Chapter 9 - The Woman Who Came Back by Choice
Grace rented a small townhouse in Cambridge.
Three bedrooms.
Tiny kitchen.
No security gate.
She loved it.
Mia chose yellow curtains.
Sophie chose nothing because she was fifteen months old and mostly interested in spoons.
I offered to pay the lease.
Grace refused.
I offered to install security.
She allowed a basic alarm.
I offered a driver.
She laughed.
“Roman.”
“What?”
“You do realize normal people drive themselves?”
“Questionable system.”
For three months, we dated.
Actually dated.
Coffee.
Dinner.
School pickup.
Walks along the Charles.
No bodyguards visible.
No contracts.
No leverage.
I learned Grace hated expensive restaurants if the portions were small.
She learned I had never been inside a grocery store alone.
That became a humiliating field trip.
Mia pushed the cart.
“You’re doing it wrong.”
“I’m pushing.”
“You’re too close to people.”
“I’m aware.”
Grace nearly collapsed laughing.
At Christmas, the mansion hosted no political donors.
No captains.
No judges.
Just staff, family, federal-compliance people I disliked, and a ridiculous number of children.
Elena moved to Vermont.
She visited occasionally.
She and Grace remained close.
Michael Vane retired.
Luca left Boston.
I never asked where.
Some relationships survive only through distance.
Dominic went to trial.
The jury convicted him on the major counts.
When the verdict was read, I felt no victory.
Only finality.
Afterward, Grace and I walked outside the courthouse.
Snow had started.
“You okay?” she asked.
“No.”
She took my hand.
“Good no or bad no?”
I almost laughed.
“Both.”
Weeks later, I took Grace back to my study.
The bookcase remained open.
The hidden corridor had been renovated into a reading room.
Bright lamps.
No locks.
Mia’s drawings framed on the wall.
Grace looked around.
“You kept them.”
“All of them.”
“One has your head too big.”
“Accurate hierarchy.”
She laughed.
Then I took a small box from the desk.
She froze.
“Roman.”
“Not what you think.”
“It’s definitely what I think.”
I opened it.
No ring.
A key.
She frowned.
“To what?”
“The east cottage.”
An old guesthouse on the property.
Renovated.
Separate title.
“Why?”
“It’s yours if you want it.”
She stared.
“I said I don’t want to be bought.”
“You’re not.”
“Then explain.”
“It’s not a gift.”
“What?”
“It’s a sale.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“For how much?”
“One dollar.”
“That is a gift wearing a fake mustache.”
I laughed.
She did too.
Then I put the key away.
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Forget the cottage.”
“Roman—”
“No. I’m learning.”
She looked at me carefully.
I took out the second box.
This one did contain a ring.
Simple.
Not enormous.
Grace stopped breathing.
“I’m not asking because you need a home.”
She said nothing.
“I’m not asking because your daughters need protection.”
Still nothing.
“I’m not asking because I want to keep you inside my house.”
Her eyes filled.
“I’m asking because you left.”
A tear slid down her cheek.
“And you came back.”
I stepped closer.
“You are the first person in my life who taught me that someone choosing to stay means more than making it impossible for them to leave.”
Grace covered her mouth.
I went down on one knee.
“Grace Harper, will you marry me because you want to?”
She cried.
Then laughed.
Then whispered:
“Yes.”
From behind the open bookcase came a tiny voice.
“I knew it.”
Mia.
Of course.
She stepped out holding Sophie’s hand.
Grace stared.
“You were spying?”
Mia looked offended.
“I was listening.”
May you like
I closed my eyes.
The family tradition was improving only slowly.
