Chapter 13 - The Last Enemy Was the Past
Jonathan thought the danger had ended.
He was wrong.
Not because another mafia rival appeared.
Not because Dominic escaped.
Not because Atlantic Meridian returned.
The final enemy was quieter.
Memory.
Daniel's first birthday approached.
Meline began waking from nightmares.
In them she stood in the restaurant again.
Marco's papers on the table.
Jonathan's face turning cold.
Then she was on a bus alone.
Pregnant.
Nobody answering her calls.
She hid the nightmares.
Jonathan noticed anyway.
"You didn't sleep."
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
She snapped.
"Stop analyzing me."
He immediately backed off.
"Okay."
That annoyed her more.
"Don't say okay."
Jonathan almost smiled.
"Would you prefer an argument?"
"No."
Meline sat on the edge of the bed.
"I'm scared."
His expression softened.
"Of what?"
"Everything being good."
Jonathan understood less than he wished.
Meline tried again.
"When everything was terrible, I knew what to do."
"Survive."
"Yes."
"And now?"
"Now I'm waiting."
"For what?"
"For you to become him again."
Jonathan looked down.
He didn't defend himself.
That made her cry.
"I hate that you aren't arguing."
He sat several feet away.
"Tell me what you need."
"I don't know."
"Then we find out."
Therapy had once been a word Jonathan associated with people who wanted to discuss childhood while charging three hundred dollars.
Now he went.
Alone first.
Then with Meline.
The therapist asked him why he needed certainty.
"Because uncertainty gets people killed."
"Did certainty protect you from Dominic?"
"No."
"Marco?"
"No."
"Meline?"
He looked at her.
"No."
The therapist turned to Meline.
"Why does Jonathan's change frighten you?"
"Because if I trust it and it disappears, I lose everything twice."
Jonathan's throat tightened.
He had never considered that.
Meline wasn't resisting happiness.
She was protecting herself from a second collapse.
They worked.
Slowly.
No grand breakthroughs.
Arguments happened.
Jonathan occasionally became controlling.
Meline called him on it.
He occasionally felt punished for mistakes he was no longer making.
He said so.
She listened.
Love became less dramatic.
That was harder.
And better.
On Daniel's first birthday, they held a small party at Teresa's house.
No four hundred guests.
No alliances.
Twenty-three people.
Vivien brought a wooden truck.
Rocco brought a toy drum everyone hated.
Rebecca brought a children's book.
Teresa baked a cake large enough for fifty.
Daniel wore blue overalls.
At one point he smashed both hands into frosting.
Jonathan stared.
"My son."
Meline laughed.
"Your control is slipping."
"Clearly."
He allowed Daniel to smear icing across his cheek.
Everyone photographed it.
The next morning the picture became Jonathan's phone background.
Nobody outside the family ever saw it.
That made it more valuable.
Later, Meline found Jonathan in Teresa's garden.
He held a small black notebook.
"Still writing everything?"
"Less."
"What did you write today?"
Jonathan showed her.
Daniel, one year old.
Walked three steps.
Destroyed cake.
Meline smiled.
Then saw another line.
Meline laughed without fear.
Her eyes filled.
"Jonathan."
He closed the notebook.
"What?"
"Nothing."
She leaned against him.
"Just keep that one."
Months passed.
Moretti Transportation became one of the cleanest operators at the Providence port partly because regulators watched it like hawks.
Jonathan welcomed them.
Rocco called compliance meetings "public humiliation."
Jonathan called them "Tuesday."
Vivien built a career separate from her father.
Andrew finished architecture school.
Teresa started volunteering at Donnelly House Flowers without asking Meline.
She frightened difficult customers.
Business improved.
Then a letter came from prison.
Dominic.
Jonathan almost threw it away.
Instead he opened it.
Nephew,
I was wrong about one thing.
You did not come back.
Maybe that means you're stronger than I thought.
Or maybe softer.
I still don't know the difference.
Your father would hate what you've done to the name.
Luca wouldn't.
Jonathan read the final line twice.
Then burned the letter.
Not angrily.
Deliberately.
Meline watched from the porch.
"Feel better?"
"No."
"Worse?"
"No."
"What then?"
"Finished."
She understood.
That winter, Jonathan sold the large Moretti estate.
Teresa protested.
"Your father built that house."
"My father bought that house to impress people he hated."
"True."
Jonathan purchased a smaller property near Meline's flower shop.
Not small in ordinary terms.
Small by Moretti standards.
He did not ask Meline to move in.
One afternoon she walked through it.
There was a room painted pale green.
She opened the door.
Nursery.
Daniel's books.
Toys.
Crib.
Another room across the hall.
Empty.
Meline looked at Jonathan.
"What's this?"
"Whatever you want."
"What do you mean?"
"Office. Studio. Storage."
"You planned a room for me?"
"I planned an unplanned room."
She smiled.
"You're improving."
In the kitchen, Jonathan opened a drawer.
Meline saw a ring box.
He slammed it shut.
She stared.
Jonathan closed his eyes.
"That was not the plan."
Meline laughed until she cried.
"You really do have a ring."
"Apparently."
"How long?"
"Months."
"Why haven't you asked?"
Jonathan looked at her.
"Because I want you to be able to say no without being afraid it changes anything."
Her laughter stopped.
Jonathan continued.
"If you never marry me, you're still Daniel's mother."
He stepped closer.
"Still the woman I love."
Closer.
"Still free to leave."
Meline whispered, "You hate that last part."
"Deeply."
She smiled through tears.
"But it's true."
"Yes."
Meline opened the drawer.
Picked up the ring box.
Jonathan stared.
She handed it to him.
"Ask."
His face changed.
"Now?"
"Now."
"No dramatic location?"
"We're in a kitchen."
"That's not romantic."
"I like kitchens."
Jonathan laughed nervously.
Meline had never seen him nervous like this.
He opened the box.
A simple oval diamond.
Not huge.
Not a political statement.
"Meline Donnelly."
"Yes?"
"I loved you badly once."
Her eyes filled.
"I intend to spend the rest of my life learning how to do it better."
He knelt.
"Will you marry me?"
Meline let him remain there for five full seconds.
Jonathan looked increasingly worried.
She smiled.
"Yes."
He closed his eyes.
Relief.
Then she added, "But not in that cathedral."
Jonathan laughed.
"Anywhere you want."
"No four hundred guests."
"Twenty?"
"Thirty."
"No politicians?"
"Absolutely none."
"Rocco?"
"Unfortunately."
Jonathan stood.
Meline kissed him.
A year and a half after she had stopped his first wedding simply by standing on a street corner, Jonathan Moretti finally became engaged for a reason that had nothing to do with peace treaties.
May you like
Because this time, he had chosen love.
And more importantly, so had she.
