Chapter 13 - The Proposal With No Diamond
Adrian proposed with my father’s bracelet.
Not a diamond.
Not a restaurant full of cameras.
Not a yacht.
He repaired the tiny key charm and added one small engraving beside my father’s initials.
A.M. — Truth Before Everything
We were standing in my mother’s kitchen.
I was wearing sweatpants.
My mother was making lasagna.
Adrian got down on one knee.
My mother screamed before he finished speaking.
“Mom!”
“Sorry!”
Adrian laughed.
Then looked at me.
“Elena, I spent most of my life believing power meant making people obey you.”
His voice shook.
“You taught me that real strength is being able to hear the truth when it hurts.”
I was already crying.
“I don’t want to protect you from the world. You clearly don’t need that.”
My mother nodded aggressively.
“I want to stand beside you while you fight with it.”
“Adrian—”
“And occasionally remind you to sleep.”
“That might be useful.”
“So…”
He held out the bracelet.
“Will you marry me?”
“Yes.”
My mother dropped the lasagna.
Literally.
The pan hit the floor.
We all stared at it.
She shrugged.
“We’ll order pizza.”
The engagement went viral when my mother accidentally told a reporter at the grocery store.
Within hours:
ACCOUNTANT WHO SLAPPED MORETTI HEIR TO MARRY HIS BROTHER.
Marco called.
“I feel like I deserve credit.”
“You absolutely do not.”
“If I hadn’t grabbed you—”
“Marco.”
“Fine.”
He paused.
“Can I come?”
“To the wedding?”
“Yes.”
He had eight months remaining on his sentence.
“Probably not.”
“Worth asking.”
But fate intervened.
Marco was granted supervised release shortly before the wedding because of his cooperation and good behavior.
He came home changed.
Quieter.
He apologized to my mother.
Then he apologized to me again.
This time, I accepted it.
Not because the past disappeared.
Because he had spent two years proving the apology meant something.
Our wedding was small.
No politicians.
No celebrities.
No criminal legends.
Family.
Friends.
Employees.
My mother cried before I reached the aisle.
Isabella cried harder.
Marco stood beside Adrian.
Before the ceremony, Marco approached me.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Depends.”
He smiled.
“Would you still slap me?”
“If you grabbed my wrist?”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely.”
“Good.”
He nodded solemnly.
“Consistency matters.”
I laughed.
Then he handed me a small box.
Inside was my father’s old fountain pen.
“I found it in Dad’s office.”
My breath caught.
“He kept it all these years?”
“Apparently.”
I carried it in my bouquet.
When Adrian saw it, he understood.
My father couldn’t walk me down the aisle.
But something he had held every day came with me.
Adrian and I married beneath the Chicago skyline.
When the officiant asked whether I took Adrian as my husband, I looked at him.
The feared Moretti boss.
The man who had once stood across a room asking whether I knew who he was.
Now I knew exactly who he was.
“Yes.”
And when Adrian said yes, Marco whispered:
“Finally.”
Everyone laughed.
But happiness didn’t erase responsibility.
After our honeymoon, I returned to work.
Adrian returned to his.
And Marco faced the hardest challenge of his life.
Building a future where his last name opened no doors.
May you like
That challenge would test whether he had truly changed.
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