Chapter 7 - THE DAWN ON 57TH STREET
The sun rose over Manhattan at six-fifteen AM, breaking through the remaining storm clouds in brilliant streaks of orange, pink, and gold.
From the thirty-first floor of the Cross Tower, the city looked small, quiet, and clean, washed fresh by six hours of heavy rain.
Penelope woke slowly.
She was lying in the center of the massive bed, wrapped in the crisp white linen sheets that had been replaced by the house staff while she slept. The smell of blood was entirely gone, replaced by the crisp, masculine scent of cedarwood, dark leather, and warm coffee.
Sitting in the velvet chair by the window was Nathaniel.
He had not slept. He was dressed in a dark blue tailored suit, holding a white porcelain teacup, looking out at the rising sun through the high glass windows.
When he heard the sheets rustle, he turned his head, a small, genuine smile lighting up his gray eyes.
“Good morning, Penny,” he said softly.
Penelope sat up, pulling the linen sheet around her shoulders, her dark copper hair falling loosely over her collarbone. “You stayed awake all night?”
“I had work to do,” Nathaniel said, setting his teacup down on the table. “And I wanted to make sure you didn't wake up alone.”
He stood up and walked to the nightstand, picking up a small brown leather envelope and setting it on the mattress beside her.
Penelope looked at the envelope, then up at his face. “What’s this?”
“That,” Nathaniel said smoothly, sitting on the edge of the mattress, “is the deed to the property on 4th and Mercer.”
Penelope froze. “The building my shop is in?”
“The entire building,” Nathaniel confirmed. “The shop on the ground floor, the two apartments above it, and the small courtyard in the back. I bought it from the landlord three hours ago.”
Penelope’s breath caught in her throat. “Nathaniel... I can't accept that. That building is worth millions—”
“The building is yours, Penelope,” Nathaniel interrupted, his tone gentle but absolute. “No one can ever raise your rent. No one can ever turn you out. And no one can ever tell you that you don't belong in this city.”
He reached out, taking her hand in his, his fingers wrapping firmly around hers.
“Six weeks ago,” Nathaniel said softly, “you went to that gala because I sent you a dress. You felt like an outsider in a room filled with wealthy people who didn't know your worth.”
He leaned in, his grey eyes burning with an intense, unshakeable devotion that made her core melt.
“You are not an outsider, Penny,” he whispered, pressing a warm kiss to the back of her knuckles. “You are the center of my world. If you want to keep running your flower shop, you will run it as the owner of the block. And if anyone ever looks at you sideways again, they will answer to me.”
Penelope looked down at the leather envelope, then back up at the man who had torn through an entire syndicate to keep her safe.
A soft, tearful laugh escaped her lips—the first real laugh she had uttered in twenty-four hours.
“You’re ridiculous, Nathaniel Cross,” she murmured, leaning forward until her head rested against his shoulder.
May you like
Nathaniel wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close against his chest, his large hands holding her securely as the golden morning light filled the room.
“I’m a man who knows what he wants, Penny,” he murmured into her hair. “And I’m never letting you go.”
