Chapter 10 - A Wedding Chosen Freely
Three months later, Abigail Preston stood barefoot in her father’s living room again.
This time, nobody was pounding on the door.
Sunlight filled the small South Philadelphia house.
Rose was attempting to attach flowers to Abigail’s hair.
Tommy was complaining about wearing a tie.
Walter stood near the kitchen doorway.
He had been sober from gambling for ninety-one days.
Nobody called him cured.
Nobody pretended trust had magically returned.
But he attended meetings.
He worked.
He handed control of his finances to a court-appointed advisor voluntarily.
Most importantly, he stopped asking Abigail to rescue him.
“Ready?” Walter asked.
Abigail looked at him.
“No.”
He smiled sadly.
“That’s fair.”
She wore a simple ivory dress.
Not the enormous gown chosen for her first wedding.
No diamonds.
No hundred-person guest list.
No debt agreement waiting in another room.
Just family.
And choice.
Outside, Simon waited in the tiny neighborhood garden behind the house.
His shoulder had nearly healed.
He wore a dark suit without a tie because Rose had informed him ties made him look “too mafia.”
Marcus had laughed for approximately forty seconds.
Simon had threatened his employment.
Nobody believed him.
When Abigail stepped outside, Simon forgot every prepared sentence.
She walked toward him beneath strings of white lights.
Tommy stood beside Simon as unofficial best man.
Rose scattered far too many petals.
Marcus watched from the back.
Walter remained near the doorway.
Abigail stopped before Simon.
“You look terrified,” she whispered.
“I’ve faced armed men with less anxiety.”
“That’s romantic.”
“I’m trying.”
She smiled.
Their first wedding had been legally binding.
This one was not necessary.
That was exactly why Abigail wanted it.
The officiant spoke briefly.
Then Simon unfolded a piece of paper.
Abigail stared.
“You wrote vows?”
“I was instructed that improvisation was dangerous.”
“By whom?”
“Everyone.”
Laughter moved through the small gathering.
Simon looked at Abigail.
Then the humor disappeared.
“When I first agreed to marry you, I believed marriage was a contract.”
Abigail’s eyes filled.
“I believed everything important could be defined by obligations, signatures, ownership, and consequences.”
He took her hand.
“You taught me the difference between protecting someone and controlling them.”
Walter lowered his eyes.
Simon continued.
“You taught me that trust cannot be purchased, loyalty cannot be demanded, and love becomes meaningless the moment choice disappears.”
Abigail squeezed his fingers.
“The first time you became my wife, other people decided how we met.”
His voice softened.
“Today I’m asking.”
He took a breath.
“Abigail Preston, knowing exactly who I am, will you choose me?”
She smiled through tears.
“Yes.”
Rose whispered loudly, “Now kiss.”
Everyone laughed.
Abigail looked toward her sister.
“Thank you, Rose.”
“You’re welcome.”
Then Abigail faced Simon.
“My turn.”
Simon looked suspicious.
“You also wrote vows?”
“No.”
“That seems unfair.”
She smiled.
“The first night I entered your house, I thought you were the price of my father’s mistakes.”
Simon’s expression changed.
“I was terrified of you.”
“I know.”
“But then you walked out of that bedroom when you realized I was afraid.”
Her voice trembled.
“You protected my family when you owed them nothing. You went back into a burning building for my father even after everything he did. And when I finally demanded freedom, you gave it to me even though it meant losing me.”
Simon’s eyes glistened.
Abigail stepped closer.
“That was when I understood something.”
“What?”
“I didn’t fall in love with the man powerful enough to keep me.”
She touched his cheek.
“I fell in love with the man strong enough to let me leave.”
Simon kissed her.
There was applause.
Rose shouted something about it being “finally romantic.”
Later, they ate dinner beneath string lights.
Walter apologized to Simon privately.
Simon did not threaten him.
This was considered substantial personal growth.
Tommy convinced Marcus to teach him poker until Abigail discovered them.
Rose ate three pieces of cake and denied all allegations.
Near midnight, Abigail found Simon alone on the porch.
Philadelphia glowed faintly beyond the rooftops.
She slipped her hand into his.
“Husband.”
“Wife.”
“This wedding was better.”
“Significantly cheaper.”
She elbowed him.
He smiled.
Then Abigail noticed an envelope beside him.
“What’s that?”
Simon handed it to her.
Temple University.
Her graduation paperwork.
And beneath it, confirmation that the bakery where she worked had approved her proposal to become a minority partner.
Abigail looked at him suspiciously.
“Did you buy the bakery?”
“No.”
“Simon.”
“I swear.”
“Did Marcus buy the bakery?”
“No.”
“Did a mysterious corporation connected to you buy it?”
Simon looked offended.
“I am capable of learning.”
She laughed.
“I invested nothing. I merely asked your employer to listen to your proposal.”
“That still sounds like interference.”
“I prefer strategic encouragement.”
“Dangerous wording.”
Simon pulled her gently closer.
“You earned it.”
That mattered.
Abigail rested her head against him.
For a while they simply listened to the distant city.
Three months earlier, strangers had knocked on her door and told her that her future belonged to a debt.
Now the debt was gone.
Edward Wexler was awaiting trial on charges tied to Robert’s death, financial crimes, kidnapping, and conspiracy.
Charles Armitage had surrendered enough evidence to dismantle what remained of the operation.
Walter continued treatment.
Tommy and Rose were safe.
And Simon had changed Wexler Maritime’s lending policies so no employee or contractor could ever again use personal family debt as leverage.
Abigail eventually looked toward him.
“One question.”
Simon sighed.
“That phrase never ends well.”
“Why me?”
He understood.
Why had he chosen her before knowing the conspiracy?
Simon considered pretending it had been purely practical.
Instead he told the truth.
“I saw your photograph.”
Abigail raised an eyebrow.
“That’s disappointingly shallow.”
“I wasn’t finished.”
“Continue.”
“You were standing outside the bakery at five in the morning holding two coffees and arguing with a delivery driver twice your size.”
She remembered.
“He was blocking the fire lane.”
“I know.”
“You investigated me?”
“I prefer ‘performed reasonable due diligence.’”
“That is absolutely investigating.”
Simon smiled.
“I read that you worked forty hours a week, attended Temple, cared for your siblings, and still made the dean’s list.”
Abigail became quiet.
“I thought anyone who could survive all that might survive me.”
She stared at him.
“That may be the strangest compliment I’ve ever received.”
“It’s the best one I have.”
Abigail rose onto her toes and kissed him.
Then she whispered against his mouth:
“I didn’t survive you.”
Simon’s expression softened.
“No?”
“No.”
She took his hand.
“We changed each other.”
Inside the house, Rose called for them.
Simon sighed.
“Your sister is extraordinarily demanding.”
“Our sister.”
He looked at Abigail.
She smiled.
Simon squeezed her hand.
“Our sister.”
They walked inside together.
No guards announced them.
No contracts waited.
No debts followed.
The first time Abigail Preston entered Simon Wexler’s world, she had done it because she believed she had no choice.
May you like
The second time, she entered holding his hand.
And this time, the choice was entirely hers.
