Chapter 9 - The Unbreakable Foundation
By late afternoon, the restaurant had closed its doors between lunch and dinner service, bathing the dining room in a peaceful, amber hush.
Cassian walked out of the kitchen carrying two porcelain mugs of espresso, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his forearms. He spotted Aara sitting alone at a corner table near the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the bustling Chicago street life.
He set the mugs down and slid into the booth opposite her, reaching across the table to interlock his fingers with hers.
"You've been quiet all afternoon," Cassian observed, his dark eyes searching her face with gentle attentiveness. "Is everything alright?"
Aara smiled, squeezing his hand. "I was just thinking about that canvas bag I carried into the Sterling Room eighteen months ago. Inside it, I had three sketchbooks, a spare sweater, and an old envelope. I thought my entire life had narrowed down to survival—just trying to pay the bills, keep my mother breathing, and protect whatever scraps of dignity I had left."
"You never lost your dignity, Aara," Cassian said, his voice dropping into an intense, steady register. "Even when that wretched excuse of a man tried to drown you in soda. You stood taller than everyone else in that room."
"Because I knew who I was," Aara replied softly, her gaze locking onto his. "And because I eventually learned that you don't have to carry your past like a heavy burden. You can use it as structural reinforcement for whatever you build next."
Cassian smiled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small velvet pouch—the engagement ring featuring the tiny platinum drafting compasses catching the afternoon light.
May you like
"Speaking of building things next," Cassian said smoothly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Our contractor—who happens to be the bride—has still not signed off on the final timeline for our wedding venue construction. The board of directors—meaning your mother and I—are demanding a definitive date."
Aara laughed, leaning across the table to press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. "All right, Mr. Rowe. Let's pull out the blueprints tonight. I hear autumn in Chicago is the absolute best season to pour a permanent foundation."
