Chapter 10

Connie's POV

The car turned onto the Long Island Expressway, heading east toward the North Shore.

I leaned back in the passenger seat and pulled up X on my phone. I scrolled through my feed for a few seconds before a new post caught my eye.

Period. — the username of an anonymous writer I'd been following for years.

He'd posted something new.

Just one sentence:

[I married her.]

I stared at the words, blinking as I read them over and over. The corners of my mouth lifted before I could stop them.

Ten years.

He'd actually married the girl he'd loved for a decade.

I'd spent years in the comment sections watching strangers urge him to be brave, to confess his feelings, to go after her. I'd never expected him to actually do it. Never expected the ending would be a wedding.

Congratulations to you both.

I posted the comment, hit like, and backed out of the thread with a stupid, private grin.

"What are you looking at? You've been smiling at your phone for five minutes."

Adrian's voice came from beside me, low and steady.

I snapped my head up. "Oh. Nothing much. Just a writer I follow. He got married."

"A writer you follow? Who? Mind sharing?"

I was still floating on that secondhand joy, so I didn't hesitate. I unlocked my screen and handed him the phone, pulling up the post.

"This blogger goes by Period. I've followed him for a long time. His writing just hits different, especially when he writes about unrequited love."

Adrian glanced at the screen, then turned his attention back to the road.

"Unrequited?"

"Yeah. Everything he writes is about one girl. Says he's loved her for ten years. Since high school."

I scrolled back through his archive, pulling up a few older entries for Adrian to see.

"Look. He's written dozens of pieces about her. Never reveals who she is, but you can tell — he's crazy about her."

I tapped back to the latest post.

"Now they're finally married."

I shook my head, still smiling.

"To love someone for ten years and actually end up with them... that's rare. That's luck."

I paused, then added quietly, "Hope they stay happy forever."

Adrian's hands tightened on the wheel for a fraction of a second. His eyes remained fixed on the highway ahead.

"Your wish will come true."

I didn't know why he'd phrased it that way, as though he knew something I didn't. I simply assumed he was sending the couple his blessing too.

I nodded. "Yeah. I hope so."

He's a good listener. A kind man.

The thought settled warmly in my chest.

Mile after mile slipped by. Eventually, we turned off the highway onto a tree-lined road that opened onto a sweeping lawn in front of a Georgian-style mansion. Its stone facade, symmetrical windows, and columned portico gave it an imposing elegance.

I unbuckled my seat belt and glanced out the window.

People stood on the front steps.

A lot of them.

I'd expected Adrian's parents, maybe a grandparent or two. Close family. But the group assembled on the portico was easily twenty people deep. Men in tailored suits. Women in elegant dresses and coordinated coats. Even the younger girls at the back looked polished, their hair perfectly styled and jewelry catching the afternoon light.

I froze.

Adrian had mentioned that his family was large. I'd braced myself.

But this?

This was a reception line.

And these faces weren't entirely unfamiliar.

The Vances were old money. Real old money. Adrian's grandfather had founded one of the most respected investment firms on the East Coast. His uncles ran hedge funds, hospital networks, and a white-shoe law firm. One cousin had taken a biotech startup public before turning thirty. Their names appeared in The Wall Street Journal, Bloomberg, and Fortune. I'd looked them up once, late at night, curiosity getting the better of me.

I'd just never imagined I'd be standing face-to-face with them.

Now they were all dressed up, waiting as though we were dignitaries arriving at a state dinner.

I looked at Adrian.

He was calm. Unruffled. Like this was just another Tuesday.

"Come on."

He held out his hand.

I placed mine in his palm and let him help me out. The gravel crunched beneath my heels.

The elderly man at the front stepped forward first. Silver hair, a tailored navy overcoat, and a posture ramrod straight. He clapped a hand on Adrian's shoulder, then turned to me, his face creasing into a warm smile.

"You must be Connie. Adrian was just telling us about you in the family chat."

He'd been talking about me? In the car, on our way here?

The introduction I'd rehearsed died in my throat.

"Yes, I'm Connie. Hello, Mr. Vance."

"Mr. Vance?" He laughed, waving a hand. "Call me Grandpa."

Before I could respond, he'd taken my hand in both of his. His palms were rough and warm.

"Long drive? Any motion sickness? Adrian doesn't speed, does he?"

"No, I'm fine. Really."

"Good, good. Come inside. The wind picks up off the Sound."

He gently steered me toward the front doors, and the crowd closed in behind us.

"Welcome, Connie. I'm Adrian's aunt, Margaret."

"I'm his uncle, Robert. Art restoration, Adrian said? My wife collects art. You simply must come see her pieces sometime."

"October on the Sound gets brutal. Did you pack enough layers? We have plenty upstairs if you need anything."

"Jewelry preference — do you like vintage or modern? The family has a few pieces set aside for you, but if they're not to your taste, we can pick something else together."

Questions came from every direction. Names, relationships, preferences, allergies, favorite colors. The sheer volume of attention made my head spin. All I could do was keep smiling and thanking them, my throat growing tight.

"Thank you. Thank you all."

"None of that now." Grandpa Vance's voice cut through the chatter, gentle but firm. "This is your home too, from today forward."

My home.

The words hung in the air, too big to hold.

I stood there, stunned, searching for a reply—

Then rapid footsteps thundered down the staircase.

A young woman appeared at the top of the landing, taking the steps two at a time. She wore a cream-colored sheath dress, her dark hair falling loose over her shoulders. Her gaze shifted between Adrian and me, her eyes narrowing as if she were trying to piece something together.

She stopped right in front of us, breathless.

"Wait."

She looked at me. Then at Adrian. Then back at me.

Her eyes went wide.

"Adrian — is this the Connie? The one you talked about in high school?"