37. Azaria #2
Theo stands at the very back of the room, clapping for me too, his presence like a steady anchor in the chaos of flashing cameras and shouted questions. Our eyes meet for just a moment—long enough for him to mouth three words.
I love you.
When the applause finally dies down and Rachel signals that we're done, I step away from the podium with my spine straight and my head high. The reporters are still calling questions, still hungry for more, but I've given them everything they're getting today.
I walk toward the back of the room where Theo waits, and he falls into step beside me as naturally as if we've been doing this for years. His hand finds the small of my back—protective, possessive, absolutely unmistakable to every camera still rolling.
"You were magnificent," he says quietly, and the pride in his voice makes my chest tight.
"I had good motivation."
The hotel's back exit leads to a service corridor where the paparazzi can't follow, and that's where I find them waiting—my father and Everett Tate, both looking like they've been holding their breath for the past hour.
"Zari." Dad's voice carries relief so profound it makes my throat close up. He pulls me into a hug that smells like his cologne and feels like safety. "I'm so proud of you."
"You should be proud of yourself too. The evidence package was flawless."
"That was all Leonard and Rachel. I just signed the checks." He steps back, hands still on my shoulders. "But watching you in there—that was all you. Pure Azaria Emerson."
Everett Tate approaches. "Azaria, that was impressive."
"Thank you, sir."
"Everett, please. I think we're past formalities."
"Dinner," Dad announces suddenly. "We're celebrating. All of us."
"Dad, I should probably?—"
"You should probably eat something that isn't anxiety and adrenaline. Everett, you free tonight?"
Everett glances at Theo, who nods almost imperceptibly. "I could eat."
"Perfect. Le Carana. Eight o'clock. I'll have them set up the private room."
An hour later, we're seated around a table. The private dining room overlooks the city, floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of Manhattan that never gets old.
I've changed out of the power suit into something softer—a silk dress in deep emerald that makes my skin glow. Theo sits beside me in a charcoal blazer over dark jeans.
"So," Dad says, settling back in his chair with a glass of wine, "how long has this been going on?"
"Dad."
"What? I'm curious. One day you're avoiding each other like the plague, the next you're staging the most romantic press conference in recent memory."
"It wasn't romantic," I protest, though heat rises in my cheeks.
"Zari, he mouthed 'I love you' to you in front of fifty reporters. If that's not romantic, I don't know what is."
Everett chuckles—an actual chuckle from the man I've always thought of as carved from granite. "He's not wrong. I've never seen Theo look at anyone the way he was looking at you up there."
"Dad." Now it's Theo's turn to sound mortified.
"What? I'm proud of you. Both of you, actually. That couldn't have been easy."
The sommelier appears with a bottle of champagne. "Krug Grande Cuvée. Seemed appropriate for the occasion."
"What occasion?" I ask, though I suspect I know where this is heading.
"The occasion of my daughter getting her life back. The occasion of watching her stand up to a room full of people who spent months treating her like a criminal. The occasion of—" He pauses, looking between Theo and me. "Well, whatever this is."
Theo's hand finds mine under the table, his fingers threading through mine with quiet certainty. "This is me being in love with your daughter, Kofi."
"Well, it's about time."
"About time?"
"Theo, you've been half in love with her since you were sixteen. Did you think we didn't notice?"
Everett raises his champagne flute. "To Azaria, for showing us all what courage looks like."
"To Theo," Dad counters, "for refusing to let her face it alone."
"To both of you," I say, lifting my own glass, "for somehow raising children who turned out better than they had any right to."
We drink, and the champagne tastes like victory and possibility.
"So what now?" Everett asks. "Back to modeling?"
"Back to everything. Leonard's already fielding calls from brands that want to 'reassess their position.' Apparently, being vindicated by federal prosecutors is excellent for one's marketability."
"And the two of you?" Dad questions.
Theo's thumb traces across my knuckles. "We figure it out as we go."
"That's not very specific."
"Dad," I warn, but Theo squeezes my hand.
"I'm in love with her. She's in love with me. The rest is details."
Everett and Dad exchange a look that speaks of thirty years of friendship and shared understanding.
"Well," Everett says, refilling our glasses, "I suppose that settles it."
"Settles what?"
"Whether I approve of you dating my son. Turns out, I do."
The warmth in his voice makes my throat tight. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. He's going to drive you absolutely insane with his need to control everything."
"I'm sitting right here," Theo points out.
"And she's going to turn your entire world upside down every chance she gets," Dad adds cheerfully.
"I'm also sitting right here."
"Perfect match, really," Everett concludes, and Dad nods sagely.
The evening stretches on, champagne flowing and conversation weaving between business and family. I watch Theo interact with my father, see the respect that flows both ways, and realize this isn't just about us anymore.
This is about families choosing each other, about love that's big enough to encompass more than just two people who can't seem to stay away from each other.
"To new beginnings," Dad says as dessert arrives.
"To old friendships," Everett adds.
"To surviving the worst and choosing to stay anyway," Theo says, his eyes on me.
"To love that's worth fighting for," I finish.
We drink again, and somewhere between the champagne and the laughter and the way Theo's hand never leaves mine, I realize I'm not just getting my life back.
I'm building a new one entirely.