Chapter 7 - Balance RestoredSix months later, the sky over Chicago was a brilliant, clear autumn blue.
The annual charity gala for the Chicago Children’s Hospital was underway in the grand ballroom of the Drake Hotel, glittering with crystal chandeliers, champagne fountains, and hundreds of the city’s elite.
I stood near the edge of the ballroom wearing an emerald-green silk evening gown that actually cost more than my old rent, holding a glass of sparkling cider, watching Leo—who had been discharged from Evanston two months ago and was now living happily in a private apartment nearby—laughing with a group of friends near the dessert table.
Footsteps approached from behind, and a familiar, comforting warmth settled against my back.
Large, strong arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me back against a solid chest. A chin rested gently on my shoulder.
“You’re staring at the dessert table again, Emily,” Dante murmured against my ear.
“I’m making sure Leo doesn't eat his fourth piece of chocolate mousse,” I smiled, leaning back into Dante’s embrace. “He’s a grown man, but sugar makes him hyper.”
Dante chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to the side of my neck. “Let him have the cake. We own the hospital anyway; if he gets a stomachache, we can requisition a private pediatric wing.”
“You are incorrigible, Mr. Marino,” I teased, turning around in his arms to wrap my hands around his neck.
Dante was dressed in a tailored black tuxedo, looking impossibly handsome, but what I loved most was the expression on his face. The hollow, haunted shadows were gone, replaced by a deep, enduring peace.
“Incorrigible?” Dante raised an eyebrow, a wicked smile touching his lips. “Is that what you call the man who promotes you from personal secretary to Chief Financial Officer of the entire syndicate?”
“I call him a smart businessman,” I laughed. “Especially since my first official act as CFO was auditing your personal spending habits and canceling your subscription to three different luxury yacht magazines.”
Dante pulled me closer, his gray eyes filled with a tenderness that still occasionally took my breath away. “My books are balanced. My enemies are gone. And for the first time in nine years, I don't dread tomorrow.”
Across the ballroom, the string quartet struck up a slow, romantic waltz.
Dante held out his hand, his fingers intertwining with mine. “Dance with me, Emily.”
“Mr. Marino,” I whispered, letting him lead me toward the center of the polished marble floor as the lights dimmed around us, “what will the IRS say if they see us like this?”
May you like
Dante pulled me flush against his chest, spinning us smoothly into the rhythm of the music.
“Let them audit us,” he smiled, kissing my forehead. “We have nothing to hide.”
