“It may be unrelated.”
“It is never unrelated.”
He placed the ring on the counter rather than kneeling.
“No cameras,” he said. “No enemies. No board members. No lie.”
Elara looked at the simple platinum band.
“You once announced our engagement without consulting me.”
“I have been informed that was inappropriate.”
“By whom?”
“Everyone.”
“And now?”
“Now I am asking.”
She looked at him.
The feared man from the museum corridor was still there. He would never become harmless, and she did not need him to.
But he had learned that power was not the ability to make people obey.
Sometimes power was the willingness to surrender an empire rather than become the man who had built it.
“Roman Calder,” she said, “are you proposing with a sandwich?”
“I was advised to make the occasion personal.”
“Who gave you that advice?”
“Mateo.”
“We should fire him.”
“He no longer works for me.”
“Then hire him and fire him.”
Roman almost smiled.
Elara picked up the ring.
“Yes.”
His expression changed so completely that she felt the same surprise she had felt when he laughed outside the burning opera house.
“Yes?” he repeated.
“Yes.”
He came around the counter and pulled her toward him.
Before he could kiss her, she pressed one hand against his chest.
“One condition.”
“Of course.”
“No fake kidnapping, no monitored telephone, and no armed negotiation regarding the wedding.”
“That is three conditions.”
“I am an auditor. We identify hidden liabilities.”
Roman slid the ring onto her finger.
“And what do you identify when you look at me?”
Elara pretended to consider the question.
“A long-term, high-risk investment.”
“Should I be concerned?”
“Absolutely.”
He kissed her anyway.
This time, she had no one to escape.
No evidence to hide.
No lie to protect.
And no desire to run.