Chapter 7 - The Dawn We Built
Six months later, the spring sun was pouring through the massive leaded glass windows of the dining room, warming the polished mahogany surface of the table where five hundred and forty-eight mornings of silence had once reigned.
The Chicago Tribune still sat near the coffee urn, but it was folded neatly to the real estate section, unread.
Across from me, Declan sat in his usual chair, but his shirtsleeves were rolled up, his laptop was open beside his coffee cup, and as I walked into the room carrying a plate of fresh pastries, he looked up immediately.
His eyes didn't hide behind newsprint. They tracked my movement across the room with warm, unapologetic possession.
“You’re up early,” he noted, a faint smile playing across his lips.
“I have a meeting at the West Loop gallery with Tessa at ten,” I said, setting the plate down between us and leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. “And then I’m reviewing the logistics reports for the new import terminal we acquired from Mercer’s liquidation.”
Declan caught my hand before I could pull away, turning my palm upward and pressing a warm kiss against my pulse point.
“Mercer is currently doing twenty-five years in a federal penitentiary in Marion,” Declan reminded me, his eyes dancing with amusement. “His empire is ours, and your gallery exhibition last month made front-page news in the Sun-Times. You don’t have to audit the logistics yourself, Nora.”
“I like knowing where every truck is, Declan,” I smiled, pulling out the chair directly beside him instead of sitting across the massive table. “Habit of being married to a control freak.”
Declan laughed—a rich, genuine sound that would have terrified anyone who knew him from his boardroom days—and wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me flush against his side.
Outside our windows, the sprawling lawns of the Lincoln Park estate stretched toward the lake, green and alive under the spring sky. The dark days of contracts, silences, and invisible cages were gone, replaced by an empire we had forged together, brick by brick, through fire and honesty.
Declan picked up his coffee cup with one hand, keeping his arm securely around my shoulders, and looked out at the morning sun.
May you like
“Eighteen months of silence was a terrible investment,” he murmured softly into my hair.
“The best investments always require weathering the storm,” I replied, leaning my head against his chest, listening to the steady, unshakeable rhythm of his heart.
