Chapter 7 - The Table Near the Kitchen
Caruso’s arrest did not fix everything.
It made everything public.
News vans appeared outside Westbridge Capital.
Reporters called the Haddad house.
Financial investigators froze several accounts connected to the loans.
Nabil’s company entered emergency restructuring.
Celeste received a formal notice that she was under investigation for document fraud.
The family name, which she had spent thirty years polishing, became a headline.
Sadi expected her mother to collapse.
Instead, Celeste disappeared into the kitchen and cooked.
It was what her grandmother had done in every crisis.
By Friday, the counters were covered in food.
Stuffed grape leaves.
Rice.
Lentil soup.
Pastries no one was hungry enough to eat.
Sadi found her mother rolling dough at midnight.
“You’re going to feed the entire neighborhood.”
Celeste did not look up.
“Your father eats when he worries.”
“Dad is asleep.”
“I know.”
Sadi leaned against the counter.
For a while, only the rolling pin moved.
Then Celeste whispered, “I was afraid of being poor again.”
Sadi had heard the family story before.
Her parents had arrived in Chicago with almost nothing.
Nabil worked construction.
Celeste cleaned hotel rooms.
They saved.
Built.
Expanded.
By the time Sadi was born, the worst years were behind them.
“I thought if we lost the company,” Celeste said, “we would become the people we used to be.”
Sadi looked at her.
“What people?”
Celeste’s hands stopped.
“People nobody sees.”
The irony hurt.
Sadi spoke softly.
“So you made me invisible first.”
Celeste closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
It was the first time her mother did not defend herself.
Sadi’s anger remained.
But something else entered the room.
Understanding.
Not forgiveness.
Not yet.
Understanding.
Celeste wiped flour from her hands.
“When you were a little girl, you were fearless.”
Sadi almost laughed.
“No, I wasn't.”
“You were. You climbed everything. Spoke to strangers. Sang loudly. Wore red shoes with purple dresses.”
Sadi smiled despite herself.
“I remember the shoes.”
“I started correcting you because I thought the world would be cruel if you did not learn how to fit inside it.”
Sadi’s throat tightened.
“And then you became the cruel part.”
Celeste nodded.
Tears slipped down her face.
“Yes.”
The admission was so quiet that Sadi nearly missed it.
Celeste looked at her daughter.
“I do not know how to undo what I taught you to believe about yourself.”
Sadi thought of Roman saying You look beautiful.
Not as rescue.
As observation.
She thought of Bianca standing at the rehearsal dinner.
Her father apologizing.
Herself calling the attorney.
“You can't undo it,” Sadi said. “I have to.”
Celeste nodded.
“And you have to let me.”
Her mother’s eyes filled again.
“I don't know if I can.”
“That is honest.”
They stood in the kitchen where so many family decisions had been made without Sadi.
Finally Celeste pushed a tray toward her.
“Take some pastries.”
Sadi laughed.
“Mom.”
“I am still your mother.”
“That is currently part of the problem.”
Celeste laughed too.
It surprised them both.
Two days later, Sadi had her first real date with Roman.
He took her to a tiny Italian restaurant in Bridgeport.
No velvet rope.
No private dining room.
No orchestra.
Twelve tables.
Red-checkered napkins.
A handwritten dessert board.
Sadi stared at Roman when the owner hugged him.
“You said this was normal.”
“It is.”
“The owner just called you Romie.”
Roman looked offended.
“He has known me since I was six.”
The owner shouted from across the room, “He cried when we ran out of cannoli!”
Sadi burst out laughing.
Roman closed his eyes.
“This dinner was a mistake.”
“No. This is the best night of my life.”
They sat at a table near the kitchen.
Sadi noticed immediately.
Roman did too.
His face hardened.
She touched his hand.
“It's okay.”
“No.”
“Roman.”
“The last time you were seated near a kitchen—”
“Was meant to humiliate me.”
She looked around.
A teenage busboy hurried past.
Someone laughed behind the swinging door.
Garlic and tomato filled the air.
“This time I chose the seat.”
Roman became quiet.
Sadi smiled.
“That is the difference.”
He turned his hand under hers.
For the next two hours, they talked.
Not about Caruso.
Not about debt.
Not about security.
Roman told her he had once wanted to become an architect.
Sadi stared.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“You threaten zoning boards now instead?”
“I do not threaten zoning boards.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Frequently.”
Roman asked what she would do if she could choose any job.
Sadi hesitated.
“I don't know.”
“That is allowed.”
“No one has ever asked me without suggesting the answer.”
“What do you enjoy?”
She thought.
“Events.”
Roman looked surprised.
“After your family’s rehearsal dinner?”
“I said I enjoy events. Not emotional warfare.”
She told him she loved details.
Flowers.
Menus.
Lighting.
The way a room could change when people felt welcomed.
She had helped Bianca plan most of the wedding because she was good at it.
Roman listened.
“Then do that.”
Sadi stiffened.
He noticed.
“I did not mean I will buy you a company.”
“Good.”
“I meant you should consider it.”
She relaxed.
“I have some savings.”
“You could start small.”
“I know.”
“I can introduce—”
She stared.
Roman stopped.
“Right. No solving.”
“Learning.”
He nodded.
“Learning.”
Dessert arrived.
Cannoli.
Sadi looked at the owner.
“Did you save enough for him?”
The owner laughed.
Roman glared at both of them.
Sadi thought she had never seen him look more human.
Outside, the night was cold and clear.
Roman walked her to the car.
Sadi paused.
“Why did you really bring me here?”
He looked through the window at the little restaurant.
“My mother used to work in that kitchen.”
Sadi stared.
“She did?”
“For six years.”
Before Roman Rossi became Roman Rossi.
Before money.
Before men lowered their voices.
Before tailored suits and guarded gates.
“My father died when I was ten,” he continued. “She worked two jobs. The owner let me sit in the back after school.”
Sadi looked at the kitchen door.
Roman’s voice softened.
“I thought you should see the place where no one cared who I became.”
Sadi’s chest ached.
“Thank you.”
Roman looked at her.
“For what?”
“For showing me instead of deciding what I should understand.”
Something warm passed through his eyes.
He touched her cheek.
“May I kiss you?”
Sadi smiled.
“You're asking now?”
“I am learning.”
“Good.”
She kissed him first.
Across the street, a camera flashed.
Roman turned instantly.
A photographer lowered his camera.
Roman started forward.
Sadi caught his sleeve.
“No.”
“He photographed you.”
“He photographed us.”
Roman looked at her.
Sadi took his hand.
“Let him.”
The next morning, the photograph appeared online.
But this time Sadi did not look like an employee being escorted by a powerful man.
She looked like herself.
Laughing.
Holding Roman’s hand.
Standing outside a cheap restaurant.
The caption still called her the mystery woman.
Sadi smiled.
For once, she did not need strangers to know who she was.
She was learning.
That was enough.
Roman did not bring up the rejected proposal again.
That was harder for him than he admitted.
For years, he had solved uncertainty by acting first.
He bought problems.
Buried them.
Moved them.
Made them disappear.
Sadi refused to disappear into any solution he designed.
A week after she said no, Roman met Matteo in his office.
Matteo poured coffee.
“So?”
“She said no.”
Matteo froze.
“To what?”
Roman stared.
Matteo’s eyes widened.
“You proposed?”
“I attempted to.”
“And?”
“She stopped me before I opened the box.”
Matteo sat down.
Then, despite every instinct for self-preservation, he laughed.
Roman waited.
Matteo continued laughing.
“This is not amusing.”
“It is a little amusing.”
“She said she loves me.”
Matteo stopped.
“Oh.”
“Then she rejected me.”
Matteo considered.
“That sounds like Sadi.”
Roman looked at the ring box on his desk.
“She wants a year.”
“Can you survive a year?”
Roman’s stare answered.
Matteo smiled.
“Good.”
“What is good about it?”
“She knows you will stay after hearing no.”
Roman looked down.
The simplicity of that truth struck him.
Sadi’s entire life had taught her that love was conditional on compliance.
Her mother’s approval.
Ethan’s silence.
Her father’s peacekeeping.
Every relationship had asked her, in one way or another, to cooperate with a version of herself other people preferred.
Roman had spent his life expecting obedience too.
If he punished her for refusing him, he would become one more person proving her fears correct.
He closed the ring box.
“One year.”
Matteo nodded.
“One year.”
Roman looked up.
“You are enjoying this.”
“Deeply.”
“Leave.”
Matteo stood.
At the door, he turned.
“For what it is worth, Roman?”
“What?”
“She did not say never.”
Roman looked at the box.
“No.”
Matteo smiled.
“She said not yet.”
After he left, Roman placed the ring in the safe.
May you like
Not because he was giving up.
Because for once, waiting was part of keeping a promise.
