Chapter 9 - The Trial of Blood and Silk
Three months later, the spring thaw had begun to melt the thick ice along the shores of Lake Michigan.
The Red Lion Pub was still standing on Wabash Avenue. Marcus had finally fixed the broken floorboard near Table Nine, replacing the oak plank with a polished piece of dark mahogany that matched the booths.
I had finished my clinical rotations at Loyola, graduating at the top of my class with a high-honors degree in pediatric trauma nursing.
On a warm Saturday evening in May, I walked into the Red Lion Pub wearing a simple, elegant dark green dress, my hair pulled back into a soft braid.
The pub was busy, noisy, and filled with the familiar smell of fried onions, wet wool, and draft beer. Marcus was standing behind the bar, wiping down glasses as usual.
He looked up as I walked in, a wide, genuine grin spreading across his beefy face.
“Look who decided to visit us!” Marcus shouted over the jukebox. “Nurse Aaliyah! We miss you around here, girl! The new waitress keeps dropping the broth bowls!”
I laughed, walking up to the bar to hug the broad manager. “How are you, Marcus?”
“Better now that the back room is quiet,” Marcus winked, gesturing with his head toward Table Nine.
I turned and looked toward the dark alcove.
Sitting in his usual booth, backlit by the amber wall sconce, was Victor Morgan.
He was wearing a light gray three-piece linen suit tonight, no tie, his dark iron-gray hair slightly longer than it used to be. He was holding a small glass of mineral water, watching the crowd with a calm, peaceful expression that made him look ten years younger.
He wasn't sitting alone anymore.
Beside him on the leather banquette sat a small, leather-bound textbook on pediatric cardiovascular surgery—a gift he had bought for me for my graduation.
I walked down the three steps into the back alcove, my heels clicking softly against the oak floorboards.
Victor looked up as I approached. The moment his gray eyes met mine, his entire face lit up with that brilliant, warm light I had come to love more than life itself.
“You’re late,” Victor murmured gently, sliding over on the leather seat to make room for me.
“Traffic on the Outer Drive was terrible,” I smiled, sliding into the booth right beside him, leaning my head against his broad shoulder.
Victor wrapped his long, warm arm around my waist, pulling me close against his side, his fingers resting gently on my hip.
“How was your first day at County Hospital?” he asked, resting his chin against the top of my head.
“Exhausting,” I admitted, closing my eyes, letting the steady, powerful rhythm of his heartbeat soothe my aching shoulders. “Four trauma admissions before noon. But I loved every second of it.”
“I know you did,” Victor whispered, pressing a soft kiss against my forehead.
He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a fresh, folded piece of white silk linen—not the old one embroidered with the letter E, but a brand-new handkerchief crafted in Paris.
In the lower right corner, embroidered in brilliant gold thread, was a new monogram:
A.M.
I looked at the gold letters, my heart swelling with an overwhelming wave of pure happiness.
“Aaliyah Morgan,” I whispered, tracing the gold thread with my thumb.
“It has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?” Victor murmured softly in my ear.
May you like
I looked up into his gray eyes—the eyes that had once been cold stone, but now burned with a steady, eternal fire of love, warmth, and absolute devotion.
“It sounds like home,” I whispered.
