Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Anthony
Several Weeks Later
The apartment smelled like coffee, cinnamon toast, and shampoo. Somewhere in the back bedroom room, Juliette’s hairdryer roared to life. Gabrielle sat cross-legged at the breakfast table in one of my old T-shirts, stealing bites of my toast like she didn’t have a full plate of her own. The morning light illuminated the stack of books Juliette had abandoned mid-research, and the paint-splattered coffee mug set off to one side.
Domestic chaos. Cozy. Familiar. I could’ve sat there forever if I weren’t quietly losing my mind.
Today was the day.
I kept my face neutral as I refilled Gabrielle’s mug. My hand didn’t even shake. Calm on the outside, hurricane on the inside.
Juliette waltzed in a moment later, hair still damp, phone in one hand, spooning yogurt into her mouth with the other like she’d invented multitasking.
“Any word from the MM&W Foundation?” she asked, dropping into the seat beside Gabrielle. “Do Gabrielle and I officially own A Lady and Gentleman in Black yet?”
Smooth as ever, I smiled. “Not yet. These things take time.”
That part was true. But the foundation had cleared it days ago. The paperwork sat in my briefcase at the office—signed, sealed, and locked away until I was ready to reveal the rest.
Which was today. But I couldn’t tell them that yet.
Juliette made a sound halfway between a sigh and a groan. “Louisa and I have a patron lined up—one of the university donors. He’s interested in acquiring the piece for their permanent collection. You’d love him, Anthony. He’s old, wealthy, and wears a cravat unironically.”
I arched a brow. “Sounds like someone I’d avoid at a fundraiser.”
Gabrielle bit back a laugh as Juliette continued, undeterred. “All I’m saying is, the faster we get the green light, the faster that painting finds a new home, and we get our commission.”
“And all I’m saying,” I replied, tone even but not unkind, “is that the foundation has procedures I can’t skip just because your donor wears fancy neckwear.”
Juliette sighed dramatically. “I’m a patient person. Unlike my sister.”
Gabrielle shot her a look. “You are not.”
Juliette ignored her. “But I’d be an even more patient person if Anthony here introduced me to Damian. Like he said he would.”
And there it was.
I suppressed the urge to groan out loud. “Juliette…”
She raised both brows, completely unrepentant.
I exhaled through my nose and forced my voice into something diplomatic. “Damian’s seeing someone.”
Juliette blinked. “So?”
“Possibly two someones.”
Gabrielle snorted.
Juliette shrugged one shoulder and stabbed her spoon back into the yogurt. “I’m not trying to date him. I just want to thank him for letting us stay on his yacht. Very generous. Very classy. Very worth a face-to-face.”
Gabrielle leaned her chin onto her palm, clearly amused. “Uh-huh. If I were you, I’d want more than thank you. He’s gorgeous. And a billionaire.”
Juliette rolled her eyes, but her grin said she wasn’t denying anything. “Says the woman,” she retorted, “who’s pregnant with a billionaire’s baby and still living in a two-bedroom apartment with me.”
That got me.
I chuckled, but yeah—it hit. She wasn’t wrong. And she wasn’t being petty, either. Just… honest. Gabrielle and I had been juggling a strange version of normal since we got back from Dallas. We hadn’t had the space to breathe, let alone imagine what our new life would look like—until now.
I cleared my throat, pushed back from the table, and started stacking dishes.
“Well,” I said, trying to sound casual, “your sister’s not wrong.”
I glanced at Gabrielle and met her curious gaze.
“Want to go for a ride?”
I carefully stacked the dishes in the sink before we left the apartment. Gabrielle didn’t ask where we were going—she just slid into the passenger seat, in flip-flops, hair loosely pulled up, wearing one of my hoodies that looked infinitely better on her than it ever had on me.
I drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift, just close enough to graze her knee when the traffic light turned red.
She didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she did, and didn’t mind.
The city thinned as we left the tighter streets behind, heading south toward the waterfront. Palm trees swayed in the breeze, the sunlight bouncing off the glass and chrome of the passing cars. The farther we got from the apartment, the quieter she became, the more my thoughts took over.
It had taken weeks to find the right place. Longer still to convince myself I was allowed to want something this permanent.
We’d made it through so much. More than most couples twice our age. The vault. The passion. The foundation. Frank Curtain. Her pregnancy. My past. Ours wasn’t the kind of love that grew slowly and sweetly. Ours had been fire and trust, built out of smoke and rebuilt again in truth.
I wondered what Charlotte would have thought of all of this—the mansion, the ring in my pocket, the fact that I was about to pour part of her family’s fortune into a home for a future she never had with me.
I hoped she would’ve approved.
But the truth was, Gabrielle and I had already endured more together than Charlotte and I ever did. That had to count for something. At some point, I had to let it all go.
I was still lost in it when Gabrielle finally turned toward me.
“You’re oddly quiet,” she said.
I gave her a small smile. “Just thinking.”
Her brow arched. “That usually means you’re up to something.”
I didn’t deny it. Just shifted into the right lane and flicked on the turn signal.
A few moments later, we pulled off Ocean Boulevard and rolled into Coconut Grove. The neighborhood shifted around us—wide, tree-lined streets, tropical landscaping that looked like fairies had manicured it, and the kind of houses that didn’t come with price tags, just legacy contracts and discreet negotiations.
I slowed as we approached the address, then pulled to a gentle stop in front of a sprawling waterfront estate. The house rose in clean, white stucco arches, with blue tile accents, wrought iron balconies, and towering palms lording over the pavers. There was a real estate sign in the yard with a bold red sticker across the middle: SOLD.
Gabrielle leaned forward slightly, blinking at the house, then at me. Her frown was immediate and suspicious.
“What are we doing here?” she asked.
I cut the engine, pulled the key from my pocket, and let it rest in my palm where she could see it.
“Tour?”
Her eyes narrowed. But a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
And I knew—she was starting to put the pieces together.
Gabrielle didn’t speak as I guided her around the side of the house through a wrought-iron gate that opened into the kind of backyard that didn’t even try to be subtle.
We stepped into a private world—tropical gardens in full bloom, a manicured lawn so green it looked photoshopped, and a patio outfitted with an outdoor kitchen that could’ve hosted a Michelin-star chef. There was a built-in grill, pizza oven, bar seating, and even a recessed fire pit surrounded by stone benches. The whole space faced the ocean, and beyond the patio, the private beach curved like a crescent moon.
Gabrielle slowly turned in a circle, taking it all in with wide, cautious eyes.
She was suspicious but trying not to be obvious about it.
We passed a guest house tucked behind a line of palms—two stories with arched windows, a private path to the beach, and its own gated entrance.
I glanced at it and said offhandedly, “Juliette would probably love it.”
Gabrielle shot me a sidelong look. “Would she?”
I gave nothing away.
She followed me back to the front of the house and inside through the tall double doors. The entryway opened to a view of the entire main floor—sunlight pouring through the glass, everything clean lines, and soft elegance. A chandelier glinted high above us, and the air smelled faintly of lemon polish and ocean breeze.
I didn’t rush her.
She moved slowly, her fingers trailing over the marble countertop in the kitchen, the brass fixtures in the butler’s pantry, and the carved molding that bordered the arched doorways. The ceilings soared above us like a cathedral, and every room opened onto the next like the house was welcoming her in.
Her expression changed as we walked. Curiosity gave way to realization. Then awe.
I saw it in her eyes. She wasn’t just admiring a property anymore. She was imagining herself in it.
Which was exactly the point.
I led her down a quiet hallway toward the back of the house, where one final door stood closed. When I opened it, Gabrielle stopped short in the doorway.
The nursery.
Soft taupe walls, white trim, gauzy curtains that billowed slightly from the sea breeze drifting in. A rocking chair sat angled beside the window. The crib was already assembled. A plush rug covered the hardwood floor, and the mobile above the crib spun slowly—clouds, stars, and tiny hot air balloons.
She didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. Then, almost breathless: “You did all this?”
I nodded.
It wasn’t a grand gesture. It was a quiet one. Thoughtful. Real. She turned to look at me, and in that moment, I didn’t need to say a word. She understood everything.
But there was still one more room. I reached for her hand, threading my fingers through hers, and brought her into the grand room.
Light poured in through the tall windows, painting the floors in gold. The fireplace towered above us—white stone with clean lines and subtle detailing. And there, centered above the mantle, framed in black and brushed gold, hung A Lady and Gentleman in Black .
Gabrielle gasped.
Her hand flew to her chest.
“How did you?—?”
I turned to her and reached into my pocket, my thumb brushing the velvet ring box hidden inside.
“You stood by me,” I said quietly, “when you had every reason not to. When I gave you half-truths and disappeared on planes and left you in the dark.”
She blinked rapidly, eyes glistening.
“I know I don’t deserve how fiercely you love,” I said. “But I want to spend every day trying to earn it.”
I dropped to one knee and opened the box.
“Let me give you something that will never ask you to leave. Let me give you this home. This family. A forever. Marry me, Gabrielle.”
She didn’t wait.
Didn’t hesitate.
“Yes,” she breathed, voice breaking around the word. Then again, louder: “Yes.”
She launched herself into my arms, and the world shrank down to her breath in my ear, her arms around my neck, and the sound of her heart pounding against mine.
I held her tighter and whispered, “Welcome home.”
Gabrielle hadn’t stopped smiling since she said yes.
She wandered the house again, barefoot this time, like she needed to feel it under her skin to believe it was real. Her laugh echoed off the marble floors as she passed through the kitchen again and stood in front of the fireplace, taking it all in from a new angle.
Then she pulled out her phone.
“Oh, Juliette is going to lose her mind,” she said, already angling the camera and flipping to selfie mode. “There’s no way I’m not documenting every inch of this for her.”
I leaned against the counter, watching her narrate the tour like a host on a reality show.
“This,” she said, sweeping her arm wide, “is the future home of me, Anthony, and one very spoiled baby. That right there—” she turned to capture the fireplace “—is a real painting you may have heard of, and through that hallway—yes, keep watching—is the nursery that made me cry.”
She panned the camera one more time, then turned it back to her face.
“And yes, I said yes.”
Before she could stop me, I stepped in and gently took the phone from her hand.
“Jules,” I said, looking straight into the lens, “might want to check your student loan balance.” I handed the phone back to Gabrielle as she blinked at me.
“You didn’t.”
I just raised a brow.
She unlocked her phone and opened the app. One glance. Then another. Her hand flew to her mouth as she gasped.
“Zero. It’s… it’s paid off. You paid it off.”
“Check your sister’s,” I said, already turning back to the windows.
Behind me, Gabrielle let out a small shriek.
“Anthony.”
I grinned.
Juliette’s reply came in less than thirty seconds.
First a flurry of texts in all caps:
Juliette: I’M GOING TO FAINT. THIS IS INSANE. GAbrIELLE. YOU WIN. I GIVE UP. ALSO PLEASE TELL ANTHONY I LOVE HIM IN A NON-CREEPY WAY.
Then a follow-up photo: her laptop open to the loan portal, with a screenshot of the zero balance and a selfie of Juliette screaming into a pillow.
Gabrielle laughed so hard she had to sit down on the arm of the couch, her cheeks flushed and eyes glassy from joy.
I walked over and reached for her hand. “Come on.”
“Where now?” she asked, still smiling as I led her out the side doors and back into the gardens.
“Nowhere. Just… here.”
The sun had shifted lower, and the breeze had cooled, rustling the palms as we followed the path down through the garden and out onto the beach.
She leaned into me as we walked, our steps falling into rhythm.
“Does this mean I have to stop making fun of your wealth?” she teased gently.
“Not at all. I consider it one of your charms,” I squeezed her hand. “ It soon will be our wealth, not just mine…So it is kinda self-deprecating.”
“Anthony. I can’t… this is like a dream.” She laid her head on my chest.
We reached the edge of the sand, the tide pulling in slow and steady. The horizon stretched in soft lavender and rose gold.
I looked out across the water, then down the path that curved behind the house toward the guest cottage.
“I was thinking…” I began.
Gabrielle looked up at me.
“…maybe Juliette could stay. In the guest house. Rent-free. Until she finds her own place. Or, you know…” I smirked. “Finds her own billionaire.”
Gabrielle gasped and then laughed—a sound that wrapped around my ribs and squeezed.
“Yes,” she said. “God, yes. Until she finds her own billionaire, for sure.”
I leaned in and kissed her temple.
“We’ll keep Damian out of sight.”
She elbowed me, then laced her fingers through mine.
We stood in silence for a long moment, the water lapping at the shore, the breeze tugging gently at her hair. She looked out at the horizon, and I looked at her.
This wasn’t just a house.
It was the life I didn’t know I was allowed to dream of.
And now, I had both.