Chapter 12 - When Grant Walked Into the Room Again
Charlotte saw Grant in person for the first time in almost three years at Richard West’s funeral.
Richard died unexpectedly from a stroke at seventy-three.
Despite everything, Charlotte attended for Evelyn.
The service was private.
Grant stood near the front in a dark suit that no longer seemed like armor.
He was thinner.
Gray at the temples.
When he saw Charlotte, his face changed.
Neither approached immediately.
After the service, Evelyn hugged Charlotte.
“I’m glad you came.”
“How are you?”
“Complicated.”
Fair.
Sloane attended too.
That surprised Charlotte.
She stood near the back.
Victoria had loved Richard once.
Maybe grief belonged to history as much as current relationships.
Eventually Grant approached.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“You look good.”
“So do you.”
He smiled.
“Prison skincare.”
Charlotte laughed before she could stop herself.
That broke the tension.
“I’m sorry about your father.”
“Thank you.”
They stood quietly.
Grant looked toward Julian, who had given Charlotte space.
“Is that him?”
“Yes.”
“He seems tall.”
“That’s your observation?”
“I’m trying not to say anything inappropriate.”
“Growth.”
He smiled.
Then became serious.
“I heard about the clinics.”
“Thank you.”
“You weren’t supposed to know.”
“Tax filings.”
“Right.”
“Still appreciated.”
Grant nodded.
“I’m working.”
“Where?”
“A property nonprofit. Operations, not finance.”
“Wise.”
“No signatory authority.”
“Very wise.”
He laughed.
Then his eyes filled.
“I thought seeing you would be worse.”
“For you?”
“For both.”
Charlotte understood.
“It’s okay.”
“Are we okay?”
She thought carefully.
“We are not what we were.”
“I know.”
“But yes. I think we’re okay.”
Grant’s shoulders lowered.
It was perhaps the first time in years Charlotte had given him peace without surrendering anything.
Sloane joined them.
The three people from the birthday scandal stood together beneath church windows.
Grant looked at Sloane.
“You came.”
“Your mother asked.”
“Thank you.”
Sloane nodded.
No romance.
No rage.
Just history.
Grant smiled faintly.
“Well. This is statistically uncomfortable.”
Charlotte laughed.
Sloane did too.
Maybe that was healing.
Not forgetting.
Not reunion.
Being able to occupy one room without old roles restarting.
After the funeral, Grant approached Julian.
Charlotte watched from a distance, horrified.
Marisol whispered beside her, “This is excellent.”
“I hate you.”
Julian returned.
“What did he say?”
“He apologized for creating an unreasonable benchmark for future relationship drama.”
Charlotte stared.
“He said that?”
“Then told me you hate cilantro.”
“That traitor.”
Julian laughed.
On the drive home, Charlotte said, “I think I’m ready.”
“For?”
“Marriage.”
Julian almost hit the brakes.
Again.
“You need to stop doing that in cars.”
“You need to stop making major emotional announcements while I’m driving.”
“Fair.”
He pulled over.
Turned toward her.
“Are you saying you want to marry me?”
“I think so.”
“That is not a proposal.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
“I want to choose it because I want it. Not because I’m proving I trust again. Not because Grant doesn’t matter. Not because society likes weddings.”
Julian nodded.
“What else?”
“I want a prenup.”
He smiled.
“Obviously.”
“Separate inherited assets.”
“Of course.”
“Joint decisions documented.”
“Charlotte.”
“What?”
“You’re making marriage sound like a merger.”
She froze.
Then they both laughed uncontrollably.
“I hate my life.”
“I love your life.”
That quieted her.
Julian took her hand.
“I will ask properly someday.”
“Not soon.”
“Understood.”
“Not publicly.”
“Understood.”
“No plates.”
He looked confused.
“Very specific.”
“Trust me.”
Six months later, Julian proposed in their kitchen while Charlotte was barefoot making coffee.
No restaurant.
No cameras.
No family.
He put a small ring box beside her mug.
Charlotte opened it.
Inside was a handwritten note.
No registry has been created without your authorization.
She laughed so hard she had to sit down.
Then cried.
Julian knelt only after she stopped laughing.
“Charlotte Mercer West—”
“Not West much longer.”
“Excellent point. Charlotte Mercer, will you marry me?”
“Yes.”
He slipped the ring onto her hand.
She kissed him.
Then said, “We need Mara.”
Julian sighed.
“For the prenup?”
“Immediately.”
“Can we have breakfast first?”
“Fine.”
May you like
This time, planning a wedding did not feel like replacing one life.
It felt like choosing one.
