***
Back in the car, with the privacy screen raised between us and the driver, a text arrives on both our phones simultaneously.
It's from George Maddox at ERS:
The internet is already dubbing you 'Beauty and the Business Beast.' Public response overwhelmingly positive. Keep this energy.
I glance at Rosanna, who's reading the same message, her expression thoughtful.
As we drive through the city, I recognize that I've underestimated her.
Beneath the paint splatters and casual warmth, Rosanna Lopez is proving to be as strategic as anyone I've faced across a negotiating table.
Chapter fourteen
Rosanna
I’ve spent the last few years chasing new. New restaurants. New cities. New people. New is easy at first. It feels like movement. But it settles into the same conversations. The same patterns. My father died last month. He left me the company. Taking it would mean choosing something permanent. Choosing structure. I used to think permanence was a liability. I'm not as certain anymore. —Shay (Age 29)
The first week of married life flies by. I wake each morning to the sound of Seamus already moving through the penthouse, his routine as precise as clockwork.
By six, he's showered and dressed.
By six-fifteen, he's made coffee—always enough for two, though I rarely emerge before seven.
By six-thirty, he's reviewing documents at the kitchen island, his posture perfectly straight even when no one's watching.
I watch from the doorway before announcing myself.
Today is day eight, and I'm learning the unspoken rules.
The kitchen is neutral territory where we exchange brief, polite conversation over coffee.
He takes his black; I add enough cream and sugar to make him wince slightly.
The living room remains largely untouched. Our bedrooms are private sanctuaries with our doors always closed when occupied, and we knock like cautious neighbors rather than spouses.
Our calendars do most of the talking.
Seamus insisted on meticulously color-coding every entry: blue for his work commitments, green for my projects and appointments, and red for our "marriage obligations"—the public appearances ERS schedules to showcase our marriage.
He looks up when I enter.
"There's fresh coffee," he says.
I pour myself a cup and add my usual excessive amounts of cream and sugar, catching the twitch at the corner of his mouth.
"The gallery called," I say, settling across from him at the island. "They want to include three of my illustrations in their children's book showcase next month."
It's the kind of news I'd normally share with Luna over excited texts, but she's been surprisingly distant since the wedding.
Seamus looks up from his tablet, his attention shifting fully to me—a rare occurrence during our morning exchanges.
"That's impressive," he says, and though his tone remains even, there's genuine acknowledgment in it. "Will you have time to prepare for it?"
The question catches me off-guard.
"I should," I reply, warming my hands around my mug. "Most of the pieces are already complete. I just need to finalize the framing decisions."
