He Chose Another Heir Now He Wants Me Back Chapter 63
A year later, I opened a branch of my firm in Boston.
The office wasn’t in the North District or the East Harbor, but in an ordinary gray building by the bridge. The windows faced the river, and on clear days, you could see the old docks.
Nora sometimes came by after school to do her homework. She was already preparing her college applications and wanted to study law.
“So I can sue all you family people one day,” she said.
Dante set a bag of hot chestnuts on her desk.
“Pass math first.”
She threw a book at him, which he caught easily.
My mother had a checkup every three months, and her new organ remained stable. She split her time between Paris and Boston. If she wanted to go to the old house, she went. If she didn’t want to see Vincent, no one opened the door for her.
The educational trust in my name was now operating.
Nora’s account remained independent, the money from Ray untouched. Milo’s portion was managed by an outside institution. Luca couldn’t draw from it, and neither the De Lucas nor the Rossis could attach conditions to it.
The names that adults had once written into bloodline registries, debts, and marriage contracts finally belonged only to the children themselves.
Late one summer, Dante took me back to the seafood restaurant where we’d first had clam chowder.
No one else was there. The owner’s wife brought out two bowls of soup, then quietly closed the door behind her.
“Did you clear the place out?” I asked.
“No. They were closed today anyway.”
He sat across from me, nervous enough to drink three glasses of water in a row.
“Dante Moretti gets nervous?”
“I do,” he admitted. “I’m afraid you’ll say no.”
He didn’t take out a family signet ring, and he hadn’t brought witnesses.
He just placed a prenuptial agreement in a clear folder on the table.
My firm, my license, my income, and my name would all remain independent. Where we lived after marriage would be a joint decision, reviewed each year. No family could invoke the marriage to access the other’s resources.
The last page had two blank signature lines.
“Where’s the ring?” I asked.
“It shouldn’t appear until you agree.”
I read every page.
“Who drafted this?”
“Your partner.”
“That explains why it’s so favorable to me.”
“That was my request.”
He set a pen by the edge of the table but didn’t push it toward me.
“Elena, I don’t want you to take the Moretti name, and I don’t need you to stabilize any routes for me. I just want to stand where you can see me, whenever you’re willing to look back.”
At the airport six years ago, Luca’s messages had filled my screen.
Back then, everyone told me the engagement was still valid, that both families hadn’t witnessed the dissolution, that I couldn’t end it on my own.
Now, there was no head of family, no advisor, and no one else to answer for me.
I picked up the pen and wrote my name in the blank space.
“You can take out the ring now.”
Dante stared at me for two full seconds before finally taking a velvet box from his coat pocket.
Inside was a simple ring. No Moretti crest, just a tiny gardenia engraved on the inner band.
The wedding was held the following year, during magnolia season.
My mother walked me through the courtyard. Nora stood ahead, holding the flowers, and Milo stood beside Luca. Vittorio and Salvatore sat on opposite sides, and neither of them struck a cane against the ground.
I did not change my surname.
After the vows, Dante lowered his head and asked, “Cold?”
Sunlight filtered through the magnolia blossoms, falling across the gardenia brooch at my collar.
I shook my head.
“No.”
My office in Paris was still there. The Boston branch kept its lights on. My mother could go wherever she wanted. Nora would walk toward the future she chose for herself.
And as for me, I no longer needed to prove my freedom by leaving, or my love by staying.
I could leave, and I could come back.
Because my name, my road, and every day that followed belonged only to me.
The End