Chapter 5: I Married the Man They Mocked

Vivian stopped me at the front door the next morning.

She held the thin jacket I had slept in. The torn lining hung from one sleeve.

“You left this in your room,” she said.

“I left it for you.”

Her fingers closed around the fabric. “You do not have to be cruel.”

“You watched Ella hide my card.”

“She was upset.”

“You watched her cut her own hand.”

“She made a mistake.”

“You watched me have a fever and still told the cook to serve cold food.”

Vivian flinched. “I was trying to help Ella adjust.”

“You helped her take everything.”

She looked toward the stairs. “Adrian can still marry you.”

“He is marrying Ella.”

“The card can be changed.”

“I am not a card.”

Adrian appeared behind her. He had not shaved. His eyes were fixed on me, but I no longer searched them for the boy I remembered.

“Mia,” he said, “we should talk alone.”

“There is nothing left to discuss.”

He came down one step. “I made a mistake.”

“You made a stack of mistakes and called it a plan.”

His face tightened. “I thought if you stopped depending on me, you would become stronger.”

“You removed your name so I would crawl back.”

“I wanted you to choose me freely.”

“You wanted me to choose you after every other door closed.”

Luca waited outside beside the black sedan. He did not honk. He did not come inside. He let me decide when to leave.

I stepped past Vivian and Adrian. At the threshold, I turned back.

“I am not coming back for a second draw.”

Vivian whispered my name. I shut the door.

The city clerk's office was small and bright. Luca had brought the papers, but he let me read every line before signing. My hand shook once when I wrote my name. He covered it with his palm.

“No boxes,” he said.

“No boxes,” I agreed.

The clerk looked from one of us to the other. “Do you both consent?”

“Yes,” Luca said.

I looked at him. “Yes.”

The clerk stamped the certificate. The sound was ordinary. It still felt like a door closing behind me.

Luca carried the marriage certificate carefully, as if the ink might smudge if he moved too fast. Outside the clerk's office, a woman in a dark coat congratulated us. She did not know who we were or what I had left behind. I smiled at her because she had asked no questions about my family.

On the ride to the apartment, Luca stopped for groceries. He asked what I liked to eat. I hesitated so long that he waited beside the shopping cart without touching it. I had spent days reading cards instead of menus. Finally I said chicken soup. He bought broth, noodles, and chicken, then handed me a bag of oranges. Nobody asked me to draw for them.

At the apartment, I set my bags on the counter and looked at the two chairs. One was already pulled out for me. I sat down while Luca put the groceries away. The radiator knocked. The bakery downstairs smelled of warm bread. I could hear people laughing outside without wondering whether they were laughing at me.

That evening, Luca took me to a rented apartment above a bakery. It had a narrow kitchen, two chairs, and a radiator that clanged every few minutes. He set a bowl of soup in front of me.

I stared at it.

“It is not from a box,” he said.

I took the spoon. “You remembered.”

“I remember what people do when they think no one is watching.”

Before I could ask what that meant, two friends arrived with a small cake. One of them carried a black box tied with ribbon.

“Tradition,” the woman said. “The bride draws a fortune.”

My fingers locked around the spoon.

Luca saw it. He stood, crossed the room, and took the box from her hands.

“Throw it away,” he said.

She blinked. “It is only a game.”

“It is not a game to her.”

He opened the apartment door and dropped the box into the hallway trash. The lid cracked against the metal rim. Cards spilled onto the floor.

No one laughed.

Luca returned to the table and filled my bowl again. “Eat while it is hot.”

I did. The soup was simple—broth, noodles, and chicken. It tasted better than anything I had eaten at the Grant house because no one could take it away to reward someone else.

After dinner, my phone rang. Vivian had left six messages. Adrian had left one.

Luca did not ask me to answer. I turned the phone face down.

I did not tell Luca about the six messages until the next morning. He was making coffee in the narrow kitchen, wearing a shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. The ordinary sight calmed me more than any promise of wealth could have.

“What happens if they come here?” I asked.

“Then we decide whether to open the door,” he said.

“And if they say they are family?”

“Family is what people do, not what they call themselves.”

I repeated that sentence as I ran a finger over the city clerk's stamp on our marriage certificate. The paper was small. It held more safety than the mansion ever had.

The next afternoon, an envelope arrived at the Grant mansion. It carried the seal of the Moretti family.

Vivian opened it at the dining table. Inside was an invitation to a private family dinner.

She read the seal twice.

“The Moretti family,” she said.

Ella leaned over her shoulder. “The family everyone wants to meet?”

Vivian's expression changed. The Moretti name controlled the south docks, the freight yards, and half the men who moved through Chicago after dark. Their young head had never appeared at a public party.

“We should go,” Vivian said.

Ella touched the ring on Adrian's finger. “He will want to meet us.”

Vivian looked toward the empty chair where I had once sat.

“She will come too,” she said. “If he is important, she will be grateful we brought her into the right room.”

Across town, I knew nothing about the invitation. Luca stood by the window, reading the same message on his phone.

“You have somewhere to be?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“With me?”

“With you.”

He put the phone away. “Tomorrow night.”