Chapter 7 - Dawn and DeliveranceThe Maybach rolled to a smooth stop outside my apartment building on the North Side.
The rain had stopped, leaving the pavement slick and shimmering under the streetlights. As Giovanni walked me to the front entrance, holding a large umbrella over my head, the lobby doors pushed open.
Sarah, my best friend, rushed out holding a half-eaten bag of potato chips, looking frantic. "Jessica! Oh my god, your mother called me ten minutes ago screaming that you married a mob boss and blew up the wedding reception! What is going on?!"
Before I could answer, Giovanni stepped forward, extending a hand with disarming charm.
"Good evening, Sarah. I’m Giovanni. And for the record, I’m only half a mob boss."
Sarah stared at him, then at me, then down at the custom tuxedo and the Maybach waiting at the curb. Her jaw hit the floor. "Holy crap. It’s true."
"It's a long story, Sarah," I laughed, wiping away the last remnant of my tears. "Is Lily asleep?"
"Out like a light," Sarah nodded, her eyes wide as saucers as she looked at Giovanni like he was an alien landing craft. "She asked if she could paint your portrait tomorrow, though, Mr. Fierro."
"Tell her I expect nothing less," Giovanni smiled warmly. He turned to me, his hand gently taking mine. "I’ll pick you up at ten tomorrow morning. We’re taking Lily to the Lincoln Park Zoo. Ice cream is non-negotiable."
"You don't have to do that, Giovanni," I said softly.
"I know," he replied, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the back of my hand. "That's why I'm doing it."
He watched us walk safely into the lobby before returning to his car. As the Maybach pulled away into the Chicago night, I stood in the warm entryway of my building, feeling a strange, wonderful lightness settle deep into my chest.
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The fake marriage was supposed to be a thirty-minute shield against an overbearing aunt and a bitter ex-husband. But as I walked up the stairs to my apartment, listening to the soft, rhythmic breathing of my sleeping daughter, I realized something profound:
Sometimes, the stories we pretend to live are the ones that finally lead us home.
