Chapter 7 - The Cambridge Wedding
The small apartment above Second Chances bakery had been transformed into a sanctuary of warmth, white roses, and soft string lights.
There was no grand cathedral. There were no hundreds of high-society guests in designer gowns and black-tie tuxedos.
There was only Clara’s older sister holding a bouquet of grocery-store eucalyptus, Dr. Reeves acting as an impromptu witness, and Ethan standing at the makeshift altar near the living room window, wearing a simple white shirt with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
When Clara walked out of the bedroom wearing a simple, elegant ivory maternity dress that hugged her rounded six-month belly, Ethan looked as if he might actually burst into tears.
He crossed the small room in two strides, taking her hands in his. They were trembling slightly.
“You look...” Ethan swallowed hard, his voice thick with emotion. “Clara, you take my breath away.”
“You look like you haven't slept in forty-eight hours,” she whispered with a soft, watery smile, reaching up to adjust his collar.
“I haven't,” he confessed, leaning his forehead gently against hers. “Because I was busy dismantling my family empire so I could finally earn the right to stand here next to you.”
The ceremony was short, sweet, and profoundly real. When the judge pronounced them husband and wife, Ethan kissed her with a tender, desperate reverence that washed away every drop of pain, betrayal, and fear from the past six months.
After the quick champagne toast and slice of homemade lemon cake, the guests cleared out, leaving the newly married couple alone in the quiet apartment.
Ethan wrapped his arms around Clara from behind, resting his palms gently over the prominent swell of her stomach.
She leaned back against his chest, letting out a long, contented sigh as she felt two separate, energetic little kicks press against her husband's palms.
Ethan let out a choked, joyful laugh, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder. “They know their dad is here.”
“They know we’re safe now,” Clara corrected softly, turning around in his arms to look up into his eyes. “Right?”
Ethan cupped her face in his hands, his gaze fierce and absolute.
“Nobody will ever touch you or our children again,” he promised. “My father is done. The board voted him out unanimously this afternoon. He’s retired, isolated, and powerless. We won, Clara.”
May you like
Clara smiled, resting her hands over his heart.
“We didn't win because of a boardroom vote, Ethan,” she whispered, leaning up to kiss his lips. “We won because we stopped letting other people write our story.”
