Chapter 9 - The Choice Dion Never Expected
Christa didn't open the door.
"Who are you?"
The man outside lifted both hands.
"I'm Anthony Moretti."
Dion came beside her.
"Vincent's brother."
Christa looked at him.
"Vincent has a brother?"
"Twin."
Of course.
Because apparently her life had decided normal problems were beneath it.
Anthony entered only after Christa called Arthur and confirmed the name.
He wasn't there to threaten them.
He was there to testify.
Vincent had used Anthony's identity on several shell accounts.
Anthony had spent years overseas avoiding his brother.
When the investigation became public, he returned.
The second ledger proved it.
The final mystery wasn't a new conspiracy.
It was the missing piece needed to finish the old one.
Anthony handed everything over.
Vincent's trial began months later.
Arthur testified.
So did Victoria.
Samuel.
Dion.
And finally Christa.
Vincent's attorney tried to portray her as emotional.
Confused.
A daughter seeking revenge.
Christa didn't take the bait.
She answered every question calmly.
When asked whether she hated Vincent, she said:
"No."
The attorney looked surprised.
"You don't?"
"I spent too much of my life allowing other people's choices to decide how I felt about myself. I'm not giving him any more years."
Dion watched from the gallery.
Christa didn't need his approval.
But she liked seeing the pride in his face.
Vincent was convicted on multiple financial charges.
The legal process would continue through appeals.
Christa didn't care.
The story had stopped belonging to him.
A year passed.
Flores House expanded.
Christa hired twelve employees.
Then twenty.
She launched a scholarship for plus-size women entering hospitality industries where they'd been told their appearance mattered more than their ability.
She stopped hiding in photographs.
Stopped crossing her arms over her stomach.
Stopped waiting for strangers to grant her permission to feel beautiful.
One Saturday morning, she found Arthur teaching children how to make cinnamon rolls.
Flour covered everything.
"You're cleaning this."
Arthur looked horrified.
"I'm management."
"You're unpaid."
"Exactly. Exploitation."
Christa laughed.
Her mother entered carrying coffee.
Elena kissed Arthur's cheek.
Their marriage wasn't magically repaired.
Too much had happened.
But they were trying.
Coffee.
Counseling.
Walks.
Conversations.
Sometimes healing was less cinematic than pain.
Christa had learned to appreciate that.
That afternoon, Dion arrived.
No suit.
Jeans.
Dark sweater.
The neck tattoos still made several elderly customers stare.
Christa grinned.
"You look suspiciously normal."
"Don't spread that around."
He kissed her cheek.
"You busy tonight?"
"Why?"
"Dinner."
"Where?"
"My place."
"No candles?"
"None."
"Flowers?"
"No."
"Hidden musicians?"
"Absolutely not."
Christa narrowed her eyes.
"Fine."
That evening, she arrived at his penthouse.
Nothing unusual.
Dinner from her favorite Thai restaurant.
Two glasses of wine.
An old movie.
Christa relaxed.
Three hours later, she walked into the kitchen.
And stopped.
A small box sat beside the sink.
She stared.
"Dion."
He appeared.
"Yes?"
"What is that?"
He looked at the box.
"Oh."
"Oh?"
"I forgot that was there."
"You're lying."
"Poorly?"
"Terribly."
He walked toward her.
Then stopped several feet away.
The same respectful distance he'd maintained in the study the first night.
Christa remembered.
Purple gown.
Photograph.
Fear.
A lifetime had happened since.
Dion picked up the box.
"I bought this eleven months ago."
Her eyes widened.
"Eleven?"
"You said you weren't ready."
"So you waited eleven months?"
"Technically three hundred thirty-seven days."
"You counted?"
"No."
She stared.
"Fine. Yes."
Christa laughed.
Dion opened the box.
A simple ring.
Elegant.
Not enormous.
Not designed to demonstrate wealth.
Designed for her.
"I had a speech."
"Oh no."
"It was excellent."
"I'm sure."
"I've decided not to use it."
"Thank God."
He smiled.
Then his expression softened.
"I don't want to make you anything, Christa."
Her eyes filled.
"I don't want to rescue you. Own your choices. Rearrange your life. Decide what you need."
He took her hand.
"I just want to be invited into it."
Christa couldn't speak.
"So I'm asking."
He lowered himself onto one knee.
"Christa Flores, will you marry me?"
She looked at him.
This man had once frightened her because she thought his power meant he could control everything.
Now he was kneeling.
Waiting.
Giving her the choice.
Christa wiped her cheek.
"I need to tell you something."
Dion's expression became alarmed.
"That's concerning."
She laughed.
"I found the ring three months ago."
His mouth opened.
"What?"
"You hid it behind coffee."
"You don't drink that coffee."
"I was cleaning."
"You hate cleaning."
"Focus."
Dion stared at her.
"You knew?"
"Yes."
"And you didn't say anything?"
"No."
"Why?"
Christa smiled.
"Because I finally understood something."
"What?"
"I didn't need to be chosen."
Dion's expression softened.
"I needed to choose too."
She looked at the ring.
Then at him.
"And I choose you."
Dion exhaled.
"Is that a yes?"
"That is a yes."
He stood.
Christa kissed him before he could put the ring on.
A minute later, they were both laughing because Dion dropped it beneath the refrigerator.
"Very elegant," Christa said.
"This never happened."
"I'm telling everyone."
"You wouldn't."
"I'm putting it in the wedding speech."
Dion got onto the floor.
"Flashlight."
Christa handed him one.
Then her phone rang.
Arthur.
She answered.
"Dad?"
The word came naturally now.
Arthur was silent.
Christa's smile disappeared.
"Dad?"
"Chrissy."
"What happened?"
"I need you to come to Flores House."
"Why?"
"There's someone here."
"Who?"
Arthur didn't answer.
Christa looked at Dion.
Then Arthur whispered a name Christa hadn't heard since childhood.
The name of the woman her mother claimed Arthur had run away with.
Christa went completely still.
"That's impossible."
Arthur's voice shook.
"I thought so too."
Behind him, a woman spoke.
May you like
"I've waited twenty-one years to tell Christa what really happened that night."
And the line went dead.
