She agreed to stay the night—on the condition I drive her to the hotel in the morning to meet Adriana before work.
We will meet after work and talk about the rest—her work, her visa, moving in together. And… aboutthe deal. I didn’t want to spoil these days. I wanted them to be all about her, making her shine and smile again. But tomorrow, I will tell her.
The doors slide open into my apartment, and I wait for her reaction.
“Ha,” she breathes, stepping inside, eyes sweeping the space. “It’s different than I expected.”
“And what did you expect?” I ask, a small smile tugging at my lips.
“Well… Colder. Darker. Minimalist. But this… this is warm. Cozy. It feels… really nice.”
She runs her hand along the arm of the oversized sofa, pauses at the leather armchair by the shelves lined with books and whiskey. The wood is dark, the fabrics deep and rich, everything masculine but softened with warmth: thick rugs, low light, the faint scent of cedar and smoke.
“Come,” I say, threading my fingers through hers, leading her past the glass wall toward the terrace.
When she steps outside, she freezes.
“This is… amazing,” she whispers.
Chicago sprawls beneath us, a tapestry of glittering lights stitched against the velvet dark. The lake stretches wide and endless, a black mirror rimmed with silver where the moon spills itself across the water. The hum of the city rises faintly from below, a reminder of life still moving, but here—twenty stories above—it feels distant, hushed. A world apart.
“You can see everything. The city, the lake…” Her hand drifts to the ruby at her throat. Her eyes shimmer, wide with wonder. “Dorian, this is incredible.”
I step behind her, wrap my arms around her waist, draw her back into me. She leans her head against my chest, fingers brushing the ruby as though tethering herself to both stone and heart.
“It really is incredible,” I murmur against her hair. “Having you here. Being here with you. I didn’t even dare to hope…”
Her body fits against mine as though it had been carved for this space, this moment. Small, soft, utterly right and with that unforgettable Jasmin scent.
I breathe her in, and for a second, I still don’t believe it. I pinch myself every time she laughs, every time she touches me.
Della asleep in my arms.
Della in firelight, wearing nothing but the ruby.
Della laughing, alive, free.
She is here. She’s back.
And I will put my life—and this city—at her feet.
Whatever it takes, she will never leave again.
The world will break before I let it happen.
** In “Love in the Time of Cholera” by Gabriel Garcia Marquez the lovers’ journey down the river represents an eternal sanctuary for love—an image I echo here on Lake Geneva.
** desnudo - Spanish for naked
Chapter 19
CHANGE OF PLANS
No plan survives first contact with reality
Della
When I step back into my hotel room, it feels like I’ve been gone for weeks, not days. I feel like a different woman than the one who walked out of this room three mornings ago.
