.
Partner.
During vows, Jonah whispered too loudly:
“Dad’s crying.”
Everyone laughed.
Roman glared.
Clara said:
“It’s healthy.”
Therapy had weaponized the children.
After dinner, Mrs. Sutton approached with an old photograph.
Me at seventeen.
Bakery whites too big.
Flour across my face.
Terrified.
“I took this your first week.”
I stared.
“I look awful.”
“You looked hungry.”
“For food?”
“For somewhere to stay.”
She touched my cheek.
“You found it.”
I looked around.
Roman.
Children.
Nora.
Grey Haven.
Bakery employees.
Friends.
Not somewhere I stayed because someone approved my packaging.
Somewhere I was known.
That was different.
Colin approached later.
“Happy?”
I thought.
“Yes.”
He smiled.
“Good.”
Then:
“For what it’s worth…”
He looked at my wedding dress.
Simple.
Soft.
My body still mine.
“I was wrong.”
“About?”
“You fit every life.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
He frowned.
I smiled.
“I don’t.”
“I fit mine.”
May you like
That answer felt better.
---
