Chapter 16 - The Choice He Had Never Given Her
The newspapers called it a stunning cooperation agreement.
I called it Tuesday.
Because life does not pause when the man you love appears on every local news channel.
I still had a client meeting at nine.
A materials review at eleven.
Mrs. Powell rejected the third chair sample at two.
At four thirty, I stood in a courthouse hallway waiting for Nico.
He emerged with his attorneys.
Dark suit.
No tie.
Exhausted.
Reporters shouted questions.
He ignored them.
Then saw me.
His face changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
“You came.”
“I said I would.”
His attorney moved away.
Nico approached but didn’t touch me.
“Sentencing is in six weeks.”
“I know.”
“They think eighteen months.”
My stomach tightened.
“Could be less?”
“Yes.”
“More?”
“Yes.”
We stood surrounded by cameras and strangers.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I almost laughed.
“You’re asking me?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know.”
“Fair.”
He looked toward the exit.
“You don’t have to wait.”
That sentence irritated me.
“I know.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want you putting your life on hold.”
“Nico.”
He stopped.
“This is what you always do.”
“What?”
“Decide what sacrifice I should or shouldn’t make.”
His face tightened.
“I’m trying not to be selfish.”
“Then ask me.”
He went quiet.
“Okay.”
He looked directly at me.
“What do you want?”
That question should not have felt revolutionary.
It did.
“I want to keep my apartment.”
“Okay.”
“My job.”
“Obviously.”
“My friends.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not visiting every day if you’re sentenced.”
He smiled slightly.
“I don’t think they allow that.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
“I’m not spending eighteen months crying beside the phone.”
“Good.”
“I will visit when I choose.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll write when I want.”
“Okay.”
“And when you come home, if we are still together, we are not going back to the life we had.”
His eyes held mine.
“I don’t want that life.”
“What do you want?”
“You.”
I shook my head.
“Wrong answer.”
He blinked.
Then understood.
“I want a life where you don’t have to disappear for me to notice you.”
Better.
“Anything else?”
“A kitchen.”
“You own seven.”
“A kitchen we both chose.”
My throat tightened.
“A normal front door.”
“Define normal.”
“No armed men.”
“That sounds recklessly suburban.”
I smiled despite myself.
“Keep going.”
“A bedroom that feels like ours.”
“Yes.”
“A dog.”
I stared.
“You don’t like dogs.”
“I’m experimenting with personal growth.”
“You’re terrified of Elena’s Chihuahua.”
“That animal is demonic.”
I laughed.
Reporters were still shouting outside.
For five minutes, none of it existed.
Then reality returned.
Six weeks later, Nico stood before a federal judge.
I sat beside Arthur.
Nico accepted responsibility for financial crimes connected to several illicit enterprises.
The judge acknowledged his cooperation.
Fourteen months.
He could be released earlier with good behavior.
Arthur exhaled beside me.
I didn’t.
My body felt frozen.
Nico turned before marshals led him away.
Our eyes met.
He did not mouth wait for me.
He did not ask me to promise anything.
He simply nodded.
A choice.
Mine.
That mattered.
The first month was hardest.
Not because I missed luxury.
I missed stupid things.
The way Nico complained that tea was pointless.
The way he read three newspapers every morning despite pretending the internet existed.
The way he always knew when I was cold before I admitted it.
I visited once.
Then twice the next month.
He wrote letters.
Real ones.
Terrible handwriting.
No dramatic declarations.
He told me about books he was reading.
A finance class he was helping another inmate study for.
The terrible coffee.
He asked about the bookstore.
Every letter ended the same way:
Build your life. Tell me about it when you want.
So I did.
Hartwell promoted me.
Not because of Nico.
Because my projects performed.
The bookstore opened.
Mrs. Powell cried.
So did I.
Elena became engaged.
I helped plan the reception.
Arthur began transitioning Nico’s legitimate holdings into a transparent management structure.
Several criminal partnerships dissolved without Nico’s leadership.
Others moved on.
The world did not end.
Nine months after sentencing, Nico became eligible for early release.
Arthur called me first.
“He may be home in six weeks.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
Home.
Which one?
The penthouse had been sold.
Nico had ordered it listed three months into his sentence.
I hadn’t known until Arthur mentioned it casually.
“Why?”
I asked Nico during my next visit.
He sat opposite me behind thick glass.
“Why what?”
“The penthouse.”
He understood.
“I never liked it after you left.”
“That seems expensive.”
“I’ve made worse investments.”
“Why sell it?”
“Because I don’t want you walking into that closet again.”
I swallowed.
“You assume I’d live with you.”
“No.”
He gave the smallest smile.
“That’s why I haven’t bought anywhere else.”
That answer terrified me.
Not because it was controlling.
Because it wasn’t.
For the first time since meeting Nico, the future was an empty room.
May you like
And he was waiting to see whether I wanted to help choose what went inside.
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