Chapter 9 - The Last Page of the Pink Notebook
One Year Later.
The sun was setting over the private gardens of the Moretti Estate in River Forest.
The stone mansion, once cold, dark, and guarded by heavily armed men, was now illuminated by warm string lights hung between the ancient oak trees. The sound of jazz music drifted across the manicured lawn, mixed with the cheerful chatter of a hundred guests—bakers, local business owners, legitimate real estate executives, and a few old friends like Danté, who was currently wearing a comical party hat while trying to teach two golden retriever puppies how to sit.
A long white silk canopy stood near the center of the garden, decorated with thousands of white roses and yellow orchids.
Adrien stood beneath the canopy, wearing a sharp dark blue tuxedo. Beside him stood Danté, who was serving as his best man, looking uncharacteristically emotional, wiping his nose with a silk handkerchief.
The music shifted into a slow, breathtaking acoustic arrangement of A Thousand Years.
The crowd stood up.
Down the white carpeted aisle walked three six-year-old flower girls in matching lace dresses, scattering yellow rose petals from small silver baskets. Lily moved with stately grace; Sophie calculated the exact distance between petal drops; and Emma simply blew kisses to everyone in the audience.
And then came Elena.
She looked like a vision from a fairytale. Her white lace gown flowed around her like liquid light, her dark hair styled in soft waves adorned with tiny white flowers. In her hands, she carried a bouquet of white roses and yellow cinnamon blossoms. Her hazel eyes were locked onto Adrien, shining with a love so bright it seemed to warm the entire garden.
Adrien felt his throat tighten. The man who had faced down armies without flinching felt his eyes fill with warm, grateful tears as he watched his bride walk toward him.
When she reached the altar, Adrien took her hand, his scarred thumb gently caressing her soft skin.
"You look breathtaking," Adrien whispered.
"You don't look so bad yourself, Mr. Moretti," she whispered back with a dazzling smile.
The judge cleared his throat, beginning the ceremony. The vows were simple, deep, and spoken from the absolute depths of two souls that had found healing in each other's wounds.
"By the power vested in me," the judge concluded with a wide smile, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
Adrien pulled Elena into his arms, dipping her slightly, pressing his lips to hers as the entire garden erupted into thunderous applause, cheers, and thrown flower petals.
At the reception that night, beneath the glowing fairy lights, Adrien sat at the head table with his wife on his right and his three daughters on his left.
Lily tapped her silver spoon against her water glass, standing up on her chair with great ceremony.
"Attention everyone!" Lily announced into the microphone Danté held for her. "I have a final announcement!"
The crowd went quiet, smiling warmly up at the small girl.
Lily pulled the old, pink, worn notebook from her small white purse. It was now stuffed with drawings, dried flowers, and photos from the past year.
She opened it to the very last page, where a fresh question had been written in pink crayon.
"Question Seven," Lily read aloud into the microphone. "Are you our daddy now?"
Adrien smiled, taking the pink crayon from Sophie’s hand. He leaned over the notebook and wrote three big, bold letters across the page:
YES.
Lily looked down at the page, held the notebook up for the entire crowd to see, and beamed with pure, triumphant joy.
"The interview is officially closed!" Lily cheered. "He passed!"
The crowd cheered, raising their champagne glasses in a massive toast.
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Adrien pulled Elena close, kissing her forehead as he wrapped his arms around all three of his daughters. Outside the estate gates, the Chicago sky was clear, stars twinkling softly over Lake Michigan. The rain had passed, the shadows were gone, and the cold was banished forever.
Adrien Moretti looked at his family, knowing that the greatest empire he would ever build was standing right inside his arms.
