Chapter 11 - The Rebuilding of DeLuca House
Three days after the Christmas blizzard, DeLuca House was transformed. The heavy
velvet drapes that had kept the mansion dark and oppressive for decades had been
taken down, replaced with sheer, flowing ivory curtains that allowed the winter
sun to flood every corner of the grand estate. The private wing of the south
ground floor had been completely redesigned by a team of elite architects: wide
marble ramps, state-of-the-art physical therapy rooms, and a sunlit conservatory
garden had been installed specifically for Lily.
Claire walked through the grand library in a soft, cream-colored cashmere
sweater and a flowing wool skirt. For the first time in two years, she was not
wearing an apron. She was not carrying a silver tray. She was holding a warm cup
of spiced tea, looking out over the snow-covered south lawn where she had nearly
died just seventy-two hours earlier. The snow was melting under a bright winter
thaw. Footsteps echoed on the parquet floor behind her. Roman walked in. He was
wearing a charcoal-gray tailored suit without a tie, looking relaxed and
strikingly handsome. The tension that had permanently lined his forehead was
gone. He stopped beside her, looking out at the gardens. "How is Lily settling
in?" Roman asked gently. "She's crying happy tears every ten minutes," Claire
smiled, a soft blush warming her cheeks. "Dr. Rossi said the new therapy regimen
you arranged might allow her to walk with forearm crutches within six months."
"She deserves the best medical care on earth," Roman said. "And so do you."
Claire looked down at her tea. "Roman... people are talking. The city
newspapers, the business boards... they're saying you dismantled the Mercer
empire for a former maid." Roman turned to face her, taking the teacup from her
hands and placing it on a nearby oak table. He took both of her hands in his,
stepping into her personal space until she could feel the steady warmth
radiating from his chest. "Let them talk," Roman murmured. "Let them write
whatever they want. The only opinion that matters to me in this entire world is
yours." "Roman..." Claire whispered, her heart fluttering violently. "I still
don't understand why you chose me. I spent my whole life being told I took up
too much space. That I was too soft, too plain, too ordinary."
May you like
Roman brought his hands up to cup her face, his thumbs gently brushing the high
curve of her soft, beautiful cheeks. "The people who told you that were blind
fools," Roman said, his voice deep, vibrating with absolute sincerity. "You take
up space because your soul is larger than this entire house, Claire. You have a
heart that never hardened, even when the world gave you every reason to be
cruel. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. And I want to
spend the rest of my life proving it to you."
Claire’s breath hitched. A tear of pure, overwhelming joy slipped down her
cheek. Before she could speak, Roman leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.
The kiss was deep, passionate, and filled with a tender reverence that wiped
away every painful memory Claire had ever carried. She melted against him, her
arms wrapping around his neck, sinking into the strength and safety of the man
who had pulled her out of the ice.
