Chapter 10 - Choose Me Again
Three months later, Zara returned to Chicago on an August afternoon.
She did not tell Adrian.
She wanted to see what his life looked like when he wasn't expecting her.
Cross Global had changed.
Adrian had sold the last companies connected to his father's criminal network.
He had established an independent compliance board.
Millions from seized and recovered assets had been redirected into community programs, including the literacy center Thomas Bennett had once dreamed of expanding.
But Zara was not interested in press releases.
She wanted Adrian.
She found him in Pilsen.
Wearing jeans.
Holding a paint roller.
Zara stopped outside the literacy center and laughed.
Adrian turned.
The roller nearly fell out of his hand.
“Zara.”
Three children decorating bookmarks looked between them.
One whispered loudly, “Is that your wife?”
Adrian looked at Zara.
“I hope so.”
She raised an eyebrow.
Smart answer.
He put down the roller.
“You're back.”
“For today.”
His smile weakened slightly.
“Okay.”
“You're not asking whether I'm staying?”
“I desperately want to.”
“But?”
“You said you wanted consistency, not pressure.”
Zara studied him.
There were more gray hairs near his temples.
He looked tired.
Lighter somehow.
“What happened to the suits?”
“Paint is expensive to remove from Italian wool.”
She laughed.
That sound stopped him.
The same laugh.
The one from the ballroom.
Except this time it was for him.
Adrian smiled.
“Coffee?”
“Peach tea.”
“I remember.”
“I know.”
They walked to a small café.
For two hours, they talked.
Not about Hart.
Not about Victor.
Not about murder, money, federal investigations or Graham Vale.
They talked about ordinary things.
Zara's project in Seattle.
Adrian's terrible attempt at cooking.
Evan's plea agreement.
Marcus awaiting sentencing.
A book Zara had loved.
A restaurant Adrian wanted to try.
At one point Zara realized something extraordinary.
Adrian was listening without trying to solve anything.
“You're different.”
He looked uncomfortable.
“Hopefully less unbearable.”
“Moderately.”
“I'll take it.”
She smiled.
Then became serious.
“I found something in Seattle.”
Adrian waited.
“A copy of our original wedding vows.”
His face changed.
“I remember mine.”
“Of course you do.”
“I promised to protect you.”
“You did.”
“Too much.”
“You promised to choose me.”
Adrian looked down.
“That part I failed.”
Zara reached across the table.
“Then choose me now.”
He looked at her.
She continued.
“Not because Graham hugged me.”
A flicker of embarrassment crossed his face.
“I'm never escaping that, am I?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Fair.”
“Not because you're afraid I'll leave.”
He became serious.
“And not because we're married.”
Adrian's fingers slowly closed around hers.
“Then why?”
“Because you want me.”
He looked into her eyes.
“I want you.”
“Say the rest.”
“I love you.”
She breathed shakily.
“I loved you when I signed those papers.”
“That was a stupid way to demonstrate it.”
“Spectacularly stupid.”
“Catastrophic failure of judgment?”
“Historically catastrophic.”
Zara laughed.
Then Adrian said something she had waited years to hear.
“I need you.”
She stopped.
He had always said he could handle everything.
That he needed nobody.
“I need your opinion when I'm wrong. I need you to tell me when I'm being impossible. I need you laughing somewhere in my house so it doesn't feel like a mausoleum.”
His eyes glistened.
“And I need to know who you are tomorrow, Zara. Not because I watched you from another room. Because I asked.”
She squeezed his hand.
“That was considerably better.”
“I practiced.”
“I can tell.”
One year later, the Halstead Grand hosted the Thomas Bennett Literacy Foundation gala.
Zara wore red.
Of course she did.
Adrian saw her from the mezzanine.
For one strange second, time folded backward.
Crystal chandeliers.
Chicago glowing beyond the windows.
Red silk.
Except this time Zara was not standing in Graham Vale's arms.
Graham stood beside her laughing with his fiancée, a criminal defense attorney who appeared to enjoy arguing with him more than Zara had ever thought humanly possible.
Adrian descended the stairs.
Zara saw him.
And smiled.
The smile stayed.
That difference meant everything.
Adrian reached her.
He did not put his hand around her waist.
He held out his hand.
“Dance with me?”
Zara looked deliberately thoughtful.
“Are you asking?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting concept.”
“I've recently discovered it.”
She placed her hand in his.
“Yes.”
They moved onto the dance floor.
Halfway through the song, Zara whispered, “I have something for you.”
Adrian immediately looked suspicious.
“That sentence has historically gone badly for me.”
She laughed.
From her purse, she removed an envelope.
His expression changed.
“Zara.”
“Open it.”
Inside was a legal document.
For one horrifying second, Adrian thought divorce papers had returned to torment him.
Then he read the heading.
PROPERTY DEED.
The old abandoned building beside the literacy center had been purchased jointly in their names.
Adrian looked confused.
“What is this?”
“The new community education center.”
“You bought it?”
“We bought it.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You forged my signature?”
“No.”
She smiled sweetly.
“You signed the authorization six months ago without reading the attachment.”
Adrian stared.
Zara burst out laughing.
“That isn't funny.”
“It's extremely funny.”
“I run a multinational corporation.”
“And apparently sign things without reading them.”
“I trusted you.”
Her laughter stopped.
They looked at each other.
There it was.
The word that had once been missing.
Trust.
Not protection.
Not possession.
Not fear disguised as devotion.
Trust.
Adrian folded the document and returned it to the envelope.
“There's something I need to tell you too.”
Zara groaned.
“If another dead relative appears, I'm leaving.”
He laughed.
“No dead relatives.”
“Secret ledger?”
“No.”
“Federal investigation?”
“Not currently.”
“Then proceed.”
Adrian looked across the ballroom.
Evan stood near the windows.
After cooperating with prosecutors, he had received eighteen months, much of it credited as time served. He was now helping forensic accountants identify charitable funds stolen by Hart's network.
Marcus had received a reduced sentence after investigators confirmed his account of Samuel's death and his years of cooperation dismantling Victor's operations.
Graham was arguing with his fiancée about dessert.
Life had not magically erased what happened.
Some wounds left scars.
Some mistakes required consequences.
Some people could be forgiven without being declared innocent.
Adrian had finally learned that a happy ending did not mean pretending the painful chapters had never existed.
It meant refusing to let them write the rest of the book.
He turned back to Zara.
“I sold the lake house.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“You love that house.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“I bought another one.”
“Adrian.”
“Before you become angry, technically I bought land.”
She folded her arms.
“Continue carefully.”
“Wisconsin. Near the lake.”
“Why?”
“There are peach trees.”
Zara stared at him.
“Peach trees?”
“Apparently they're difficult to grow there.”
“Very.”
“I've hired someone who knows what he's doing.”
Understanding slowly reached her face.
“My mother.”
“Every August.”
Her eyes filled.
Adrian touched her cheek.
Not possessively.
Not automatically.
He waited.
Zara leaned into his hand.
“I thought we could build something there,” he said.
“A house?”
“If you want one.”
“And if I don't?”
“Then I own an unnecessarily expensive peach orchard.”
She laughed through her tears.
“You really have changed.”
“Somewhat.”
“Moderately.”
“I'll take it.”
The music changed.
Zara rested her head against his chest.
Adrian held her gently.
A year earlier, he had watched another man hold his wife and believed jealousy meant he still loved her.
He had been wrong.
Jealousy had merely frightened him enough to look at what he had already destroyed.
Love was what came afterward.
Love was listening when the answer hurt.
Love was telling the truth when silence felt safer.
Love was letting someone leave without punishing them for going.
And sometimes love was becoming better without any guarantee they would return.
“Adrian?”
“Yes?”
“Do you know what I was laughing about that night with Graham?”
His jaw tightened.
“I've intentionally avoided asking.”
“He told me to look at the mezzanine.”
Adrian frowned.
“Why?”
“Because apparently the terrifying Adrian Cross looked like he wanted to throw a champagne fountain through a window.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I was calm.”
“You were jealous.”
“I was observant.”
“You came down three flights of stairs because someone hugged me.”
“Vale had suspicious intentions.”
“He was engaged.”
Adrian stopped dancing.
“What?”
Zara laughed so hard she had to grab his shoulders.
“He had been engaged for two months.”
“To whom?”
She pointed across the ballroom.
Graham's fiancée raised her champagne glass.
Adrian stared at Graham.
Graham noticed and grinned.
“You knew?” Adrian asked Zara.
“Yes.”
“That night?”
“Yes.”
“And you let me think—”
“I didn't let you think anything. You never asked.”
Adrian closed his eyes.
Zara kissed his cheek.
“Still learning?”
“Apparently.”
She started walking away.
Adrian caught himself before automatically reaching for her.
“Zara?”
She turned.
He held out his hand.
“May I?”
Her expression softened.
She returned and slipped her fingers through his.
Together they walked toward the terrace.
Chicago stretched beneath them, glittering against the summer night.
A year ago, divorce papers had waited three floors above this ballroom.
Tonight, there were no papers.
No threats.
No secrets waiting in locked drawers.
Only Adrian.
Only Zara.
And the marriage they had nearly buried because two people who loved each other had been too frightened to tell the truth.
Zara rested her head against his shoulder.
“So,” she whispered, “when do I see this peach orchard?”
“Tomorrow.”
“You already booked the trip?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds suspiciously like making decisions for me.”
Adrian froze.
Zara held the serious expression for exactly three seconds.
Then laughed.
He exhaled.
“That was cruel.”
“That was marriage.”
Adrian smiled.
Then he kissed his wife beneath the Chicago skyline while the ballroom glowed behind them.
This time, when Zara laughed in another man's arms, Adrian knew exactly who that man was.
Her husband.
Not because a certificate said so.
Not because he had claimed her.
Not because she had stayed.
Because after everything they had broken, survived, confessed, and rebuilt—
she had chosen him again.
And this time, Adrian Cross understood the responsibility hidden inside that gift.
May you like
He chose her back.
Every day.
