Chapter 7 - The Midnight Pier
The rain in Oakhaven had turned to a soft, heavy snow by midnight on Friday. The town was entirely asleep, the windows of the small coastal cottages dark against the white landscape.
I stood at the end of the wooden pier, my breath rising in pale clouds into the freezing air. The Atlantic was quiet tonight, the waves rolling against the pilings with a low, rhythmic sigh that sounded like the city had finally stopped running.
A pair of headlights cut through the snow at the entrance to the pier.
It wasn't a sedan this time. It was a single, silver Mercedes SUV—the vehicle Adrien used when he didn't want his captains to follow him. The car crawled down the wooden planks of the pier, its tires crunching through the fresh snow, before stopping ten feet away from where I stood.
The driver's door opened, and Adrien stepped out into the winter night. He didn't wear his three-piece suit or his silk tie. He wore a simple, heavy black wool sweater and jeans, his dark hair dusted with white flakes as he walked toward me.
He stopped two feet away, his hands buried deep in his pockets, his gray eyes tracking the snow on my eyelashes.
"The grand jury dismissed the Moretti manifests at four o'clock today," Adrien said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that carried clearly over the quiet water. "Vance has no case left. The legal team is finalizing the closing motions on Monday."
"I know," I said softly. "I read the papers at the bakery."
"You shouldn't have come to the courthouse, Clare," he said, his jaw tightening as he stepped closer, his warmth cutting through the freezing air between us. "The Moretti crews were outside that building. If they had seen you—if they had realized what you were doing—"
"They didn't see me," I said, reaching up to pull my hood back so he could see my face. "And I didn't do it for your empire, Adrien. I didn't do it to save the Romano name."
"Then why did you do it?" he whispered, his hands finally coming out of his pockets, his long fingers hovering just inches from my cold cheeks.
"Because when you came to my cottage on Christmas Eve," I said, my voice trembling with the raw honesty of the salt air. "You didn't bring your captains. You didn't bring your cards. You just brought a cup of bad coffee and a heart that was finally beating loud enough for me to hear it outside the door. I didn't want you to go to prison for a lie, Adrien. I wanted you to be free to make a choice."
Adrien didn't answer with words. He reached out, his large hands catching my waist and pulling me against his chest with a sudden, fierce intensity that took the breath from my lungs. He buried his face in my neck, his long fingers tangling in the wool of my coat as his body shook with the release of two months of silent, agonizing terror.
"I choose you, Clare," he whispered into my hair, his voice thick with an emotion he had never allowed his name to carry before. "I don't care about the ports. I don't care about the towers. I’ve spent thirty-five years building a city that didn't know how to keep the rain out. Let me stay here. Let me help you bake the bread."
May you like
I let out a soft, beautiful laugh against his shoulder, my arms wrapping tightly around his neck as the snow fell around us like white confetti on a dark stage.
"The bakery starts at four in the morning, Mr. Romano," I whispered against his ear. "And Eleanor doesn't like city hands."
