Chapter 13

Christopher returned from San Francisco a day early, walking through the apartment door at ten in the morning on Saturday with his tie loosened and exhaustion written across his face. I was in the kitchen making coffee when I heard his key in the lock, my heart immediately jumping into my throat.

He set down his briefcase and looked at me, and for a moment we just stood there, separated by the length of the living room but connected by something that felt stronger than distance.

"You came back early," I said, stating the obvious because I didn't know what else to say.

"I finished what needed to be done." Christopher moved toward me slowly, like he was afraid I might disappear if he moved too quickly. "And then I got on a plane because being away from you felt wrong."

The honesty in his words, the vulnerability in his expression, broke through the last of my hesitation. I closed the distance between us, and Christopher pulled me into his arms, holding me tight enough that I could feel his heartbeat against my cheek.

"I'm sorry about Victoria," he murmured into my hair. "I should have told you about her before. I should have warned you that my past might come looking for us."

"Your past is allowed to exist," I said, pulling back enough to see his face. "I just need to know about it. All of it."

Christopher nodded, his hands still resting on my waist like he needed the contact to ground himself. "Then let's talk. About everything."

We sat on the couch, close enough that our knees touched, and Christopher told me about Victoria. How they'd been introduced by their families when he was twenty-eight, how the engagement had been more merger than romance, how he'd realized after a year that living a lie was worse than disappointing his family's expectations.

"She took it badly," Christopher admitted. "She'd already planned the wedding, already told everyone we were the perfect match. When I called it off, she made it her mission to convince me I'd made a mistake."

"And did you? Make a mistake?" I had to ask, even though part of me feared the answer.

"Breaking up with Victoria was the smartest decision I ever made." Christopher's gaze held mine, steady and sure. "Marrying you is running a close second."

Heat crept up my neck. "That's quite a statement considering you were forced into marrying me."

"I wasn't forced. I could have said no to my grandmother." His thumb traced circles on my knee, the gesture absent but intimate. "I said yes because something about the whole situation intrigued me. A woman who saved my grandmother without knowing who she was, who didn't want anything in return. I had to meet you."

"And when you did?" I asked quietly.

"When I did, I thought you'd be like everyone else once you realized what I could offer." Christopher's expression turned rueful. "Then you locked me out of my own apartment and refused my money, and I started to think I might have been wrong about everything."

I laughed despite myself. "I really did lock you out."

"You did. And somehow that's when I started falling for you." His hand moved from my knee to cup my face, his touch gentle. "You weren't impressed by anything except whether I treated you with respect. That was it. That was all you wanted."

"That's all anyone should want," I pointed out.

"Most people want more. They always want more." Christopher's voice was soft, almost wondering. "But you just wanted honesty and partnership. You made me work for your trust instead of giving it freely just because of my name or my bank account."

The tenderness in his expression made my breath catch. This was the Christopher few people saw, the one who existed beneath the cold CEO exterior. The one who struggled with feelings but tried anyway because I mattered to him.

"I have a question," I said, needing to voice something that had been bothering me since Victoria's visit. "If this is real between us, if we're actually trying to build something, when do I get to see your world? The real one, not just the apartment and the private dinners."

Christopher was quiet for a long moment. "Are you sure you want that? Victoria wasn't wrong that my world can be brutal. The social obligations, the scrutiny, the expectations. I've been protecting you from it."

"I don't need protection. I need honesty." I took his hand, squeezing it. "If we're going to make this work, I can't be your secret wife hiding in the apartment. I need to know what I'm signing up for."

"Then I'll show you." Christopher's jaw set with determination. "There's a charity gala next weekend. The annual Zane Foundation event. It's one of the biggest social gatherings of the year, and I'm expected to attend." He paused. "Come with me. As my wife, not as a secret."

The idea terrified me, but I forced myself to nod. "Okay. I'll go."

"People will talk. They'll speculate about you, about us, about why I married someone they've never heard of." Christopher's expression was serious. "Victoria will probably be there too. She never misses the Zane Foundation gala."

"Then she can watch while I stand beside my husband and refuse to be intimidated." I tried to sound braver than I felt. "Unless you're having second thoughts about going public?"

"No second thoughts." Christopher pulled me closer, his forehead resting against mine. "I'm done hiding you. I'm done pretending this isn't real."

His words sent warmth flooding through my chest, settling somewhere deep and permanent. This was happening. We were really doing this.

"I don't have anything to wear to a gala," I admitted, suddenly practical. "I'm assuming jeans and a sweater won't cut it."

Christopher's lips quirked into a smile. "We'll take care of that. I'll have my assistant arrange for a stylist to bring options to the apartment. You pick whatever makes you feel confident."

"Your assistant." I shook my head, still getting used to the reality of his resources. "Do you have an assistant for everything?"

"Just about." He seemed almost embarrassed. "There's Margaret, who handles my schedule and business correspondence. James, my driver. Security teams for public events. A household staff for the family estate, though I rarely use them." He paused. "Does that bother you?"

"It's just so different from my life." I gestured around the apartment. "I do everything myself. I never thought about having people to delegate to."

"You still can do everything yourself if you want to. But Anastasia, you're my wife now. That means you have access to the same resources I do." Christopher's expression turned earnest. "I'm not trying to change you or make you dependent. I just want to make your life easier if I can."

I considered that, turning it over in my mind. The old me would have immediately refused, insisted on maintaining complete independence. But maybe accepting help wasn't the same as losing myself. Maybe partnership meant letting someone support you without feeling diminished.

"Okay," I said finally. "I'll work with a stylist for the gala. But Christopher, I'm still running my bookstore. I'm still paying my own way for daily expenses. I'm not becoming some society wife who shops and does charity work as a hobby."

"I wouldn't want you to." Christopher's smile was genuine, warm. "The bookstore is part of who you are. I'd never ask you to give that up."

We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling around us. This was it—the moment where we stopped pretending our arrangement was temporary and admitted we were building something permanent.

"I should warn you," Christopher said suddenly. "My family is going to be at the gala. You've met my grandmother, but there are others. My father, my uncle, various cousins. They're going to have opinions about our marriage."

"Worse than Victoria's opinions?" I asked wryly.

"Different. My father will be clinical and assessing, trying to determine if you're suitable from a business standpoint. My uncle will probably make inappropriate jokes. And Ethan," Christopher paused, "Ethan will interrogate you mercilessly because he's been waiting for years for me to show actual emotion about something other than profit margins."

Despite my nerves, I laughed. "Your family sounds interesting."

"That's one word for them." Christopher ran a hand through his hair. "They're not easy, but they're not cruel either. Except maybe my father, who's emotionally unavailable on his best days. But my grandmother adores you, and she has more influence than anyone else in the family."

"I met her before I knew any of this," I pointed out. "She was just a kind older woman who needed help. Now she's the matriarch of one of the most powerful families in New York."

"She's still the same person. The circumstances are just different." Christopher studied my face. "You saved her that day without expecting anything in return. That's why she chose you for me. She knew you'd see past all of this to who I actually am."

"And did I?" I asked softly. "See who you actually are?"

"You're the only person who ever has." Christopher's voice was barely above a whisper. "Everyone else sees Christopher Zane, CEO. You see Christopher, the guy who can't cook and doesn't know how to talk about feelings and comes home to you every night because you make his apartment feel like home."

The rawness in his admission made my chest ache. I reached up, cupping his face with both hands, forcing him to maintain eye contact.

"I see you," I promised. "All of you. The brilliant businessman and the man who's trying so hard to be vulnerable even though it terrifies him. I see you, Christopher. And I'm choosing to stay."

Something broke in his expression, relief and emotion flooding through. He pulled me against him, burying his face in my neck, his arms wrapped around me like I was the only solid thing in his world.

"Thank you," he breathed. "For giving me another chance. For not running when things got complicated."

"I almost did," I admitted, my fingers threading through his hair. "When I first found out the truth, I wanted to walk away. It felt safer than risking getting hurt."

"What changed your mind?"

"You did." I pulled back enough to see his face. "You kept showing up. You kept trying, even when I was angry and hurt. You proved that this matters to you as much as it matters to me."

Christopher kissed me then, soft and careful, like I was something precious he was afraid to break. It was nothing like the rushed, passion-fueled kisses I'd read about in romance novels. This was tender, questioning, a promise wrapped in touch.

When we broke apart, both of us were breathing harder, the air between us charged with possibility.

"We should probably talk about what happens next," I said, trying to regain some equilibrium. "Logistics and expectations and all the practical things."

Christopher nodded, though his hands remained on my waist. "Next weekend is the gala. Between now and then, we prepare you for what to expect. My grandmother will probably want to have lunch with you again, properly this time, to give you advice on handling the family."

"Should I be terrified?" I asked only half-joking.

"Only moderately." Christopher's lips quirked. "Eleanor likes you, which means she'll be protective. But she'll also test you to make sure you're strong enough to handle the pressure. She doesn't believe in coddling."

"I can handle that." I took a breath. "What about the media? If we go public at the gala, there's going to be attention, right?"

"A lot of attention," Christopher confirmed grimly. "The press loves speculating about my personal life. They'll dig into your background, your family, your business. They'll look for scandal or weakness or anything they can sensationalize."

My stomach churned. "Emily. They'll find out about Emily and Thomas."

"Probably." Christopher's expression turned serious. "We should warn her. Make sure she's prepared for possible intrusion. I can have security assigned to her if she wants it."

"She's in the process of leaving him. The last thing she needs is reporters showing up." I bit my lip, anxiety building. "Maybe we should wait. Go public later, when everything's more settled."

"Or we control the narrative from the beginning." Christopher's tone turned strategic. "We release a statement before the gala, announce our marriage on our terms. That way we're not caught off guard by leaked photos or speculation. We tell our story first."

I considered that, weighing the options. "What would the statement say?"

"The truth. That we met, connected, and decided to build a life together. We don't owe anyone the details beyond that." Christopher's gaze was steady. "But Anastasia, if you're not ready for this, we can wait. I won't push you into the spotlight before you're comfortable."

Part of me wanted to accept the delay, to hide for a little longer in our private bubble. But that would just be postponing the inevitable. If we were going to do this, we might as well do it right.

"Let's release the statement," I decided. "This week, before the gala. That gives people time to process before they see us together in person."

Christopher smiled, pride and admiration clear in his expression. "You're braver than you give yourself credit for."

"I'm terrified," I corrected. "But I'm choosing to be brave anyway."

"That's the definition of courage." He kissed my forehead, the gesture achingly tender. "We'll face it together. Whatever comes, we handle it as partners."

Partners. The word settled something inside me, made this all feel more real and solid. We weren't just playing house anymore. We were building something intentional, something that required work and compromise and trust.

Something worth fighting for.

My phone buzzed with a text from Emily, and I glanced at it quickly.

Emily: The movers came. Everything's in the new apartment. Caleb loves his new room. Thank you for everything, Ana. I couldn't have done this without you.

I showed Christopher the message, and his expression softened.

"How's she doing?" he asked.

"Better. Stronger." I set my phone down. "She accepted the job offer, by the way. Started yesterday. She said to thank you, but I think she's still processing that her little sister's husband is a billionaire who casually offers executive positions to family members."

Christopher had the grace to look slightly sheepish. "I just made sure HR knew there was a qualified candidate available. Emily got the position on her own merit."

"Still. It matters that you thought to help." I squeezed his hand. "It matters to both of us."

We spent the rest of the morning talking about logistics, planning for the week ahead. Christopher called his PR team to draft a statement about our marriage. I texted Emily to warn her about potential media attention. We ordered lunch from a Thai restaurant Christopher claimed had the best curry in the city, and he was right.

It felt normal. Domestic. Like we were any couple planning their week, not a billionaire CEO and his secret wife preparing to face public scrutiny.

And somewhere in the middle of discussing press statements and gala preparations, I realized something important.

I was happy.

Despite the complications and the upcoming challenges and the very real fear of what his world might do to us, I was genuinely happy.

Because for the first time in my life, I wasn't alone in facing whatever came next.

I had a partner. A real one.

And together, we might just be strong enough to handle anything.