Chapter 14 - HEALING IN THE STORM
Three weeks later, the spring sun shone warm and bright over Chicago.
The gardens of the Lake Forest estate were in full bloom.
White hydrangeas and crimson roses lined the stone paths leading down to the private beach.
Norah stood on the stone terrace, wearing a pale blue silk summer dress.
The bruises were completely gone.
Her skin was luminous, radiant with health and peace.
Down on the manicured lawn, Clara was laughing.
She was wearing a floral sundress, kicking a soccer ball back and forth with Liam.
Clara’s cheeks were rosy, her energy fully restored.
Dr. Henderson had declared her in complete clinical remission two days prior.
A pair of strong arms slipped around Norah’s waist from behind.
Declan pulled her back against his chest, resting his chin on her shoulder.
He wore a crisp white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, looking relaxed and strikingly handsome.
“What are you thinking about?” Declan murmured into her ear.
Norah leaned her head back against his shoulder, smiling as she watched her sister.
“I was thinking about how impossible this looked a month ago.”
“I was trapped in a dark room, waiting to die.”
“And now Clara is laughing in the sunshine.”
Declan kissed the side of her neck.
“You earned this sunshine, Norah.”
“We earned it,” she corrected softly, turning in his embrace to face him.
She adjusted the collar of his linen shirt, her diamond ring catching the midday light in brilliant flashes.
“Have the city council finished the port reorganization?” she asked.
Declan chuckled, the deep rumble vibrating against her chest.
“Even on a Sunday, you’re still checking my logistics.”
“Old habits die hard, Mr. Hayes.”
“The port is completely under our legal foundation now,” Declan told her.
“We created the Thomas Jenkins Memorial Scholarship fund for port workers’ children.”
“The first ten million dollars from the Sterling forfeiture went into the trust yesterday.”
Norah’s eyes shimmered with emotion.
She looked at the man who had torn apart the city’s criminal underworld to vindicate her family.
“My father would have loved you,” she whispered.
“I think he would have shot me first,” Declan replied dryly.
“Then he would have loved you.”
Norah laughed, a bright, joyous sound that echoed across the stone terrace.
Declan looked at her, his expression softening into pure devotion.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out two airline tickets.
“What are these?” Norah asked.
“Our wedding is in two weeks at the cathedral,” Declan said.
“These tickets are for tomorrow morning.”
“To Paris.”
“Just you, me, and Clara.”
“Before the high society and the syndicate bosses descend on our reception, I want you all to myself for seven days.”
Norah wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a sweet, lingering kiss.
“Paris sounds wonderful,” she breathed against his lips.
May you like
“Pack light,” Declan warned playfully.
“I intend to buy you half the boutiques on the Champs-Élysées.”
