Chapter 269. The Call from Jessica

The first, perfect, selfish bubble of their engagement lasted until mid-morning. They had slept late, tangled together in the sun-drenched sheets of the villa’s bedroom, the ring on Sabatine’s finger a constant, cool point of contact against Anton’s skin. They’d taken coffee on the terrace, speaking in hushed tones, as if the news were too new, too fragile, for the full light of day.

It was Sabatine who finally broke the spell, setting her cup down with a soft, decisive click. “We have to tell someone,” she said, a practical smile on her lips. “Before Leon spontaneously combusts from repressed excitement. Or worse, before he decides to ‘secure the perimeter’ of our happiness with tactical drones.”

Anton chuckled, but he knew she was right. The secret was a jewel they could only clutch in private for so long before its brilliance demanded to be shared. He felt a flicker of the old, protective instinct—to keep this sacred thing just between them—but it was quickly overridden by a newer, more powerful urge: to proclaim it. To let the world, or at least their small corner of it, know that Sabatine Stalker had chosen him, and he her.

“Jessica first,” he said. It was not a question. His assistant of ten years, the woman who had navigated the wreckage of his father’s legacy and the chaos of Evelyn’s betrayal with unflappable grace, deserved to be the first to hear. She was more than an employee; she was the keeper of his sanity, and she had stood by Sabatine when few others had.

Sabatine nodded, pulling her phone from the pocket of her linen trousers. She held it for a moment, then offered it to him. “You should do it.”

He took the phone, his thumb hovering over Jessica’s contact. He felt strangely nervous, as if he were about to deliver a corporate report whose outcome he couldn’t predict. He took a breath and pressed call, putting it on speaker.

It rang twice in London before Jessica’s crisp, professional voice answered. “Sabatine? Is everything alright? Is Anton—?”

“Jessica, it’s me,” Anton interrupted, his voice warm.

A brief, surprised pause. “Anton? Is everything—?”

“Everything is perfect,” he said, and the truth of it rang in his voice. He looked at Sabatine, who was watching him, her eyes soft. “We’re in Italy. And we have some news.”

Another pause, this one charged with dawning suspicion. He could almost hear the gears turning in her formidable mind—checking his schedule, cross-referencing Sabatine’s, the private jet’s flight plan. “News,” she repeated, her tone carefully neutral.

“Yes.” He reached out and took Sabatine’s hand, lacing their fingers together, the ring pressing between their palms. “I asked Sabatine to marry me.”

The silence on the other end of the line was absolute. For three full seconds, there was nothing, not even the sound of her breathing. Then, a sharp, indrawn gasp.

And then, Jessica screamed.

It was not a yell. It was a full-throated, uncontained, utterly undignified shriek of pure, unfiltered joy that burst from the phone’s speaker and seemed to echo off the Ligurian cliffs. It was a sound so violently happy it made both Anton and Sabatine jerk back, then burst into simultaneous laughter.

“OHMYGOD! OHMYGOD!” Jessica’s voice was now a breathless, tearful torrent. “Anton! Sabatine! Oh, my darlings! Yes! Of course, yes! I knew it! Well, I hoped for it, I prayed for it, but I knew it! When? How? Did you have a ring? Of course you had a ring, show me the ring! Is it beautiful? It must be stunning! Tell me everything!”

She was babbling, her usually perfect elocution shattered by emotion. They could hear the rustle of fabric, as if she’d jumped up from her desk, and the distant thump of something being knocked over.

Sabatine, tears of mirth in her eyes, leaned towards the phone. “It was last night, Jess. After dinner. It was… eventful.”

“Eventful!Don’t you dare skimp on details! Anton Rogers, you romantic devil, I will have your head if you don’t start talking!”

For the next ten minutes, they took turns recounting the story—the cliffside dinner, the apocalyptic fireworks from Portofino (“I’ll kill Franco for not warning us,” Anton muttered, to Jessica’s renewed peals of laughter), the second, quiet proposal in the aftermath. They described the ring, and Jessica demanded a dozen photos from every angle, which Sabatine promptly sent.

“It's her,” Jessica sighed, her voice choking again. “Dark and strong and beautiful. Oh, I’m a mess. Leo! LEON! Get in here!”

There was a distant, muffled bellow, and then the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. Leon’s voice, confused and wary, came through. “Boss? You alright? Sounded like you were being murdered.”

“Murdered by happiness!” Jessica cried. “They’re engaged! Anton and Sabatine! She said yes!”

Another profound silence from Leon’s end. Then, a low, rumbling, “No kidding.” A pause. “Sir? Is that true?”

“It’s true, Leon,” Anton said, a broad smile on his face he couldn’t suppress.

“Well,I’ll be damned,” Leon breathed. Then, his voice gruff, he added, “Congratulations, sir. Ma’am. That’s… that’s really something.” There was a thick quality to his words.

“Are you crying, you big lump?” Jessica’s voice was teasing, but tender.

“No,”Leon denied instantly, his voice several octaves higher. “Got dust in my eye. From the… ventilation. In the Command Centre. It’s very dusty here.”

A loud, unconvincing sniff followed.

Sabatine’s heart squeezed.“Thank you, Leon,” she said, her own voice thick.

“Yeah,well,” he mumbled. “’Bout time, is all. Gonna need to upgrade your personal security protocol, ma’am. Fiancée status requires a whole new threat matrix. I’ll start on it.” They could hear him shuffling away, his voice fading as he muttered to himself, “…fireworks, he says… bloody typical… gotta run a sweep for celebratory ordnance…”

Jessica laughed, a wet, happy sound. “He’s weeping into his keyboard. He’s been placing bets with the security team for months.” She sobered slightly, her voice softening into the warm, maternal tone she reserved for her most precious people. “I am so, so happy for you both. Truly. After everything… this is the ending you deserve. No, not an ending. The most beautiful beginning.”

They talked a while longer, Jessica already shifting into planning mode—discreetly, of course, she assured them—asking about timelines, preferences. By the time they hung up, the private bubble had been gently, joyfully breached. Their happiness had touched London, and the echo had come back, multiplied.

Sabatine set the phone down. The terrace was quiet again, but the silence was different. It was no longer the hushed quiet of a secret, but the peaceful quiet that follows a celebration.

“Well,” Anton said, squeezing her hand. “The cat is officially out of the bag.”

“And the cat,”Sabatine said, a grin spreading across her face, “was apparently screaming and crying with joy.” She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. “That was nice.”

“It was,”he agreed, pressing a kiss to her hair. The call had made it real in a new way. It was no longer just their truth; it was a truth shared with their found family, and it had been met with an avalanche of love.

Somewhere in London, Jessica was probably already compiling a list of discreet wedding planners, and Leon was drafting a security plan with the fervour of a man defending a holy city. Their world was adjusting, expanding to accommodate this new, glorious fact.

And as they sat together, looking out at the sun-dazzled sea, Anton knew the best was yet to come. The call from Jessica had been the first ripple. Soon, the wave would spread. But here, at its epicentre, there was only this: his hand in hers, a ring on her finger, and a future, bright and boundless, officially underway.

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