Chapter 8 - The Gathering StormPlanning a wedding when you are engaged to one of Chicago’s wealthiest men is, to put it mildly, an absolute logistical circus.
Every high-society magazine in the Midwest wanted exclusive coverage of the upcoming Blackwood wedding. Event planners swarmed the penthouse with color swatches, floral arrangements, and guest lists that read like a corporate who's who of American capitalism.
At first, the sheer scale of it all overwhelmed me. I was just a former bakery worker who had spent years counting quarters for groceries; walking into a world of black-tie galas and glittering chandeliers felt surreal.
One evening, while drowning in a sea of seating chart options on the kitchen island, Richard Blackwood walked in carrying a cup of chamomile tea. He set it down gently beside my laptop and pulled out a chair.
“You look like you’re preparing for a military invasion, my dear,” Richard chuckled warmly.
I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “Richard, I don't need three hundred guests. I don't care about crystal chandeliers or imported French champagne. I just want something simple, real, and surrounded by the people we love.”
Richard smiled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Then don't have three hundred guests. It’s your wedding, Clara. Not a corporate merger for the shareholders.”
I looked up, surprised. “Really? Ethan wants everything to be grand because he wants to make up for the past.”
“Ethan wants to shout his love for you from the rooftops because he’s terrified you might still vanish,” Richard said sagely. “But he’ll listen if you tell him what you truly want. Just like he listened when you brought Noah back into his life.”
That night, after Noah was fast asleep in his bedroom, I sat down with Ethan on the balcony overlooking the glittering skyline of Chicago.
“Ethan,” I said softly, resting my head against his shoulder. “Let’s not do the grand ballroom wedding.”
Ethan paused, looking down at me in surprise. “What? But we’ve already booked—”
“Let’s cancel the ballroom,” I interrupted gently. “Let’s get married at the family estate by the lake. Just us, Richard, a few close friends, and Noah as our ring bearer. No magazines, no corporate elites, no cameras. Just our family.”
May you like
Ethan stared at me for a long moment, studying my face in the soft glow of the city lights. Then, a slow, breathtaking smile spread across his face, washing away the last remaining shadows of his guarded past.
“Whatever you want, Clara,” Ethan whispered, kissing the top of my head. “As long as I get to spend the rest of my life with you, I don't care where we are.”
