Chapter 14 - The Choice at the Altar
Angela reached Eleanor's apartment expecting another sibling.
The truth was stranger.
The “other child” was not another baby.
It was Eleanor herself.
Victor had originally created the trust for Eleanor as part of an attempt to control her.
Eleanor secretly rewrote it after Angela's birth.
The money had never been intended as Angela's inheritance.
It was evidence.
Every dollar represented funds Victor and Maxwell had hidden.
Angela stared at the records.
“So the two hundred forty million isn't mine.”
Eleanor shook her head.
“Legally, it is.”
“Morally?”
Eleanor smiled sadly.
“That is the question I hoped you'd answer better than we did.”
Angela did.
She created the Rose Foundation.
Most of the inherited fortune went toward restoring money to organizations harmed by the old scheme, funding legal aid, medical assistance and arts programs for working-class performers.
She kept enough to secure Susan and Jennifer's futures.
And her own.
Charlie never advised her what to do.
That mattered.
Three months later, Susan finished her first major stage of treatment.
Her scans were encouraging.
Angela's acting role expanded after the director saw her work.
For the first time, she had a character with a name.
Charlie attended filming once.
Angela banned him afterward because he made her nervous.
“You married me in front of three hundred people,” he protested.
“That was before I liked you.”
He grinned for the rest of the day.
Their legal marriage remained.
But Angela refused to let the fraudulent ceremony be their only wedding.
One Sunday morning, she brought Charlie back to the Harbor Crown.
The ballroom was empty.
“What are we doing?”
“Fixing something.”
At the front stood Susan.
Eleanor.
Jennifer.
Margaret.
Daniel.
Claire.
Even Helena.
No reporters.
No business partners.
No politicians.
No one who mattered only on paper.
Charlie looked at Angela.
She wore a simple cream dress.
Not a bridal gown.
“What is this?”
Angela handed him a card.
On it she had written:
NO CONTRACTS. NO TRUSTS. NO CONDITIONS. ASK ME PROPERLY.
Charlie looked up.
Angela smiled.
“You're supposed to be smart.”
He laughed.
Then his expression changed.
He walked toward her.
“Angela Parker.”
“Yes?”
“The first time I stood here with you, I thought duty could justify almost anything.”
She listened.
“I was wrong.”
Susan began crying already.
Jennifer handed her a tissue.
Charlie continued.
“You owe me nothing. You owe my family nothing. You owe the company nothing.”
Angela's throat tightened.
“If you leave this room today and never come back, everything that belongs to you stays yours.”
He took a breath.
“But if you want to stay—because you choose me—I'd like to spend the rest of my life earning that choice.”
Angela whispered, “Is there a question coming?”
Everyone laughed.
Charlie smiled.
Then he lowered himself onto one knee.
Angela's heart jumped.
He held no ring.
She already had one.
“Angelina Rose Parker, will you marry me?”
Angela looked around.
At Susan, alive.
At Eleanor, present.
At Margaret, humbled.
At the people whose lies had collided and somehow produced this moment.
Then she looked at Charlie.
“No.”
The room went silent.
Charlie blinked.
Angela smiled.
“Not today.”
He slowly stood.
“All right.”
No anger.
No embarrassment.
No demand.
That answer told Angela more about him than the proposal.
She took his hands.
“I want a real engagement.”
Understanding dawned.
“I want dates,” she said. “Bad restaurants. Arguments about toothpaste. Holidays where your grandmother insults my cooking.”
Helena called from the back, “That requires you to cook.”
Angela pointed at her.
“See? Exactly that.”
Charlie laughed.
Angela continued.
“I want to know who we are when nobody needs us married.”
His eyes softened.
“And then?”
“Ask again.”
“When?”
“You're the billionaire. Figure it out.”
He kissed her forehead.
The same place he had kissed her during their first ceremony.
This time Angela pulled him back.
And kissed his mouth.
Applause erupted.
Later, while everyone ate cake, Margaret approached Angela.
“You surprised him.”
“That was the plan.”
“He'll wait.”
“I know.”
Margaret smiled.
“That is why you'll eventually say yes.”
Angela raised an eyebrow.
“Don't start controlling things again.”
Margaret laughed.
“I deserved that.”
As evening approached, Charlie received a call.
His face changed.
Angela noticed immediately.
“What?”
He ended the call.
“Grant's trial.”
“What about it?”
“He changed his plea.”
“To guilty?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds good.”
“It is.”
“But?”
Charlie looked toward Eleanor.
“He gave prosecutors one final piece of information.”
Eleanor's smile disappeared.
Charlie continued.
“Victor Vale didn't die when everyone thought he did.”
Angela's blood chilled.
“What are you saying?”
“He lived under another identity for nine years.”
Daniel stood.
“Impossible.”
Charlie looked at him.
“Grant gave them the name.”
Angela asked, “What name?”
Charlie turned his phone toward her.
A photograph appeared.
Angela recognized the man instantly.
She had seen him on the worst morning of her life.
He had stood outside the Madison Avenue salon.
He had watched Martin hand her the envelope.
Angela had assumed he was a driver.
Charlie whispered, “He's still alive.”
Angela stared at the screen.
Then her phone rang from an unknown number.
She answered.
Nobody spoke.
A familiar elderly voice finally whispered:
“Angelina.”
Angela's hand tightened around the phone.
May you like
The ballroom doors opened behind her.
Someone walked in.
