Chapter 7 - The Sunrise We Claimed
The following Sunday evening, the black Bentley rolled back into Manhattan, dropping anchor in front of my Astoria apartment building.
The driver hopped out, grabbed my battered canvas suitcase, and loaded it into the trunk of the secondary vehicle while Marco walked me to the front steps of my building.
The streetlamps flickered to life against the dusky purple twilight of the city sky.
“I suppose,” Marco said, leaning against the brick railing with a playful glint in his green eyes, “this is where I officially fire you as my fake girlfriend.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, a smug smile playing on my lips. “Oh? And what’s my new title, Mr. Ricci?”
Marco stepped close, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me tight against his chest, ignoring the curious glances of the neighborhood pedestrians walking past.
“Permanent resident of my penthouse,” he whispered against my lips, his voice thick with a promise that made my pulse race. “Head of my heart. And the only woman who will ever run my life.”
He kissed me then—deep, slow, and thoroughly—right there on the crumbling steps of Astoria, beneath the flickering streetlamps of the city that never sleeps.
Upstairs, my tiny one-bedroom apartment waited for me, but I knew I wouldn't be spending another night there. My suitcase was already in the trunk of a Bentley, heading toward the glittering heights of Manhattan.
Life down below was chaotic, unpredictable, and full of sharp edges. But standing in Marco’s arms, looking out toward the horizon where the city lights met the night sky, I knew one thing with absolute, unshakeable certainty.
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I hadn't just survived the week of playing a part.
I had claimed the entire sunrise.
