Chapter 102: Mirror Image
The morning sun sliced through the dining room’s tall windows, painting stripes of warm gold across the dark walnut table. Beth swiped a piece of toast through the yolk of her eggs, the yellow rivulet threatening to drip. Damien watched her, his own breakfast forgotten, a lazy smile on his face as if her consumption of carbohydrates was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.“See something you like?” she asked without looking up, a smirk playing on her lips.
“Always.”
The clatter of boots on marble interrupted the quiet. Marco strode into the room, his presence immediately shifting the atmosphere from intimate to charged. He was dressed in his customary black, a leather jacket over a simple tee, the scar through his eyebrow a pale slash in the morning light. His eyes, sharp and assessing, scanned the room and landed on Beth’s left hand resting beside her plate. On her ring finger, a band of dark, polished wood inlaid with a thin line of gleaming platinum, a placeholder, heirloom, caught the light.A wide, genuine grin split Marco’s face. “Well, holy shit.” He pulled out a chair and spun it backwards, straddling it. “The parents are finally getting un-divorced. It’s about goddamn time.”
Beth laughed, the sound bright and unguarded. Damien just shook his head, trying and failing to hide his own satisfaction.
“Tony owes me five hundred bucks,” Marco announced, gleefully pulling out his phone. “I told him after the engagement party, when you two disappeared for an hour, that it was a matter of time.He said you were too stubborn, Beth. I said you were both too obsessed with each other to let it go.” He tapped out a quick text. “Payday, baby.”
“You’re a vulture,” Damien said, but there was no heat in it.“I’m a realist.And I’m happy for you. Both of you.” Marco’s gaze, for a moment, lost its cynical edge. It was a rare flash of pure, unadulterated affection. Then he stood, clapping a hand on Damien’s shoulder.“We need to talk about that Coast Guard hiccup. Call me when you’re done playing house.” He winked at Beth and was gone, his bootsteps fading down the hall.
The easy silence returned, but it was softer now, deepened by Marco’s blessing. It was shattered a moment later by a whirlwind of distressed chiffon and the scent of jasmine perfume.Claire Rossi blew into the room like a storm cloud. Damien’s younger sister was usually a vision of put-together elegance, but today her dark hair was escaping its messy bun, and her eyes were wide with panic. She beelined for the sideboard, grabbing a plate and piling food onto it with a clatter that made Beth wince.
“Rough night?” Damien asked, his tone dry.
“Rough life,” Claire muttered, slumping into the seat Marco had vacated. She stared at her heaping plate as if it had offended her.Beth took a sip of her coffee. “What’s going on, Claire?”
“Everything.Nothing.The wedding planner.” Claire let out a groan, dropping her head into her hands. “She quit.Emailed me at two a.m. Said we were ‘aesthetically incompatible’ and that Leo’s mother was a ‘energy vampire.’ Which, fair, but still. The wedding is in five months and I have no planner, no venue coordinator, and a mother-in-law who wants peacocks. Actual live peacocks.” She lifted her head, her expression one of pure despair.“This wedding planning shit sucks.How did you do it, Beth? How did you stay so calm?”
Beth and Damien exchanged a glance, a whole conversation passing between them in a second. Beth set her cup down carefully.“I didn’t plan a wedding, Claire. We eloped.Court house in the Bronx.”
Claire blinked, her distress momentarily forgotten.“What? No you didn’t.”
“We did,” Damien confirmed, his voice quiet.
“But… why?” Claire’s brow furrowed.“You had the money. You had the connections.”
Beth’s smile was thin, a little sad.“My father was dead. My mom was… unavailable.” She never used the word ‘prison’ in polite company, even with family. “And your parents,” she gestured between Damien and Claire, “well, let’s just say the jury was still out on me back then. Pretty sure it still is, for your dad.” She shrugged, a practiced gesture of nonchalance that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “A big wedding felt like a performance for an audience that didn’t want to be there. So we stole a morning, said our vows to a bored city clerk, and got pastrami sandwiches afterwards. It was perfect.”
Claire stared at her, the color draining from her face. “Oh, my God.” Her voice was a whisper.“I never… I never thought about that. I was, what, seventeen?I was pissed you were stealing my brother. I wasn’t a good sister to you.” Her eyes welled up.“I could have been there. I should have been there.”
Beth reached across the table, covering Claire’s hand with her own.“Hey. Stop it.You were a kid.And you’re here now. That’s what matters.”
Claire sniffled, turning her hand to grip Beth’s.“I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Beth squeezed her hand. “You want my advice?Ditch the peacocks. Ditch the planner if she doesn’t get you. Find one good thing you and Leo both want, and build the day around that.Fuck everything else.”
A wet laugh escaped Claire.“Fuck everything else. I like that.” She took a deep breath, wiping her cheeks with her palms.“Okay. Okay, I can do that.” She glanced at Damien.“Did you hear that? Your wife is a sage.”
The word ‘wife’ hung in the air, tangible and electric. Claire, busy finally taking a bite of her cold eggs, missed the current that passed between them. She had no idea the title was, once again, becoming a reality.Beth caught Damien’s eye. He gave her a slow, almost imperceptible nod. A secret shared, a future being built in the quiet spaces between sentences. Claire’s wedding chaos was a bubble of normalcy, a stark contrast to the world of intercepted shipments and criminal empires that waited just outside the dining room door. But here, with the sun warming the wood and the ghosts of their past finally being acknowledged, it felt like something fragile and real was taking root.Claire stood, picking up her plate.“You’re right. I’m going to go find Leo and tell him the peacocks are dead in the water. And then I’m firing off emails. Thank you, Beth.” She leaned over and kissed Beth’s cheek, then did the same to her brother. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
After she left, the silence this time was profound. Damien pushed back his chair and walked over to Beth, placing his hands on her shoulders. His thumbs kneaded the tension at the base of her neck.“You’re amazing with her,” he murmured into her hair.
“She’s easy to love,” Beth said, leaning back into his touch. She closed her eyes. “Unlike some people I know.”
He chuckled, the vibration moving through his chest and into her.“You love me.Admit it.”
She didn’t answer. She just reached up and covered one of his hands with her own, the wooden ring cool against his skin. Outside, a car engine roared to life within the compound walls. Somewhere, Marco was dealing with the Coast Guard problem.Somewhere, Vittorio Rossi was likely stewing. But in this sun-drenched room, with his hands on her and the taste of forgiveness still lingering from Claire, the future felt less like a battlefield and more like a piece of land waiting for them to break ground.
“The ranch tomorrow,” she whispered. “Just us.”
“Just us,” he agreed, his voice a low promise against her ear.It was a pact. A temporary ceasefire in all their wars, a line drawn around a single day where they could just be Beth and Damien again, before they had to become anything else.