Chapter 14 - The Tin Box OpenedLater that evening, after the grand reception at the Boston Harbor Hotel had wound down into soft jazz music, clinking crystal, and lively laughter, Damian and I stood together on the private master terrace of our waterfront estate.
A gentle winter breeze rustled the sheer curtains behind us, carrying the clean, crisp scent of ocean salt and the distant twinkling lights of the harbor below.
Inside the softly lit salon, Celia was sitting by the fire, holding Julian’s hand, softly laughing as they recalled old stories of their father’s days on the docks.
Damian held me from behind, his arms wrapped securely around my waist, his chin resting gently on my shoulder.
My left hand rested over his, the platinum and sapphire rings catching the silver glow of the New England moon.
“Are you tired, Donna Elena?” Damian whispered into my ear.
I leaned back against the broad, solid warmth of his chest, smiling up at the starlit sky, feeling the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart against my shoulder blades.
I thought of the crowded dining hall, the frozen ice bucket, the twelve dollars an hour in my pocket, and the moment a man with slate-gray eyes had stepped through the mahogany archway and asked what allegiance had been chosen.
May you like
“Not anymore, Damian,” I whispered back, turning in his arms to cup his rugged face in my hands. “Tonight, I’m finally home.”
He smiled—the soft, peaceful smile of a sovereign whose wars were won and whose soul was finally whole—and kissed his wife beneath the Boston stars.
