Chapter 14 - No More Pretending
Roman did not speak for nearly a minute.
Lily did.
“What does that mean?”
Detective Ellis chose every word carefully.
“It means Nathan made an allegation. It does not mean the allegation is true.”
Good.
Facts first.
Always.
The original crash investigation had found no evidence of sabotage.
Nathan claimed Marco had tampered with Elena's car.
Marco denied it.
Forensic records were reviewed.
Mechanics were interviewed.
The car itself had been destroyed years earlier.
For two weeks, uncertainty poisoned everything.
Roman barely slept.
Lily became quiet again.
One night, I found Roman sitting alone at Elena's Table, still under construction.
“I should have protected her.”
I sat beside him.
“You don't know what happened.”
“I should have known.”
“You weren't God, Roman.”
He looked at me.
“You couldn't control every road she drove on, every person she trusted, every decision she made.”
His voice broke.
“She was my little sister.”
“I know.”
For once, I didn't fix anything.
I sat beside him.
Eventually he cried.
Not elegantly.
Not quietly.
He bent forward and covered his face.
I held him.
The final investigative report came three days later.
Nathan had lied.
Financial records proved Marco had been in New York on the day Elena died.
The brake damage Nathan described had never existed in the original forensic photographs.
Nathan admitted he'd invented the allegation hoping to fracture Marco's cooperation and hurt Roman.
Elena's death had been what investigators originally determined.
A tragic accident.
Nothing more sinister.
Nothing anyone could have prevented.
Roman read the report twice.
Then gave it to Lily.
She read it.
Closed her eyes.
And whispered, “Okay.”
Not relief.
Not peace.
But somewhere to begin.
Nathan's lies had one final consequence.
Roman stopped believing every danger required him to become more dangerous.
He started therapy.
He didn't announce it.
Lily told me accidentally.
I never teased him.
Some things deserved privacy.
Three months later, Elena's Table prepared to open.
My bakery had never been busier.
Roman still sat at the corner table.
Still drank espresso.
Still looked expensive.
But now customers talked to him.
Mrs. Kaplan asked him to reach things from high shelves.
A five-year-old once handed him a sticker.
He wore it on his suit for two hours.
I photographed it.
“For blackmail,” I explained.
Our relationship became public.
Real public.
No announcement.
No gala.
No contracts.
One morning, Sophia walked in and asked how long we'd been together.
Roman looked at me.
I answered.
“Approximately three months.”
He nearly choked on his coffee.
Sophia laughed until she cried.
That evening, Roman walked me home.
At my apartment door, he took my hands.
“I love you.”
There was no spectacle.
No ring.
No audience.
Just Roman.
I looked at him.
“I love you too.”
He exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for months.
Then I added, “You're still annoying.”
“I assumed.”
We kissed.
My phone buzzed.
Lily.
I opened the message.
A photograph.
Elena's Table.
Someone had slipped an envelope beneath its new front door.
May you like
Across the front, in handwriting neither of us recognized, were four words.
FOR LILY DUCA ONLY.
