Chapter 9 - The Last Ghost of the Past
The autumn air had turned crisp by the time the grand wedding took place.
It wasn't a public spectacle covered by society tabloids—Dante Moretti didn't share his life with the paparazzi. Instead, it was an intimate, breathtaking ceremony held in the private glass conservatory of the estate, surrounded by thousands of white roses that bloomed under the autumn glass.
There were only twenty guests in attendance—loyal associates, trusted friends, and Miller standing proudly as the best man.
Mara walked down the aisle in a gown of cascading white silk and lace, her heart hammering not with fear, but with an overwhelming, incandescent joy. Standing at the altar waiting for her was Dante, wearing a custom black tuxedo, looking at her as if she were the only woman in the universe.
When she reached him, he took her hands in his, his fingers warm and steady.
As the judge pronounced them husband and wife, Dante leaned down and kissed her—not with the desperate hunger of that first night in the storm, but with the deep, unshakeable certainty of a man sealing an eternal pact.
Later that evening, as the reception wound down and the guests drifted out into the gardens, Mara stood out on the stone balcony of the master suite, looking out over the moonlit waters of Lake Michigan.
The silver bracelet on her wrist caught the pale moonlight, shining brightly against her skin.
A pair of strong arms slid around her waist, and Dante rested his chin on her shoulder, pulling her back against his chest.
"Penny for your thoughts, Mrs. Moretti?" he whispered.
Mara smiled, leaning her head back against his shoulder. "I was just thinking about my mother. I wish she could have been here to see this. To see me now."
Dante pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the side of her neck. "She did see it, Mara. Every time you stood up in that mud, every time you protected our child when you had nothing left, she was right there with you."
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Mara closed her eyes, a single tear of pure happiness slipping down her cheek. She reached up, placing her hand over Dante's where it rested on her heart.
The ghosts of the past were gone, washed away by the tide of a love as deep and unyielding as the lake beneath them.
