Chapter 4 - The Secret Beneath the Waterfront
Clara reopened her shop the next morning.
Adrien thought she had lost her mind.
At seven fifteen, he arrived with Marco and found her sweeping broken glass into a dustpan.
“You cannot be serious.”
Clara looked up.
“Good morning.”
“You should not be here.”
“I work here.”
“Someone threatened you twelve hours ago.”
“And whoever did it would love nothing more than to come past this window and see the place closed.”
Adrien stepped over a fallen mannequin.
“This is not courage.”
“What is it?”
“Stubbornness.”
“Those two things are cousins.”
Mia appeared from the back room carrying coffee.
“Thank God you’re here.”
Clara frowned.
“Whose side are you on?”
“The side that prefers not being murdered.”
“Nobody is being murdered.”
Adrien and Marco exchanged a glance.
Clara saw it.
“Absolutely not.”
Adrien raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“That look.”
“What look?”
“The organized-crime look.”
Marco coughed into his hand.
Adrien said, “I don’t have an organized-crime look.”
“You absolutely have an organized-crime look.”
Mia whispered, “He really does.”
Adrien looked genuinely offended.
It was the strangest thing Clara had seen all week.
Then a truck pulled to the curb.
Four workers began unloading replacement glass.
Clara turned.
“What is that?”
“Your window.”
“I didn’t order a window.”
“I did.”
“Cancel it.”
“No.”
“I’m not letting you buy my shop.”
“I’m replacing property damaged because of my situation.”
“This is my situation now.”
“Yes.”
“So I’ll handle it.”
Adrien stared at her.
Clara stared back.
Marco quietly walked outside.
Mia followed him.
Cowards.
Adrien lowered his voice.
“Why is accepting help so difficult for you?”
Clara laughed without humor.
“You want the short version or the therapy version?”
“The truth.”
“My father disappeared when I was fourteen. My mother worked herself sick keeping this place open. When she got cancer, insurance covered less than half of what she needed. I borrowed money, took extra jobs, slept four hours a night, and watched every person who promised to help eventually explain why they couldn’t.”
Adrien said nothing.
“So I learned something useful. If you build your life around rescue, eventually you drown.”
His expression softened.
“I’m not asking you to depend on me.”
“No. You’re just ordering windows.”
“They’re good windows.”
She almost smiled.
“Adrien.”
“Keep them.”
“Why?”
“Because arguing with you is exhausting.”
“That’s not why.”
He stepped closer.
“No.”
Clara waited.
“Because I destroyed something you made.”
“The gown?”
“Yes.”
“You paid for it.”
“That isn’t the point.”
Clara studied him.
The great Adrien Duca was terrible at apologies.
“You’re apologizing.”
“No.”
“You are.”
“I’m replacing a window.”
“You’re apologizing through construction materials.”
His jaw tightened.
“This conversation is over.”
Clara grinned.
“Thank you for the window.”
He walked away muttering something in Italian.
That was the morning Clara stopped being entirely afraid of him.
It was not the morning she started trusting him.
That took longer.
Over the next two days, Adrien’s men quietly repaired the shop while Clara repaired Vanessa’s gown.
She decided not to conceal the tear.
Instead, she reinforced the ripped section with thin bands of champagne-colored silk beneath the ivory lace. Gold thread traced the damaged line from neckline to waist.
It looked like lightning.
Or a scar.
Beautiful because it had survived being broken.
Vanessa loved photographs of the progress.
She called Clara from Boston.
“It’s better now.”
“It’s different.”
“No.” Vanessa smiled through the screen. “It’s honest.”
Clara understood.
Adrien appeared almost daily.
Sometimes there was a reason.
Usually there was not.
On Friday afternoon he arrived carrying lunch from a deli.
“I didn’t order anything.”
“You forget to eat.”
“You’re becoming intrusive.”
“I was already intrusive.”
Fair point.
They ate sandwiches at the cutting table.
Clara discovered he hated mayonnaise.
Adrien discovered she stole pickles from other people’s plates.
He told her he had grown up five blocks from the docks.
His father had unloaded cargo until an accident crushed his left hand.
His mother cleaned hotel rooms.
Adrien had started running errands for waterfront businessmen at sixteen.
By twenty-five, he owned companies.
By thirty, he owned men’s loyalty.
Clara understood what he left out.
“How much of your empire is legal?”
He slowly put down his sandwich.
“You ask questions most people avoid.”
“I sew pins into expensive clothes for a living. I enjoy danger.”
His eyes almost smiled.
“Enough of it is legal.”
“That was a terrible answer.”
“It was the only one you were getting.”
She accepted that.
For now.
Then the front door opened.
Senator Malcolm Hawthorne entered.
Unlike Adrien, he brought no visible guards.
He did not need them.
Malcolm was sixty-two, silver-haired, polished, and possessed the practiced warmth of a man who had spent thirty years convincing strangers they already trusted him.
“Ms. Bennett.”
Clara stood.
Adrien did too.
The atmosphere changed instantly.
“Senator.”
Malcolm looked at Adrien.
“I asked to speak with her privately.”
“You asked?”
“My office called.”
Clara frowned.
“No one told me.”
Mia appeared from the workroom.
“They called six times. I said you were unavailable.”
Clara almost hugged her.
Malcolm’s smile tightened.
“This won’t take long.”
Adrien did not move.
Clara touched his arm.
“I’ll talk to him.”
“No.”
“Adrien.”
His eyes remained on Malcolm.
Clara lowered her voice.
“If you stay, he’ll say I’m being controlled by you.”
That worked.
Adrien stepped away.
“I’ll be outside.”
Malcolm waited until the door closed.
Then he looked around the shop.
“I’m sorry about the vandalism.”
Clara felt cold.
“That’s interesting.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t accuse you.”
His eyes sharpened.
“Of course not.”
He took an envelope from his coat.
Clara stared at it.
Apparently powerful men in Grayhaven communicated exclusively through envelopes.
“What is that?”
“A solution.”
“I’ve had enough solutions this week.”
“Open it.”
She did.
Inside was a cashier’s check.
Five hundred thousand dollars.
Clara stopped breathing.
“What do you want?”
“Nothing complicated.”
“That amount of money is always complicated.”
Malcolm smiled.
“Close your shop for six months. Travel. Expand somewhere else afterward.”
“And?”
“Stop talking to Vanessa.”
“I barely talk to her.”
“Stop talking to Adrien.”
Clara looked up.
“There it is.”
“You are a talented woman who accidentally stepped into something larger than herself.”
“People keep telling me that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“No. Because it’s convenient.”
Malcolm’s smile vanished.
Clara pushed the check back across the counter.
“I’m not taking it.”
“Your mortgage is in default.”
Her stomach dropped.
Malcolm saw it.
“Yes. I know.”
“That’s private.”
“Very little is private.”
He leaned closer.
“You owe one hundred eighty-six thousand dollars. Your lender intends to foreclose within sixty days.”
Clara said nothing.
“I can remove that problem today.”
“For silence.”
“For peace.”
“Same dress, different fabric.”
Malcolm’s expression hardened.
“You think Adrien Duca cares about you?”
Clara’s pulse jumped.
“This has nothing to do with that.”
“It has everything to do with that.”
“He ended the wedding because Vanessa said no.”
“And you believe that makes him honorable?”
“I believe it makes him better than someone trying to buy my silence.”
Malcolm stared at her.
Then smiled.
Not warmly.
“Be careful, Ms. Bennett. Men like Adrien Duca do not fall in love. They acquire.”
Clara’s cheeks heated.
“No one said anything about love.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He took the check.
At the doorway, he stopped.
“When this is over, he will return to his world.”
Malcolm looked around Clara’s modest shop.
“And you will discover yours no longer exists.”
After he left, Clara stood motionless.
Adrien entered seconds later.
“What did he want?”
“Nothing.”
He looked at her face.
“Clara.”
She busied herself arranging thread.
“He offered me money.”
“How much?”
“Five hundred thousand.”
Adrien became very still.
“For?”
“To disappear.”
“And you refused.”
“Obviously.”
“Why obviously?”
She looked at him.
“Because I’m not for sale.”
A strange expression crossed his face.
“Everyone has a price.”
“That’s depressing.”
“It’s experience.”
“Maybe you’ve been shopping in the wrong places.”
Adrien stared at her.
The room seemed suddenly quiet.
Then he said, “He knows about your mortgage.”
Clara froze.
“How do you know?”
“He mentioned it to me yesterday.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I was investigating.”
“Investigating what?”
“Whether Hawthorne had influence over your lender.”
Her blood ran cold.
“Does he?”
“Yes.”
Clara sat down.
For a moment she could not speak.
“So the foreclosure—”
“May not be legitimate.”
She looked at him.
“Can you prove it?”
“I’m trying.”
“And if you can’t?”
“I can pay the mortgage.”
“No.”
“Clara.”
“No.”
He exhaled slowly.
“You would rather lose the shop?”
“I would rather know it is mine.”
Adrien watched her.
Then nodded.
“All right.”
That surprised her.
“No argument?”
“You asked me not to solve everything with money.”
“You listened?”
“I occasionally make mistakes.”
She laughed.
Then something crashed outside.
Adrien moved before Clara understood.
He pulled her behind the cutting table as the shop window exploded.
A brick struck the opposite wall.
Mia screamed.
Adrien covered Clara with his body.
Glass rained across his back.
For several seconds no one moved.
Marco and the guards rushed inside.
Adrien lifted his head.
“Are you hurt?”
Clara stared at him.
A thin line of blood ran from his temple.
“You’re bleeding.”
“I asked if you’re hurt.”
“No.”
He touched her cheek.
His hand was shaking.
Clara noticed.
So did he.
They looked at each other.
Something changed.
Not because he had protected her.
Because Adrien Duca—the man Grayhaven believed feared nothing—looked terrified.
For her.
Marco picked up the brick.
A note was tied around it.
He read it.
His face darkened.
Adrien stood.
“What does it say?”
Marco hesitated.
“Read it.”
Marco handed him the paper.
Adrien’s expression became lethal.
Clara took it from his hand.
Only one sentence was written there.
NEXT TIME IT WON’T BE GLASS.
Clara looked at Adrien.
“Still think this is about a wedding?”
“No.”
“What is it about?”
Adrien stared toward the street.
“Control.”
Clara stepped beside him.
“Then we take it away from him.”
Adrien turned.
“We?”
“You think I’m going home now?”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely not.”
“You have just been threatened.”
“Exactly. If I hide, he wins.”
“You are impossible.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Adrien looked at her for a long time.
Then he laughed.
It was quiet.
Disbelieving.
And so unexpectedly human that Clara’s anger disappeared.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“What?”
“I have terrified judges, businessmen and men who have killed for money.”
He shook his head.
“And somehow the person I cannot control is a seamstress armed with a measuring tape.”
Clara smiled.
“Maybe stop trying.”
His eyes held hers.
“Maybe I already have.”
That evening, while police photographed the second broken window in three days, Clara realized she was in far greater danger than she had understood.
May you like
Not only from Senator Hawthorne.
But from the way her heart had started behaving whenever Adrien Duca looked at her.
