The grand ballroom of the Fairmont Hotel in downtown Chicago gleamed under crystal chandeliers filled with the city’s elite celebrating the annual children’s hospital charity gala. Snow fell gently outside the floor to ceiling windows creating a winter wonderland backdrop for the evening’s festivities.
The air buzzed with conversations in multiple languages, the clinking of champagne glasses, and the soft melody of a live orchestra. Helena Dwarte adjusted her emerald silk gown and surveyed the room with the practiced eye of someone born into privilege. At 28, she was the sole heir to the Dwarte hotel empire, a chain of luxury establishments spanning three continents.
Her dark hair was pulled back in an elegant shinon, revealing diamond earrings that cost more than most people’s annual salary. Everything about Helena screamed power and control. From her perfectly manicured nails to her confident stride across the marble floor. Another boring evening surrounded by the same boring people.
Helena murmured to her assistant Marcus who followed closely behind with his tablet and perpetual worried expression. “Miss Darte, you have the speech in 20 minutes, then the auction presentation,” Marcus reminded her, adjusting his glasses nervously. Helena waved dismissively. I could give that speech in my sleep.
These people will donate regardless. It’s all about tax write-offs and social status. As she moved through the crowd, accepting air kisses and hollow compliments, Helena’s attention was caught by a commotion near the service entrance. A young woman in a simple black uniform was struggling with a heavy tray of champagne glasses, her face flushed with embarrassment as she tried to navigate through the crowd of elegantly dressed guests.
The waitress couldn’t have been more than 25, with honey blonde hair pulled back in a practical ponytail and striking green eyes that seemed to hold a mixture of determination and vulnerability. Her uniform was impeccable despite the demanding work, and there was something about her graceful movements that caught Helena’s attention.
“Careful there, sweetheart,” called out Richard Blackwood, a real estate mogul known for his inappropriate comments. Wouldn’t want to spill champagne on these expensive gowns. The young woman, her name tag read Claraara, nodded politely, but Helena noticed the slight tightening around her eyes.
Clara continued serving with professional composure, even as some guests treated her as if she were invisible. Helena found herself watching Clara’s movements with unexpected interest. There was something almost dancelike in the way she moved between tables, balancing trays with natural grace while maintaining perfect posture.
It was then that Helena noticed the small tango pin on Clara’s uniform collar. A tiny silver couple frozen in an eternal embrace. An idea began forming in Helena’s mind, one that would provide entertainment for the evening and perhaps teach this workingclass girl about knowing her place. “Marcus,” Helena said, her voice taking on a predatory tone that her assistant knew all too well. “I think I found something to make this evening interesting.
The orchestra had just finished their set when Helena approached the band leader, a distinguished Argentine man named Carlos, who had been flown in specifically for the event. “Carlos, darling,” Helena said, her smile sharp as a blade. “I have a special request.

Could you play LaMarcita? I feel like giving our guests a little demonstration.” Carlos raised an eyebrow, but nodded. “Of course, Miss Darte. Shall I announce it?” Oh yes. Helena’s eyes gleamed with mischief. But first, I need to collect my dance partner. Helena made her way across the ballroom, her heels clicking against the marble with purpose.
Conversations gradually died down as people noticed her determined stride. She stopped directly in front of Clara, who was clearing empty glasses from a nearby table. “Excuse me,” Helena said, her voice carrying clearly across the now quiet section of the ballroom. “Clara, isn’t it?” Clara looked up, surprised to be addressed directly by one of the evening’s most prominent guests.
Yes, ma’am. Is there something I can help you with? Helena’s smile was all teeth and no warmth. Actually, there is. I couldn’t help but notice your little tango pin. How quaint. Clara’s hand instinctively moved to the pin.
A gift from her late grandmother who had taught her to dance in their small apartment kitchen. Thank you, ma’am. Tell me, do you actually dance? Or is it just for show? Helena’s voice carried just loud enough for nearby guests to hear, and a small crowd began to gather. Clara’s cheeks flushed, but she maintained her composure. I do dance, ma’am. My grandmother taught me. How precious, Helena said, her tone dripping with condescension.
Well, then, I have a proposition for you. You see, I’m feeling generous tonight, and I believe in giving people opportunities to rise above their station. The crowd around them grew larger, sensing drama. Helena was in her element now, performing for an audience that hung on her every word.
“Here’s my offer,” Helena announced, her voice carrying across the ballroom as more guests turned to watch. If you can dance one tango with me, a real tango, not some amateur shuffling, I’ll marry you right here, right now. Gasps and nervous laughter rippled through the crowd. Someone whispered, “She can’t be serious.
” While others pulled out their phones to record what they assumed would be a humiliating spectacle. Clara’s face went pale, then flushed deep red. The tray in her hands trembled slightly, but her voice remained steady. I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m working. I can’t. Oh, come now, Helena interrupted, her smile becoming more predatory. Surely you’re not afraid.
After all, what do you have to lose? And think of what you could gain. Marriage to a millionaire. Isn’t that every working girl’s dream? The cruelty in Helena’s words was unmistakable now. This wasn’t about dancing. It was about humiliation. about putting someone in their place for the entertainment of the wealthy elite.
Clara sat down her tray carefully, her hands steady despite the tremor in her voice. “Ma’am, with all due respect, I don’t think she’s scared,” Helena announced to the crowd, her voice carrying a note of triumph. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s one thing to wear a little pin and quite another to actually I accept.” The words cut through Helena’s monologue like a knife. Clara stood straighter, her green eyes meeting Helena’s dark ones with unexpected fire.
I said, “I accept your challenge,” Clara repeated, her voice stronger now. “One tango, but I want everyone here to witness your promise.” Helena’s smile faltered for just a moment before returning full force. She hadn’t expected the girl to actually accept. “Wonderful, Carlos, if you please.
” The band leader, who had been watching the exchange with growing concern, reluctantly signaled his musicians. The haunting opening notes of LaMarcita filled the ballroom, and the crowd formed a circle around the impromptu dance floor. Helena extended her hand with theatrical flourish, expecting to lead this amateur through a few basic steps before declaring victory. But as Clara’s fingers touched hers, something unexpected happened.
The moment their hands connected, Clara’s entire demeanor changed. Gone was the nervous waitress, replaced by someone who moved with the confidence of someone born to dance. She stepped into Helena’s space with perfect posture. Her left hand finding Helena’s shoulder with practiced ease. Helena, accustomed to leading in every aspect of her life, automatically assumed the lead position.
But as they began to move, she realized that Clara was not the fumbling amateur she had expected. The young woman’s body responded to the music with natural grace, her steps precise and confident. “Surprised,” Clara whispered, her breath warm against Helena’s ear as they moved through the opening sequence. Helena was surprised, but she wasn’t about to admit it. Instead, she attempted a more complex sequence, expecting Clara to stumble.
But Clara followed effortlessly, her body moving in perfect harmony with Helena’s, anticipating each step and turn with uncanny precision. The crowd watched in stunned silence as the two women moved across the floor. What had begun as a cruel joke was transforming into something else entirely, a real dance, passionate and intense, filled with an unexpected chemistry that neither woman had anticipated.
As the music swelled, Helena found herself lost in the dance, in the feeling of Clara’s body moving against hers, in the way their eyes locked and held throughout each turn and dip. For the first time in her life, Helena wasn’t in complete control, and the sensation was both terrifying and exhilarating.
Clara, for her part, danced with a passion that surprised even herself. Every lesson her grandmother had given her. Every evening spent practicing alone in her tiny apartment had led to this moment. She wasn’t just dancing. She was claiming her space, her dignity. Her right to be seen as more than just a servant. The tango reached its climactic moment.
And Helena, acting on pure instinct, dipped Clara low, their faces inches apart, both breathing hard from the intensity of the dance. The ballroom was completely silent except for the final haunting notes of the bandinon. In that suspended moment, with Clara’s body arched in her arms and those green eyes staring up at her with a mixture of triumph and something else Helena couldn’t quite identify, the millionaire ays realized she had made a terrible mistake. She had expected to humiliate a poor waitress.
Instead, she had just experienced the most intense 3 minutes of her life. The final note of laum parcita hung in the air like a question mark and for a heartbeat. The entire ballroom remained frozen in silence. Helena stared down at Clara, still held in the dramatic dip, their faces so close she could see the flexcks of gold in those defiant green eyes. Clara’s chest rose and fell rapidly.
Whether from the exertion of the dance or something else entirely, Helena couldn’t tell. Then reality crashed back in waves. The crowd erupted in applause, some genuine, others uncertain, all of them buzzing with excitement at having witnessed something far more compelling than they had expected. Phone cameras flashed, capturing the moment from every angle, and Helena suddenly realized the magnitude of what had just happened.
She helped Clara back to standing, their hands lingering together a moment longer than necessary before Clara stepped back, smoothing down her uniform with shaking hands. Well, Helena said, her voice not quite as steady as she intended. That was adequate. But even as she spoke the dismissive words, Helena knew they were a lie. What had just happened was far from adequate.
It had been extraordinary, electric, and completely unexpected. Clara had not only met her challenge, but had somehow turned the tables entirely. Clara’s response was quiet, but clear enough for those nearby to hear. A promise is a promise, Miss Dwarte. The words sent a ripple of nervous laughter through the crowd. Someone called out, “She’s got you there, Helena.
” While others whispered among themselves, phones still recording every moment. Helena’s face flushed, but whether from embarrassment or anger, she couldn’t tell. “Don’t be ridiculous. It was obviously a joke. Was it?” Clara interrupted, her voice gaining strength. “Because you made that promise in front of all these witnesses.
You said if I could dance a real tango with you, you would marry me right here, right now. The crowd was eating this up, and Helena could see the gleam of social media scandal in their eyes. By tomorrow morning, this would be all over the internet, and the Dwarte family name would be associated with whatever this was.
Marcus appeared at Helena’s elbow, his face pale with panic. Miss Dwarte, perhaps we should perhaps we should honor our commitments, came a voice from the crowd. Judge Patricia Morrison, a family friend and one of Chicago’s most respected jurists, stepped forward with an amused smile. After all, Helena, you did make the promise quite publicly.
Helena’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Judge Morrison was not someone she could dismiss or ignore, and the woman’s presence lent an air of legal weight to the situation. “Patricia, surely you can’t be serious,” Helena managed. “Oh, but I am,” the judge replied, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
“In fact, as an ordained minister as well as a judge, I could perform the ceremony right now if both parties consent.” The crowd gasped and pressed closer. This was better than any reality TV show they could have imagined. Clara stood perfectly still, her green eyes fixed on Helena’s face. I’m ready if you are, Miss Dwarte.
Helena felt trapped, cornered by her own arrogance and the expectations of a crowd that was clearly enjoying her discomfort. But as she looked at Clara, really looked at her, she saw something that gave her pause. There was no malice in the young woman’s expression, no triumph at having turned the tables. Instead, there was something that looked almost like hope.
“This is insane,” Helena whispered. But her voice lacked conviction. “Sometimes the most insane things make the most sense,” Clara replied softly, stepping closer. “You made a promise. I kept my end of the bargain.” Helena’s mind raced. “She could refuse, of course. She could laugh it off, claim it was all a joke, and deal with the social media fallout later.
Her lawyers could handle any legal implications and her PR team could spin the story. But as she stood there looking into Clara’s eyes, she found herself remembering the feeling of the dance. The way Clara’s body had moved with hers, the unexpected connection that had sparked between them. “You don’t even know me,” Helena said, her voice barely audible above the crowd’s murmurss. “No,” Clara agreed.
But I know you’re someone who keeps her word, aren’t you? It was a challenge within a challenge, and Helena recognized it as such. Her entire identity was built on being someone who controlled every situation, who never backed down, who always won. But winning here meant what exactly? Judge Morrison cleared her throat. Well, I have other engagements this evening, but I’m happy to wait a few more minutes for your decision.
Helena looked around the ballroom at the expectant faces, at the phone still recording, at Marcus, who looked like he might faint, and finally back at Clara, who waited with the patience of someone who had nothing left to lose. “Fine,” Helena heard herself say, the word escaping before she could stop it.
“Fine, let’s do this,” the crowd erupted in cheers and applause, but Helena barely heard them. She was focused entirely on Clara’s face, watching as surprise gave way to something that might have been relief or joy or perhaps just shock that Helena had actually agreed. Judge Morrison clapped her hands together. Wonderful.
Now, we’ll need witnesses, of course, and rings, though I suppose we can make do without them for now. I have rings,” Clara said quietly, reaching into her uniform pocket. She pulled out a small velvet box worn at the edges. “They were my grandmother’s. She always said they would bring me luck and love.” Helena stared at the box as if it might contain a snake. “You just carry wedding rings around.
” Clara’s cheeks flushed pink. I was going to pawn them tomorrow. I need the money for rent. The admission hung in the air, a stark reminder of the vast difference in their circumstances. Helena felt something twist in her chest. Guilt perhaps, or recognition of just how cruel her original challenge had been. “We don’t have to,” Helena began.
But Clara was already opening the box. Inside were two simple gold bands, clearly vintage, with a timeless elegance that spoke of love and commitment across generations. They were nothing like the elaborate jewelry Helena was accustomed to, but somehow they seemed perfect for this surreal moment. Judge Morrison took charge, positioning them facing each other while the crowd formed a semicircle around them.
Someone had dimmed the ballroom lights, and the chandeliers cast a warm romantic glow over the impromptu ceremony. “Dearly beloved,” Judge Morrison began, her voice carrying clearly across the ballroom. We are gathered here tonight to witness the union of Helena Dwarte and Clara. Martinez. Clara supplied softly. Claraara Martinez in holy matrimony.
Now I understand this is somewhat unconventional, but love rarely follows conventional paths. Helena almost laughed at the word love. This wasn’t about love. This was about pride, about not backing down from a challenge. about. But as she looked at Clara, standing there in her simple uniform with her grandmother’s rings, Helena found her thoughts trailing off.
“Helena,” Judge Morrison continued, “do you take Clara to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or worse, till death do you part?” The traditional words felt surreal in this context, but Helena found herself nodding. “I do.” And Clara, do you take Helena to be your lawfully wedged wife with the same promises and commitments? Clara’s voice was steady and clear. I do.
The rings, please. Clara handed Helena one of the bands, and their fingers brushed as Helena took it. The gold was warm from Clara’s touch, and Helena found herself thinking about all the love this ring had witnessed, all the promises it had sealed. Helena, place the ring on Clara’s finger and repeat after me. With this ring, I the wed.
Helena’s hands were surprisingly steady as she slipped the band onto Clara’s ring finger. With this ring, I the wed. Clara took the second ring, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for Helena’s left hand. Helena’s fingers were long and elegant, adorned with expensive jewelry. But as Clara slipped the simple gold band onto her ring finger, it seemed to belong there. With this ring I the wed, Clara repeated, her voice soft but firm.
Judge Morrison smiled broadly. By the power vested in me by the state of Illinois, I now pronounce you wife and wife. You may kiss the bride. The words hung in the air like a challenge. Helena and Clara stood facing each other, both suddenly aware that they were now legally and officially married. The crowd held its collective breath, waiting to see what would happen next.
Helena stepped closer, her heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the absurdity of the situation and everything to do with the woman standing before her. Clara’s eyes were wide, uncertain, but she didn’t step away. “Well,” Helena whispered, so only Clara could hear, “in for a penny. In for a pound.” And then she kissed her.
It was meant to be a simple, peruncter kiss, just enough to satisfy the crowd and complete the ceremony. But the moment their lips touched, Helena felt that same electric connection that had sparked during the tango. Clara’s lips were soft and warm. And she tasted like champagne and something sweeter, something that made Helena want to deepen the kiss, to explore this unexpected attraction.
Clara responded tentatively at first, then with growing confidence, her hand coming up to rest against Helena’s cheek. The kiss lasted longer than either of them had intended, and when they finally broke apart, both were breathing hard. The ballroom erupted in applause and cheers, but Helena barely heard them.
She was staring at Clara, at her new wife, trying to process what had just happened and what it meant for both of their lives. Well, Judge Morrison announced cheerfully, “That’s official, then. Congratulations, Mrs. and Mrs. Darte Martinez. The name hit Helena like a physical blow. Mrs. Dwarte Martinez. She was married to a waitress. To a woman she had met less than an hour ago, to someone who had just turned her entire world upside down with a single dance.
” As the crowd pressed forward with congratulations and questions, Helena caught Clara’s eye. There was something there. gratitude perhaps or determination or maybe just the same shell shocked disbelief that Helena was feeling. Whatever happened next, there was no going back now. They were married and the whole world had witnessed it.
Helena woke up in her penthouse apartment with a pounding headache and the distinct feeling that something was very, very wrong. Sunlight streamed through the floor to ceiling windows, casting harsh shadows across her minimalist bedroom. She groaned and rolled over, immediately regretting the movement as her head throbbed in protest.
It took her a moment to remember why she felt like she’d been hit by a truck. And when the memories came flooding back, she sat up so quickly that the room spun around her. The tango, the challenge, the wedding, the wedding. Helena looked down at her left hand, and there it was, a simple gold band that definitely hadn’t been there yesterday morning.
She stared at it as if it might disappear if she concentrated hard enough. But the ring remained stubbornly real. “Oh God,” she whispered to the empty room. “I actually did it. I actually married her.” Her phone, which had been buzzing incessantly for what felt like hours, finally penetrated her consciousness.
She grabbed it from the nightstand and immediately wished she hadn’t. Hundreds of notifications flooded her screen. Missed calls, text messages, social media alerts, and news notifications. The first headline she saw made her stomach drop. Hotel Iris Helena Dwarte Mary’s waitress in shocking ballroom ceremony. Below it was a photo that someone had clearly taken at the gala. Helena and Clara locked in their wedding kiss.
Both looking far more invested in the moment than Helena remembered feeling or wanted to remember feeling. She scrolled through more headlines, each one worse than the last. From rags to riches, waitress wins millionaire’s heart with single dance. Love at first tango. Chicago’s most eligible bachelorette off the market. Cinderella story. Poor girl marries Rich Aerys after ballroom challenge.
Helena’s phone rang and she saw Marcus’s name on the screen. She answered without thinking. Miss Dwarte, thank God you’re answering. Marcus’ voice was higher than usual, tinged with panic. We have a situation. Actually, we have several situations. The phone hasn’t stopped ringing since 6:00 a.m. Every major news outlet wants a statement. Your father is flying in from New York.
And Marcus, Helena interrupted, her voice. Slow down. What exactly are we dealing with? Ma’am, the video has gone viral. Completely viral. It’s been shared over 2 million times in the last 12 hours. Near Tango Wedding is trending worldwide.
The hotel’s booking system crashed from all the attention, and we’ve had to hire additional security for the building. Helena closed her eyes and leaned back against her headboard. How bad is it? Well, Marcus said carefully, “It depends on how you look at it. From a publicity standpoint, it’s actually quite positive. People are calling it romantic, a real life fairy tale. The hotel’s social media following has tripled overnight.
But from a legal standpoint, what about the legal standpoint? Ma’am, you’re legally married. Judge Morrison filed the paperwork this morning. It’s official. The words hit Helena like a physical blow. She had hoped somehow that the whole thing might have been invalid. A drunken mistake that could be easily undone.
But no, she was actually legally married to a woman she barely knew. “Where is she?” Helena asked suddenly. “Ma’am, Clara, my wife.” The word felt foreign on her tongue. “Where is she?” I I don’t know, ma’am. She left the hotel last night after the ceremony. I assume she went home.
Helena realized she didn’t even know where Clara lived, what her last name was beyond Martinez, or anything else about her new wife’s life. The magnitude of what she had done began to sink in fully. Marcus, I need you to find her discreetly. We need to talk. Of course, ma’am. And what should I tell the reporters? Tell them. Tell them we’ll have a statement later today.
Helena hung up and immediately dialed her lawyer’s number. If she was going to figure out how to handle this situation, she needed legal advice and she needed it now. Meanwhile, across town in a small studio apartment in Logan Square, Clara Martinez was having her own morning of reckoning.
She sat at her tiny kitchen table, still wearing her uniform from the night before, staring at the wedding ring on her finger and trying to process what her life had become in the span of a few hours. Her phone had been buzzing all morning, too. But unlike Helena’s expensive smartphone, Clara’s old device couldn’t handle the volume of notifications and had crashed twice.
She’d managed to see enough to know that she was now famous or infamous, depending on how you looked at it. Her neighbor, Mrs. Chen had knocked on her door an hour ago to tell her that there were reporters outside the building, asking questions about the waitress who married the millionaire. Clara had peaked through her blinds and seen the small crowd gathered on the sidewalk below, cameras and microphones at the ready.
She was trapped in her own apartment, married to a woman who had clearly intended to humiliate her, and she had no idea what to do next. The irony wasn’t lost on her. She had accepted Helena’s challenge partly out of pride and partly because she had nothing left to lose. Her grandmother’s medical bills had drained her savings.
She was three months behind on rent and she’d been planning to pawn her grandmother’s rings just to buy groceries. In a moment of desperation and defiance, she had called Helena’s bluff. And somehow, impossibly, she had won. But what exactly had she won? A marriage to someone who clearly despised her? a moment of viral fame that would fade as quickly as it had come or something else entirely.
Clara thought about the dance, about the way Helena’s body had moved with hers, about the unexpected heat in those dark eyes during the tango. There had been something real there, something that went beyond the cruel joke Helena had intended to play. Clara was sure of it. Her phone managed to ring despite its overloaded state, and she saw an unknown number on the screen. She almost didn’t answer, assuming it was another reporter, but something made her pick up. Clara Martinez. Yes.
This is Marcus Webb, Ms. Dart’s assistant. She would like to meet with you today to discuss the situation. Clara almost laughed. The situation? Is that what we’re calling it? Ma’am, I understand this is all very unusual, but Miz Dwarte is hoping you might be available to meet this afternoon. Perhaps somewhere private where you can talk without media attention.
Clara looked around her tiny apartment, at the stack of unpaid bills on her counter, at the empty refrigerator, at the eviction notice she’d been ignoring for weeks. Whatever Helena wanted to discuss, Clara was in no position to refuse. Where? She asked simply. Miss Dwarte’s penthouse. I can send a car to pick you up.
The driver will use the building service entrance to avoid the reporters. What time would 2:00 work for you? Clara glanced at the clock. It was already noon, which gave her just enough time to shower and change into something that wasn’t her work uniform. Fine. 2:00. Excellent. The driver will call when he arrives. After hanging up, Clara sat in silence for a long moment.
In a few hours, she would come face to face with her new wife, and she had no idea what to expect. Would Helena be angry, regretful? Would she demand an immediate enulment? Clara stood up and walked to her small bathroom, catching sight of herself in the mirror. She looked exhausted, overwhelmed.
But there was something else in her reflection, a spark of determination that reminded her of her grandmother. Miha, her grandmother used to say, “Sometimes life gives you chances you never expected. The trick is knowing which ones to take.” Clara had taken the chance last night and now she had to see it through. Whatever Helena Dwarte wanted to discuss, Clara would face it head on. She had survived losing her grandmother, working multiple jobs to pay medical bills, and the constant struggle of making ends meet in an expensive city.
She could handle one conversation with a millionaire Aerys, even if that Aerys was now legally her wife. As Clara stepped into the shower, she found herself thinking about the kiss. It had been meant for show. She knew that. But there had been something genuine in it.
Something that made her wonder if Helena had felt the same unexpected connection that Clara had experienced during their dance. Only one way to find out. At exactly 2:00, Clara’s phone rang. The driver was waiting in the alley behind her building, just as Marcus had promised. Clara took a deep breath, grabbed her small purse, and headed downstairs to meet whatever came next. The ride to Helena’s penthouse was surreal.
The driver, a professional man in his 50s, treated Clara with the same courtesy he would show any of Helena’s guests, calling her Mrs. Darde and asking if she needed anything for the journey. The title felt strange, but Clara found herself sitting a little straighter each time he said it. Helena’s building was in the Gold Coast, one of Chicago’s most exclusive neighborhoods.
The lobby was all marble and crystal with doormen in pristine uniforms and artwork that probably cost more than Clara made in a year. She felt underdressed in her simple black dress and cardigan, but she held her head high as the elevator carried her to the penthouse floor.
Marcus met her at the elevator, looking as nervous as she felt. Mrs. Martinez, or should I say Mrs. Dwarte, I’m not sure of the protocol here. Clara is fine, she said simply. Of course, Miz. Dwarte is waiting in the living room. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water? I’m fine. Thank you.
Marcus led her through a hallway lined with expensive artwork and into a living room that was bigger than Clara’s entire apartment. Floor to ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of Lake Michigan, and the furniture looked like it belonged in a museum. Helena stood with her back to the room, looking out at the lake. She had changed from her gala gown into dark jeans and a cream colored cashmere sweater, her hair loose around her shoulders.
She looked younger somehow, less intimidating than she had the night before, but Clara could see the tension in her posture. Thank you, Marcus. That will be all, Helena said without turning around. Marcus retreated, closing the door behind him, leaving Clara and Helena alone for the first time since their wedding kiss. Helena finally turned around and Clara was struck again by how beautiful she was.
Even without the elaborate makeup and formal gown, even with the stress lines around her eyes and the uncertain expression on her face, Helena Dwarte was stunning. “So,” Helena said, her voice carefully neutral. “Here we are. Here we are,” Clara agreed, staying near the door. They stared at each other for a long moment, both clearly unsure how to begin this conversation. Finally, Helena gestured toward the seating area. Please sit.
We have a lot to discuss. Clara moved to the sofa, noting how Helena chose the chair across from her rather than sitting beside her. The distance felt deliberate, a reminder of the gulf between their worlds. I suppose, Helena began. We should start with the obvious question. What do we do now? Clara met her gaze steadily.
That depends on what you want to do. What I want, Helena said, her voice gaining some of its usual authority, is to understand why you accepted my challenge. What did you hope to gain? It was a fair question, and Clara had been asking herself the same thing all morning. Honestly, I don’t know. Maybe I was tired of being invisible.
Maybe I wanted to prove that I was more than just a waitress you could humiliate for entertainment. Helena had the grace to look ashamed about that. I owe you an apology. What I did last night was cruel and unnecessary. I was showing off and I used you to do it. That was wrong. The apology surprised Clara. She had expected defensiveness, excuses, maybe even anger.
She hadn’t expected genuine remorse. “Thank you,” Clara said simply. “That means something.” Helena nodded, then leaned forward slightly. But that still doesn’t answer the question of what we do now. We’re legally married, Clara. That’s not something that can be easily undone, especially with the media attention this has generated. Are you asking for an anulment? Helena was quiet for a long moment.
I don’t know what I’m asking for. This whole situation is unprecedented. Clara studied Helena’s face, looking for clues about what the other woman was really thinking. Can I ask you something? Of course. During the dance last night and during the kiss, did you feel it, too? Helena’s carefully composed expression flickered.
Feel what? The connection, the chemistry, whatever you want to call it. Clara’s voice was steady, but her heart was pounding. Because I did, and I don’t think I imagined it. Helena was quiet for so long that Clara began to think she wouldn’t answer. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. Yes, I felt it, too. The admission hung in the air between them, changing everything and nothing all at once.
They were still virtual strangers, still from completely different worlds, still married because of a cruel joke that had spiraled out of control. But they had also just acknowledged that there was something real between them, something worth exploring. “So, what do we do with that?” Clara asked. Helena stood up and walked back to the window, her arms crossed over her chest.
I don’t know. I’ve never been in a situation like this before. Neither have I, Clara said softly. But maybe we don’t have to figure it all out right now. Maybe we could just see what happens. Helena turned back to face her. What are you suggesting? Clara took a deep breath, knowing that what she was about to propose would sound crazy. I’m suggesting we try being married. Really married. For a while, anyway.
see if this connection we both felt is real or if it was just the adrenaline of the moment. Helena stared at her as if she had suggested they fly to the moon. You want to stay married to me? A woman who tried to humiliate you in front of hundreds of people. You also apologized for that, Clara pointed out.
And you kept your word when you could have easily backed out. That says something about your character. Clara, you don’t understand. My life is complicated. There are expectations, responsibilities, family obligations. I can’t just can’t just what? Be happy? Clara stood up and moved closer to Helena. Look, I know this is crazy.
I know we barely know each other, but I also know that I’ve never felt anything like what I felt during that dance. Have you? Helena’s silence was answer enough. I’m not asking for forever, Clara continued. I’m asking for a chance, a real chance to see if this could be something. Helena looked out at the lake, then back at Clara. And if it doesn’t work out, then we get divorced like millions of other people do. But at least we’ll know we tried. Helena was quiet for a long time.
And Clara could practically see the internal battle playing out on her face. Finally, she spoke. There would have to be rules, boundaries. This isn’t a fairy tale, Clara. My world is complicated and if you’re going to be part of it, even temporarily, you need to understand what that means. Clara’s heart leaped. I understand.
Do you? Do you understand that there will be photographers following us everywhere? That every move you make will be scrutinized and judged? That my family will probably hate you and my friends will think I’ve lost my mind. I understand that you’re scared, Clara said gently. and I understand that this is a risk for both of us, but some things are worth the risk.
Helena stared at her for a long moment, and Clara could see the exact moment when she made her decision. “Okay,” Helena said quietly. “Let’s try being married.” 3 weeks into their unexpected marriage, Helena and Clara had settled into an awkward routine that neither of them quite knew how to navigate.
Clara had moved into the penthouse’s guest bedroom, bringing with her a single suitcase of belongings that looked almost comical in the vast, luxurious space. The contrast between their worlds had never been more apparent than when Clara’s few possessions were dwarfed by Helena’s walk-in closet that was larger than Clara’s former apartment.
The media attention had been relentless at first, but Helena’s PR team had managed to control the narrative somewhat by releasing a carefully crafted statement about love finding a way and looking forward to building a life together. The public had largely bought into the romantic fairy tale, though Helena’s social circle remained skeptical, and her father had been ominously silent since flying back to New York after a tense dinner where he’d barely acknowledged Clara’s existence.
This particular morning found Helena in her home office trying to focus on quarterly reports while being acutely aware of Clara’s presence in the kitchen. Through the open door, she could hear the soft sounds of breakfast preparation, something that had become Clara’s unofficial responsibility, though Helena had never asked her to cook.
The truth was, Helena had never lived with anyone before. Not really. She’d had relationships, of course, but they had always been carefully compartmentalized affairs that didn’t interfere with her structured life. Having Clara in her space, moving through her routines, leaving small traces of herself everywhere, was both unsettling and oddly comforting.
Helena, Clara’s voice called from the kitchen, breakfast is ready. Helena saved her work and walked to the kitchen where she found Clara plating what looked like a gourmet meal. In the 3 weeks since moving in, Clara had somehow transformed Helena’s rarely used kitchen into a warm, functional space.
There were fresh flowers on the counter, herbs growing in small pots by the window, and the lingering scent of something delicious that made Helena’s mouth water. “You don’t have to cook for me every morning,” Helena said, though she made no move to refuse the plate Clara offered her. “I know,” Clara replied, settling across from her at the breakfast bar. I like cooking. It relaxes me.
Helena took a bite of what turned out to be perfectly prepared eggs benedict with homemade Holland’s sauce. Where did you learn to cook like this? My grandmother. She worked as a cook for a wealthy family when she first came to America. She taught me that food is love made visible. Clara paused, then added quietly. I suppose that sounds silly to someone who can afford to eat at the best restaurants in the city every night.
It doesn’t sound silly, Helena said and meant it. It sounds nice. They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the morning sun streaming through the floor to ceiling windows and casting everything in a golden glow. Helena found herself watching Clara’s hands as she ate, noting the small calluses from years of hard work, the way she held her fork with unconscious elegance, the simple gold wedding band that had become as much a part of her as breathing.
I have a charity lunchon today, Helena said suddenly. The Children’s Hospital board meeting. Would you would you like to come with me? Clara looked up surprised. In the 3 weeks they’d been living together, Helena had attended several business functions and social events, but she had never invited Clara to join her.
They had been living parallel lives in the same space, polite and careful around each other, both afraid to push too hard or move too fast. Are you sure? I don’t want to make things awkward for you. Helena set down her fork and really looked at Clara. You’re my wife. It would be more awkward if you weren’t there.
The word wife still felt strange coming from Helena’s lips. But Clara noticed that she was using it more often lately, as if she was trying to get used to the idea. “I don’t have anything appropriate to wear to a charity lunchon,” Clara said practically. Helena’s eyes lit up with something that might have been excitement. We can fix that.
I know exactly the place. 2 hours later, they were standing in the private shopping suite at Nean Marcus, surrounded by racks of designer clothing that cost more than Clara used to make in 6 months. Helena sat in a plush chair, watching as the personal shopper, a elegant woman named Vivien, helped Clara try on various outfits.
The Armani is lovely, Vivien was saying. But I think the Oscar dearenta brings out your eyes beautifully. Clara emerged from the dressing room in a navy blue dress that fit her like it had been made for her body. The color made her green eyes pop and the cut was sophisticated without being overly formal.
She looked like she belonged in Helena’s world. And the transformation was startling. Helena’s breath caught in her throat. That’s the one. Are you sure? Clara asked, looking at herself in the three-way mirror. It’s beautiful, but the price tag. Don’t worry about the price. Helena said, standing up and moving closer. You look perfect.
Their eyes met in the mirror, and for a moment, the careful distance they had been maintaining dissolved. Helena reached out to adjust a strand of Clara’s hair, her fingers brushing against Clara’s neck in the process. The touch was brief, innocent, but it sent electricity shooting through both of them.
“We should get shoes,” Helena said, her voice slightly hoarse. “And maybe a necklace.” An hour later, they left the store with several bags and a Clara who looked like she could grace the cover of Vogue. But as they settled into the back of Helena’s car, Clara seemed subdued. “What’s wrong?” Helena asked.
“This is all very generous,” Clara said carefully. “But I can’t help feeling like you’re trying to turn me into someone I’m not,” Helena frowned. “What do you mean?” “The clothes, the jewelry, the way Viven kept talking about elevating my look.
I feel like I’m being molded into the kind of wife you think you should have rather than just being myself. The observation hit Helena harder than she expected. That wasn’t my intention. I know, Clara said softly. But intention and impact aren’t always the same thing. They wrote in silence for a few minutes, both lost in thought. Finally, Helena spoke. You’re right. I’m sorry.
I suppose I’m used to managing situations, making sure everything looks perfect from the outside. Is that what I am to you? A situation to be managed? Helena turned to look at Clara directly. No, you’re not. But I don’t know how to do this, Clara. I don’t know how to be married, how to share my life with someone, how to be anything other than what I’ve always been. Clara’s expression softened.
I don’t know how to do this either, but maybe we could figure it out together instead of you trying to figure it out for me. What do you mean? I mean, maybe instead of buying me a new wardrobe, you could ask me what I’m comfortable wearing. Maybe instead of assuming I need to be transformed, you could trust that I’m capable of adapting without losing myself in the process.
Helena was quiet for a long moment. You’re right again. I seem to be making a lot of mistakes with you. We’re both making mistakes, Clara said gently. The difference is we’re talking about them instead of pretending they don’t exist. The charity luncheon was held at the Four Seasons in a ballroom filled with Chicago’s philanthropic elite.
Helena had attended dozens of these events over the years, but walking in with Clara on her arm felt different. She was acutely aware of the curious glances, the whispered conversations, the way people’s eyes followed them as they moved through the room. Nervous? Clara asked quietly as they approached their table. A little, Helena admitted. These people have known me my entire life. They’re going to have opinions about us.
Let them, Clara said with a confidence that surprised Helena. Their opinions don’t change who we are or what we’re building together. Helena squeezed Clara’s hand, grateful for her steady presence. When did you become so wise? probably around the same time you became brave enough to take a chance on a waitress who challenged you to keep your word.
They were seated at a table with several other board members and their spouses, including Margaret Whitfield, the hospital’s longtime fundraising chair, and one of Helena’s mother’s oldest friends. Margaret had been watching Helena with sharp eyes since they arrived, and Helena could practically feel the interrogation coming.
“Helena, dear,” Margaret said as soon as they were seated. “You must introduce us to your lovely wife.” Of course, Margaret. This is Clara Martinez Dwarte. Clara. Margaret Whitfield. She’s been on the hospital board longer than anyone can remember. Clara extended her hand with a warm smile. It’s wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Whitfield.
Helena has told me so much about the amazing work you do here. Margaret’s eyebrows rose slightly. Has she? How refreshing. Helena rarely shows interest in our charitable endeavors beyond writing checks. Helena felt her cheeks flush, but Clara jumped in smoothly. I think sometimes people who have the means to help financially don’t always realize how much their personal involvement could mean as well.
I’d love to learn more about the hospital’s programs. I have some experience working with children. Oh, what kind of experience? Margaret asked, her tone suggesting she expected Clara to mention some volunteer work at an exclusive private school.
I worked part-time at a community center in Logan Square while I was putting myself through college, Clara said matterofactly. We ran after school programs for kids whose parents worked multiple jobs. A lot of them came from families who couldn’t afford regular health care, so we partnered with local clinics to provide basic services. Margaret’s expression shifted from polite skepticism to genuine interest.
That sounds like valuable work. What did you study in college? social work with a focus on family services. I graduated from UIC 2 years ago. Helena stared at Clara in surprise. In all their conversations over the past 3 weeks, Clara had never mentioned having a college degree, let alone in social work.
Helena realized with an uncomfortable jolt that she had made assumptions about Clara’s background based on her job as a waitress, never bothering to ask about her education or career goals. How fascinating. Margaret was saying, “We’ve been looking for someone to help us develop better outreach programs for underserved communities. Perhaps you’d be interested in joining our community engagement committee.
” Clara’s face lit up. “I would love that.” As the conversation continued, Helena found herself seeing Clara in an entirely new light. This wasn’t just the waitress she had married on a whim. This was an educated, passionate woman who had been working multiple jobs, not out of lack of ambition, but out of necessity.
Clara spoke knowledgeably about healthcare disparities, community organizing, and family support systems. Holding her own with some of Chicago’s most influential philanthropists. You never told me you had a degree in social work, Helena said quietly during a lull in the conversation, Clara glanced at her with a slight smile.
You never asked. The simple statement hit Helena like a physical blow. She was right. Helena had never asked about Clara’s education, her career goals, her dreams, or her aspirations. She had been so focused on managing the situation, on figuring out how to make Clara fit into her world that she had never bothered to learn who Clara actually was. After the lunchon, they rode home in contemplative silence.
Helena’s mind was reeling from the revelations of the afternoon, and she could sense that Clara was processing the experience as well. “I owe you another apology,” Helena said as they entered the penthouse. “For what this time,” Clara asked, but her tone was gentle rather than accusatory. “For not asking, for making assumptions, for treating you like a project instead of a person?” Helena sat down heavily on the sofa.
I had no idea you had a degree or that you’d worked with children or that you were passionate about social work. I’ve been living with you for 3 weeks and I don’t know anything about who you really are. Clara sat down beside her closer than she had in days. So ask me now. Helena turned to face her. Tell me about yourself. Tell me everything I should have asked weeks ago.
Clara smiled and for the first time since moving in, she looked completely relaxed. Where do you want me to start? The beginning. Tell me about your family, your childhood, your dreams. Tell me who Clara Martinez really is. And so Clara did. She told Helena about growing up with her grandmother after her parents died in a car accident when she was 12.
She talked about her grandmother’s stories of dancing in Buenosire before immigrating to America, about learning to tango in their tiny kitchen while dinner cooked on the stove. She explained how she had worked her way through college, taking whatever job she could find to pay for tuition and her grandmother’s medical care.
The waitressing job at the hotel was supposed to be temporary. Clara said, “I was saving money to start graduate school. Maybe get my MSW so I could do more direct service work with families. But then Abua got sick and the medical bills. Is that why you were going to pawn the rings?” Helena asked softly. Clara nodded.
I was 3 months behind on rent, and I’d already sold everything else of value. Those rings were all I had left of her. But I couldn’t afford to be sentimental. Helena felt a wave of shame wash over her. While she had been playing cruel games with a woman she saw as beneath her, Clara had been struggling to survive, to honor her grandmother’s memory, to build a life despite overwhelming obstacles. “I’m sorry,” Helena said.
I’m sorry for what I put you through that night, and I’m sorry for not seeing you clearly until now. You’re seeing me now, Clara said simply. That’s what matters. They talked until well past midnight, sharing stories and secrets, learning about each other’s fears and hopes and dreams.
Helena told Clara about the pressure of living up to her family’s expectations, about feeling trapped in a life that had been planned for her before she was born. Clara talked about her dreams of making a real difference in people’s lives, about wanting to honor her grandmother’s sacrifices by building something meaningful. As the night wore on, the careful distance they had maintained began to dissolve.
They moved closer together on the sofa, their conversation becoming more intimate, more personal. When Clara yawned and mentioned that she should probably go to bed, Helena found herself reluctant to let the evening end. “Clara,” Helena said as they both stood up.
Thank you for today, for tonight, for being patient with me while I figure out how to do this. Thank you for letting me in, Clara replied. Really letting me in. Not just into your home, but into your life. They stood facing each other in the dim light of the living room, and Helena felt that same electric connection that had sparked during their wedding dance.
But this time, it was deeper, more meaningful, built on understanding rather than just physical attraction. Good night, Helena. Clara said softly, but she didn’t move away. Helena reached out and gently touched Clara’s cheek. Good night, Clara. For a moment, they stood frozen in that space between friendship and something more, both aware that they were standing at a crossroads.
Then Clara leaned into Helena’s touch, her eyes fluttering closed, and Helena felt her resolve crumbling. “Clara,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. Yes, I think I’m falling for you. The real you. Clara’s eyes opened, meeting Helena’s with an intensity that took her breath away. I think I’ve been falling for you since that first dance. This time, when Helena leaned in to kiss her, it wasn’t for show or to complete a ceremony.
It was because she couldn’t imagine not kissing her, because three weeks of living together and one evening of really talking had shown her that Clara Martinez was everything she had never known she was looking for. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, both of them aware that this would change everything between them.
But as Clara’s arms came up to wrap around Helena’s neck as Helena pulled her closer, the kiss deepened into something that felt like coming home. When they finally broke apart, both were breathing hard and Helena could see her own wonder reflected in Clara’s eyes. “So?” Clara said, her voice slightly unsteady.
“What happens now?” Helena smiled, feeling lighter than she had in years. Now we stop pretending this is just a business arrangement and start figuring out how to really be married. “I’d like that,” Clara whispered. “Good,” Helena said, pressing her forehead against Clara’s “because I’m pretty sure I’m already in love with you, and I’d like the chance to tell you that properly.” Clara’s smile was radiant. “I’d like the chance to say it back.
” Two months after their wedding, Helena and Clara had settled into a rhythm that felt surprisingly natural. The guest bedroom had been abandoned in favor of sharing Helena’s master suite, though they had taken that step slowly, carefully, both aware that they were building something precious that deserved to be nurtured rather than rushed.
This particular Saturday morning found them in the kitchen together, Clara teaching Helena how to make her grandmother’s famous empanadas, while jazz music played softly in the background. Helena’s hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she had flower on her cheek, looking more relaxed than Clara had ever seen her.
“No, like this,” Clara said, moving behind Helena and placing her hands over Helena’s to guide her movements. “You want to seal the edges completely, or the filling will leak out during baking.” Helena leaned back against Clara’s chest, enjoying the warmth of her wife’s body against hers. “I still can’t believe you’re trusting me with your grandmother’s recipe.
What if I ruin it? You won’t ruin it, Clara said, pressing a kiss to Helena’s temple. And even if you did, it’s just food. We can make more. Helena turned in Clara’s arms, her hands coming up to rest on Clara’s shoulders. It’s not just food to you, though. It’s family history, tradition, love. Clara’s heart swelled at Helena’s understanding.
Over the past 2 months, Helena had shown in genuine interest in learning about Clara’s heritage, her family traditions, the things that had shaped her into the woman she was. It was a far cry from the woman who had tried to humiliate her at the charity gala. You’re my family now, too, Clara said softly.
I want to share all of it with you. Helena’s response was interrupted by the sound of the penthouse’s private elevator arriving. They both froze, knowing that only a handful of people had access to that elevator, and none of them had been expected. “Helena, are you home?” The voice that echoed through the apartment was cultured, authoritative, and unmistakably displeased.
Helena’s face went pale. “My father.” Eduardo Dwarte emerged into the kitchen like a storm cloud. His expensive suit immaculate despite having just traveled from New York. He was a distinguished man in his early 60s with silver hair and the kind of presence that commanded attention in any room.
His dark eyes so similar to Helena’s swept over the domestic scene with obvious disapproval. “Father,” Helena said, stepping slightly in front of Clara in an unconsciously protective gesture. “We weren’t expecting you.” Clearly, Eduardo replied, his gaze taking in Helena’s casual clothes, the flowercovered kitchen, and Clara’s presence with barely concealed disdain. I tried calling, but you didn’t answer.
I was concerned. I’m fine, Helena said stiffly. We were just cooking. Eduardo’s eyebrows rose. Cooking? Since when do you cook? Since I married someone who enjoys teaching me new things, Helena replied, her voice gaining strength. Clara, this is my father, Eduardo Dwarte. Father, my wife, Clara.
Clara stepped forward, extending her hand with a warm smile despite the obvious tension in the room. Mr. Darte, it’s wonderful to finally meet you properly. Eduardo looked at her outstretched hand for a long moment before giving it a prefuncter shake. Miss Martinez. It’s Mrs. Dwarte Martinez, actually.
Clara corrected gently but firmly. Eduardo’s jaw tightened. Of course. How could I forget? Helena felt her temper rising at her father’s obvious rudeness. Father, perhaps we should sit down and talk. Can I get you some coffee? That won’t be necessary. This won’t take long. Eduardo’s attention focused entirely on Helena, as if Clara weren’t even in the room.
“I need to speak with you privately. Anything you need to say to me, you can say in front of my wife,” Helena said firmly. Eduardo’s expression darkened. “Helena, don’t be naive. We both know this arrangement is temporary. There’s no need to involve her in family business.
” Clara felt the words hit her like a physical blow, but she kept her expression neutral. She had known that Helena’s family would be skeptical of their marriage, but the casual dismissal still stung. “This arrangement,” Helena said, her voice dangerously quiet. “Is my marriage, and Clara is my family now, which makes her part of any family business.
” “Your marriage,” Eduardo repeated, his tone making it clear what he thought of that concept. Helena, you’ve had your fun, made your point, whatever this was supposed to accomplish, but it’s time to be realistic. The board is asking questions. Investors are concerned about your judgment, and frankly, this whole situation is becoming an embarrassment to the family name.
Helena’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. An embarrassment? My marriage is an embarrassment? Your publicity stunt is an embarrassment? Eduardo corrected coldly. Did you really think I wouldn’t figure out what this was? A moment of rebellion? A way to shock people? Perhaps get back at me for pushing you toward the Blackwood merger? Clara’s stomach dropped.
The Blackwood merger? She had no idea what Eduardo was talking about, but the way Helena’s face went white suggested it was significant. This has nothing to do with the Blackwood situation, Helena said, but her voice lacked conviction. Eduardo smiled, but there was no warmth in it.
Doesn’t it? How convenient that you suddenly decided to marry a complete stranger just days after I told you about Richard’s proposal. Richard’s proposal? Clara asked quietly, though she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer. Eduardo turned to her with mock surprise. Oh, she didn’t tell you. How interesting. Richard Blackwood has been pursuing Helena for months, both personally and professionally. A marriage between our families would create the largest luxury hotel empire in North America.
very beneficial for everyone involved. Clara felt the ground shifting beneath her feet. She looked at Helena, searching her face for some sign that this wasn’t what it sounded like. But Helena’s expression was stricken. Guilty. Helena, Clara’s voice was barely a whisper. Clara, it’s not. It’s more complicated than he’s making it sound. Helena said desperately.
Is it? Eduardo asked with satisfaction. Because from where I stand, it looks quite simple. You were feeling pressured about a business arrangement. So, you created a distraction. A very public, very dramatic distraction that has now served its purpose. That’s not true, Helena said. But even she could hear how weak it sounded. Clara stepped back, her mind reeling.
Is that what this is? A distraction? A way to avoid marrying someone else? No, Helena said firmly, moving toward Clara. No, that’s not what this is. Yes, my father had been pushing me toward Richard, but that’s not why I married you. That’s not why I Why you what? Clara asked, her voice breaking slightly.
Why you decided to keep up the charade? Why you let me fall in love with you when this was all just a way to buy yourself time? You’re in love with her? Eduardo asked, his voice filled with disbelief and disgust. Helena, this has gone far enough. End this now before you do any more damage to yourself or the company. Get out, Helena said suddenly, her voice low and dangerous. Excuse me, I said. Get out.
Get out of my home and don’t come back until you can treat my wife with respect. Eduardo’s face flushed with anger. Helena, you’re making a mistake. This girl is using you. Can’t you see that? She’s after your money, your status. The only person using anyone here is you. Helena shot back. You’ve been trying to manipulate my life for years and I’m done with it. Clara has never asked me for anything.
She’s never tried to change me or control me or use me for her own gain. Can you say the same? I’m your father, Eduardo said coldly. Everything I do is for your own good, for the good of the family. No, Helena said, her voice gaining strength. Everything you do is for the good of the business. There’s a difference.
Eduardo looked between Helena and Clara, his expression calculating. Fine, have it your way. But when this little fantasy falls apart, don’t come crying to me. And don’t expect the company to survive your poor judgment. He turned and walked toward the elevator, pausing only to deliver one final blow. The board meeting is next Friday, Helena. With or without you, decisions will be made about the future of Dwarte Hotels.
I suggest you remember where your loyalties should lie. The elevator doors closed behind him, leaving Helena and Clara alone in the suddenly too quiet kitchen. The empanadas sat forgotten on the counter, the domestic bliss of the morning shattered by Eduardo’s visit. Clara was the first to break the silence. “Is it true?” “Is what true?” Helena asked, though she knew exactly what Clara was asking, about Richard Blackwood, about the merger, about you feeling pressured to marry him? Helena closed her eyes, knowing that this moment had been inevitable, but hoping it would never
come. Yes. My father has been pushing for a marriage between Richard and me for months. It would be good for business. And you never thought to mention this to me? It wasn’t relevant, Helena said desperately. I was never going to marry Richard with or without you in the picture. Wasn’t relevant, Clara’s voice rose slightly.
Your father thinks our entire marriage is a publicity stunt to avoid another marriage. And you don’t think that’s relevant? My father is wrong, Helena said firmly. Yes, I was feeling pressured about Richard. Yes, the timing might look suspicious, but Clara, what happened between us that night? what’s been happening between us these past two months. None of that was fake.
None of that was about avoiding Richard or rebelling against my father. Clara wanted to believe her. Could see the sincerity in Helena’s eyes. But Eduardo’s words had planted seeds of doubt that were already taking root. How do I know that? How do I know this isn’t all just an elaborate way to buy yourself time while you figure out what you really want? Because I already know what I want, Helena said, moving closer to Clara. I want you. I want this marriage, this life we’re building together. I want to wake up next to you
every morning and learn new things about you every day. I want to meet your friends and introduce you to mine and build something real together. Clara’s eyes filled with tears. But what happens when the pressure gets too intense? What happens when your father threatens to cut you off? Or the board votes you out or Richard makes a better offer? What happens when choosing me becomes too expensive? The question hung in the air between them.
And Helena realized that this was the real issue. It wasn’t just about Richard or the merger or her father’s manipulation. It was about Clara’s deepest fear that she wasn’t worth fighting for. That when push came to shove, Helena would choose her old life over their new one. That will never happen, Helena said softly.
You can’t promise that, Clara replied, wiping her eyes. You can’t promise that there won’t come a day when you have to choose between me and everything else you’ve ever known. Helena reached out and took Clara’s hands and hers. You’re right.
I can’t promise that the choice will never come, but I can promise that if it does, I’ll choose you every time without hesitation. Clara searched Helena’s face, looking for any sign of doubt or deception. What she saw there was love, determination, and a fierce protectiveness that made her heart skip a beat. Even if it cost you everything, Clara asked.
You are everything, Helena said simply. Everything else is just stuff. Clara felt her resolve crumbling. She wanted to believe Helena wanted to trust that their love was strong enough to weather whatever storms were coming. But she had been disappointed before, had learned not to count on promises that seemed too good to be true.
“I need some time to think,” Clara said finally. “This is all. It’s a lot to process.” Helena’s face fell, but she nodded. “Of course. Take all the time you need.” Clara started to leave the kitchen, then turned back. “Helena, for what it’s worth, I believe that you love me. I just don’t know if love is enough when there’s this much at stake.
” After Clara left, Helena stood alone in the kitchen, surrounded by the remnants of their interrupted cooking lesson. The empanadas would never get finished now, and Helena couldn’t help but see it as a metaphor for everything else in her life that seemed to be falling apart. She thought about her father’s ultimatum, about the board meeting next Friday, about the choice that seemed to be looming larger with each passing day. Eduardo was right about one thing.
There would come a moment when she would have to decide between the life she had always known and the life she was building with Clara. But he was wrong about everything else. This wasn’t a publicity stunt or a moment of rebellion. What she felt for Clara was real, deeper, and more meaningful than anything she had ever experienced.
The question was whether she would be strong enough to fight for it when the time came. Helena picked up her phone and scrolled through her contacts until she found the number she was looking for. It was time to have a conversation she had been avoiding for too long. Richard, it’s Helena. We need to talk. The week following Eduardo’s visit passed in a tense, careful dance between Helena and Clara.
They maintained their routines, sharing meals, sleeping in the same bed, exchanging polite conversation. But the easy intimacy they had built over the past 2 months felt fragile, threatened by the weight of unspoken fears and looming decisions. Helena had met with Richard Blackwood twice, conversations that she kept deliberately vague when Clara asked about them.
She had also spent long hours on the phone with board members, lawyers, and business advisers, trying to understand exactly what she was facing and what her options were. Clara, meanwhile, had thrown herself into her new volunteer work with the Children’s Hospital, spending her days developing outreach programs and her evenings researching graduate school options.
She was building a life for herself that didn’t depend entirely on Helena. A safety net that felt both necessary and heartbreaking. Thursday evening found them sitting at opposite ends of the sofa, both pretending to read while actually stealing glances at each other. The board meeting was tomorrow, and the tension in the apartment was thick enough to cut with a knife.
Clara, Helena said finally, setting down her book. We need to talk about tomorrow. Clara looked up, her expression carefully neutral. What about it? The board meeting. There’s a good chance that things might change after tomorrow. What kind of things? Helena took a deep breath. My father has been building support for a vote of no confidence.
If it passes, I’ll be removed as CEO. The company will be restructured, probably sold or merged with Blackwood Industries. Clara felt her stomach drop. And if you marry Richard, then the vote probably won’t happen. The merger would proceed as a partnership rather than a takeover. And I would retain significant control over operations. So, you do have to choose, Clara said quietly.
Between me and the company. It’s not that simple, Helena said, moving closer to Clara on the sofa. I’ve been working on alternatives, ways to maintain control without sacrificing our marriage. Such as, Helena hesitated. I could sell my shares to an outside investor, someone who would keep the company independent. I’ve been in talks with a consortium of international hotel groups who are interested.
But but it would mean giving up my family’s legacy, the company my grandfather built that my father has spent his life growing. It would mean walking away from everything I was raised to protect. Clara could see the pain in Helena’s eyes. The weight of a decision that had no easy answers. And if you don’t, if you choose the company, then I would have to end our marriage.
Helina said, her voice barely above a whisper. Richard has made it clear that he won’t proceed with the merger as long as I’m married to someone else. They sat in silence for a long moment, both contemplating the impossible choice that lay before them. Clara felt a familiar ache in her chest, the same feeling she had experienced when her grandmother was dying.
And she realized that love wasn’t always enough to fix everything. “What do you want to do?” Clara asked finally. Helena looked at her with eyes full of love and anguish. I want to choose you. I want to tell my father and Richard and the entire board to go to hell. And I want to build a life with you that has nothing to do with hotels or mergers or family expectations.
But but I’m scared, Helena admitted. I’m scared of disappointing people who have counted on me, of destroying something that generations of my family have built. Of making a decision based on emotion rather than logic. Clara reached out and took Helena’s hand.
Those are all valid fears, are they? Or am I just being a coward? You’re not a coward, Clara said firmly. You’re someone who’s been raised to put duty before personal happiness, and now you’re being asked to choose between them. That’s not cowardice. That’s an impossible situation. Helena squeezed Clara’s hand. What would you do if you were in my position? Clara was quiet for a long time, considering the question seriously.
I don’t know, she said finally. I’ve never had anything like what you’re being asked to give up, but I do know that I would never want someone to sacrifice everything they are for me. That’s not love. That’s selfishness, Helena’s eyes filled with tears.
So, you think I should choose the company? I think you should choose whatever you can live with, Clara said softly. Because either way, you’re going to lose something important. The question is which loss you can survive. They talked until well past midnight, exploring every angle, every possibility, every potential consequence of the choice Helena faced. By the time they went to bed, both were emotionally exhausted, but no closer to a clear answer.
Helena lay awake long after Clara had fallen asleep. Watching her wife’s peaceful face and the moonlight streaming through the windows, she thought about the past 3 months, about how Clara had changed her life in ways she was still discovering. She thought about the woman she had been before, driven, successful, but ultimately empty, and the woman she was becoming with Clara by her side.
But she also thought about her grandfather, who had started Dwarte Hotels with a single property in Buenos Cyrus, and a dream of creating something lasting. She thought about the thousands of employees who depended on the company for their livelihoods, about the legacy she had been entrusted to protect. When morning came, Helena still didn’t have an answer.
The Dwarte Hotel’s board meeting was held in the company’s downtown headquarters in a conference room that overlooked the Chicago River. Helena arrived early, wanting to compose herself before facing what might be the most important meeting of her professional life. The board members filed in one by one. Old family friends, business associates, and investors who had known Helena since she was a child.
Their faces were carefully neutral, but Helena could sense the tension in the room, the awareness that today’s meeting would determine not just the future of the company, but the future of the Dwarte family’s involvement in it. Eduardo entered last, accompanied by Richard Blackwood.
Richard was a handsome man in his early 40s with the kind of polished confidence that came from a lifetime of privilege. He had been pursuing Helena for months, both personally and professionally, and his presence at the board meeting sent a clear message about where the discussion was headed. “Good morning, everyone,” Helena said, taking her seat at the head of the table.
“I know we have a lot to discuss today, so let’s get started.” “Actually,” Eduardo said, standing up. “Before we begin, I think we need to address the elephant in the room.” Helena’s recent personal decisions have raised questions about her judgment and her commitment to this company. Helena felt her temper rise, but she kept her voice level.
My personal life has no bearing on my ability to run this company. Doesn’t it? Richard asked, speaking for the first time. Helena, your marriage has been front page news for months. Every business decision you make is now viewed through the lens of this publicity stunt. Investors are nervous, partners are asking questions, and frankly, the board has lost confidence in your leadership.
My marriage is not a publicity stunt, Helena said firmly. And I resent the implication that my personal happiness should be sacrificed for the sake of business relationships. No one is asking you to sacrifice your happiness, Eduardo said smoothly. We’re simply asking you to be realistic about what’s best for the company and for your own future.
Margaret Whitfield, who had been silent until now, cleared her throat. Eduardo, with all due respect, I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Helena has been an excellent CEO. The company’s performance under her leadership has been exemplary. Performance isn’t the issue, Richard replied.
The issue is stability, predictability, and the ability to make strategic partnerships that will ensure the company’s long-term growth. Helena looked around the table, reading the faces of people who had known her entire life. Some looked sympathetic, but resigned. Others appeared uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, and a few seemed genuinely supportive. But she could see that Richard and her father had done their work well.
They had the votes they needed. “What exactly are you proposing?” Helena asked. Eduardo smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. A simple solution that benefits everyone. You step down as CEO, and Richard takes over operations as part of the merger between our companies.
You would retain a significant ownership stake and a seat on the board, but the day-to-day management would be handled by someone with fewer distractions. And if I refuse, then we call for a vote of no confidence, Richard said matterof factly, which based on my conversations with board members would likely pass. You would be removed as CEO with no guarantee of retaining your ownership stake or board position.
Helena felt the walls closing in around her. They had maneuvered her into a corner with no good options. Step down voluntarily and retain some control or be forced out with nothing. There is, of course, a third option, Eduardo said, his voice taking on a more consiliatory tone.
One that would allow you to retain full control of the company while also securing its future. Helena knew what was coming, but she asked anyway. Which is, “Mary Richard,” Eduardo said simply. “A true partnership between our families and our companies. You would remain CEO, the merger would proceed as planned, and everyone wins. Except my current wife, Helena said coldly. Richard leaned forward.
Helena, I understand that you’ve developed feelings for this woman. But surely you can see that what you have with her can’t compare to what we could build together. We have history, shared interests, compatible goals. We could create something lasting, something meaningful. Helena stared at him, wondering if he actually believed what he was saying or if he was simply that good at manipulation.
Richard, I appreciate your offer, but I’m already married to someone I love. Love? Eduardo repeated dismissively. Helena, you’ve known this woman for 3 months. You’ve known Richard for years. Which relationship do you think has a better foundation for the future? Helena thought about Clara. Probably at the hospital right now.
working with children whose families couldn’t afford basic health care. She thought about the way Clara’s face lit up when she talked about her work, about the gentle way she had taught Helina to cook her grandmother’s recipes, about the quiet strength she had shown in the face of Eduardo’s hostility. The one built on mutual respect and genuine affection, Helena said quietly.
Affection doesn’t pay the bills. Richard said with a slight smile. And it certainly doesn’t run a multinational corporation. Helena stood up, her decision crystallizing with sudden clarity. You’re right, Richard. Affection doesn’t run a corporation, but neither does fear or manipulation or sacrificing everything that matters for the sake of profit. Eduardo’s face darkened.
Helena, think carefully about what you’re saying. I am thinking carefully, Helena replied, her voice growing stronger with each word. I’m thinking about what kind of person I want to be, what kind of life I want to live, and what kind of legacy I want to leave behind.
She looked around the table at the faces of people who had shaped her professional life, people she had respected and trusted for years. I’ve spent my entire life trying to live up to other people’s expectations, trying to be the daughter and CEO and business partner that everyone else wanted me to be. But I’ve never asked myself what I wanted. “And what do you want?” Margaret asked gently. Helena smiled, feeling lighter than she had in days.
“I want to be married to Clara Martinez Dwarte. I want to build a life based on love and mutual support rather than business arrangements and family obligations. and I want to run this company in a way that honors my grandfather’s vision while also reflecting my own values. That’s very touching, Richard said dryly. But it’s not realistic.
You can’t have everything, Helena. Sometimes you have to make hard choices. You’re absolutely right, Helena agreed. And I’m making mine now, she turned to address the entire board. I hereby resign as CEO of Dwarte Hotels effective immediately. I’m also offering to sell my shares in the company to any board member or outside investor who’s interested in maintaining its independence.
The room erupted in surprised murmurss and shocked exclamations. Eduardo’s face went white while Richard looked like he had been slapped. Helena, you can’t be serious, Eduardo said. I’m completely serious, Helena replied calmly. I’m choosing my wife, my marriage, and my own happiness over a business that apparently can’t accept who I am or who I love. Margaret stood up, her face beaming with approval.
Helena, I think you’re making the right choice, and for what it’s worth, I’d be interested in discussing the purchase of your shares. I think this company would benefit from some fresh perspective. Two other board members nodded in agreement, and Helena realized that her father and Richard might not have had as much support as they had claimed. “This is a mistake,” Eduardo said, his voice tight with anger.
You’re throwing away everything for a woman who will probably leave you the moment the money runs out. Helena’s eyes flashed with fury. Don’t you ever speak about my wife that way again. Clara has never asked me for anything. Never tried to use me for financial gain. Never made me feel like I had to choose between love and duty.
She’s shown me more genuine care and respect in 3 months than you’ve shown me in 30 years. She gathered her things and headed for the door, pausing only to deliver one final statement. I’ll have my lawyers contact you about the share transfer.
And father, don’t bother coming to the penthouse again unless you’re ready to apologize to both Clara and me. Helena left the boardroom with her head held high, feeling simultaneously terrified and exhilarated. She had just walked away from everything she had been raised to value. Everything that had defined her identity for her entire adult life.
But as she stepped into the elevator and headed home to Clara, she realized that she had never felt more certain about anything in her life. Helena found Clara in the hospital’s pediatric wing, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the playroom, helping a little girl with pigtails build a tower out of colorful blocks.
Clara’s face was animated as she encouraged the child, her smile genuine and warm in a way that made Helena’s heart skip a beat. “Hire, Sophia,” Clara was saying. I think we can get it all the way to the ceiling. The little girl giggled and carefully placed another block on top of the tower, her tongue poking out in concentration. When she succeeded, both she and Clara cheered, causing other children in the room to look over and smile.
Helena stood in the doorway for a moment, watching her wife in her element. This was who Clara really was. Not the waitress Helena had met at the charity gala. Not the woman who had been thrust into a world of wealth and privilege, but someone who found joy in simple moments and genuine connections with others. Mrs. Darde.
A nurse approached Helena with a questioning look. Are you here to see someone? I’m here for my wife, Helena said, the words feeling more natural than they ever had before. Clara Martinez Darde. The nurse’s face lit up with recognition. Oh, Clara, she’s been wonderful with the children. They absolutely adore her. Helena smiled, feeling a surge of pride.
She has that effect on people. Clara looked up at the sound of her name and saw Helena standing in the doorway. Her expression immediately shifted to concern. Helena wasn’t supposed to be here for another few hours, and her early arrival could only mean one thing. Helena.
Clara stood up, brushing off her jeans. What are you doing here? How did the meeting go? Helena walked into the playroom, aware that several children and staff members were watching with curiosity. It went, “Well, it’s over.” Clara searched Helena’s face for clues about what had happened.
Helena looked different somehow, lighter, more relaxed, but also slightly shell shocked. “Sophia, sweetie,” Clara said to the little girl, “why don’t you show Mrs. Patterson your tower? I need to talk to my wife for a few minutes.” The child nodded and ran off to find the head nurse, leaving Clara and Helena alone in the corner of the playroom. “Tell me,” Clara said simply.
Helena took Clara’s hands in hers, noting the way Clara’s fingers automatically intertwined with her own. “I resigned,” Clara’s eyes widened. “You what? I resigned as CEO. I’m also selling my shares in the company.” Helena’s voice was steady, but Clara could see the magnitude of the decision in her eyes. I chose you, Clara. I chose us. Clara felt her knees go weak. Helena, no. You can’t have that.
Company is your life, your family’s legacy. You can’t give that up for me. I’m not giving it up for you. Helena said gently. I’m giving it up for me. For the person I want to be, for the life I want to live, but your father, the board, everything you’ve worked for will survive without me. Helena interrupted. The company will be fine. probably better than fine and my father.
Well, he’ll either come around or he won’t. But I can’t live my life trying to meet his expectations anymore.” Clara pulled her hands free and took a step back, her mind reeling. Helena, this is crazy. You’ve made this huge life-changing decision without even talking to me about it. What if I’m not worth it? What if we don’t work out? What if? Hey, Helena said, moving closer and cupping Claraara’s face in her hands. Look at me.
Clara’s green eyes were bright with unshed tears, filled with fear and disbelief and something that might have been hope. I love you, Helena said simply. Not because you’re convenient or because you’re a rebellion against my father or because you represent some kind of escape from my responsibilities. I love you because you’re kind and strong and passionate about making the world a better place.
I love you because you see the best in people even when they don’t deserve it. I love you because you make me want to be a better person. Helena, I’m not done. Helena said with a smile. I love you because you taught me that there’s more to life than board meetings and profit margins. I love you because you showed me what it feels like to be truly seen and accepted for who I am.
and I love you because when I imagine my future, I can’t picture it without you in it.” Clara felt the tears spill over, running down her cheeks as Helena’s thumbs gently wiped them away. “But what are we going to do?” Clara whispered. “You just gave up everything. Your job, your inheritance, your family’s company.
What happens now?” Helena’s smile grew wider. Now we figure it out together. I have some money saved and the sale of my shares will provide more than enough for us to live comfortably while we decide what comes next. Maybe I’ll start my own company, something smaller and more personal. Maybe I’ll go back to school, learn something completely different.
Maybe we’ll travel for a while, see the world together. You’d really do that. Give up everything you’ve known to start over. Clara, 3 months ago, I thought I knew exactly what my life was supposed to look like. I was going to run the family company, probably marry someone appropriate for business reasons, and continue the Dwarte legacy exactly as it had been planned for me.” Helena paused, her eyes never leaving Clara’s face.
“But then I met you, and everything changed. You showed me that there are different ways to live, different definitions of success, different kinds of happiness.” Clara felt her resistance crumbling. “I’m scared,” she admitted. This is all so big, so overwhelming. What if we’re making a mistake? Then we’ll make it together, Helena said.
And if it doesn’t work out, at least we’ll know we tried. But Clara, I have to believe that what we have is real, that it’s worth fighting for. Because if it’s not, then I don’t know what is. Clara looked into Helena’s eyes and saw her own feelings reflected there. Love, hope, determination, and yes, fear, too.
But it was the kind of fear that came with taking a leap of faith, not the kind that came from settling for less than you deserved. “I love you, too,” Clara said finally. “I love you so much, it terrifies me sometimes.” Helena’s face broke into a radiant smile. “Good, because I have a proposition for you.
” “Another one?” Clara asked with a watery laugh. “The last time you made me a proposition, we ended up married.” This one’s different, Helena said, reaching into her jacket pocket and pulling out a small velvet box. This one’s real. Clara’s breath caught in her throat as Helena dropped to one knee right there in the hospital playroom, surrounded by toys and children’s artwork and the soft sounds of healing.
Clara Martinez Dwarte, Helena said, her voice strong and clear. Will you marry me again? For real this time, with no challenges or bets or publicity stunts, just two people who love each other and want to build a life together, Helena opened the box to reveal a stunning but simple ring.
A classic solitire diamond set in platinum, elegant and timeless without being ostentatious. Helena, Clara breathed, her hands flying to her mouth. I know we’re already legally married, Helena continued. But I want to do it right this time. I want to marry you because I love you, not because of a dare or a moment of pride.
I want to stand in front of our friends and family and promise to love you and support you and build something beautiful with you.” Clara looked down at Helena, kneeling on the floor of a children’s hospital playroom, offering her heart and her future with no guarantees except love. It was nothing like the fairy tale wedding most little girls dreamed of, but it was perfect in its honesty and simplicity.
Yes, Clara said, her voice barely above a whisper. Yes, of course. Yes. Helena slipped the ring onto Clara’s finger right next to her grandmother’s simple gold band and stood up to kiss her wife as applause erupted around them. Clara had forgotten that they weren’t alone. Children, nurses, and visitors had gathered to watch the proposal, and now they were cheering and clapping as if they had just witnessed the most romantic moment of their lives.
Congratulations, called out Sophia, the little girl Clara had been playing with earlier. Are you going to have a big party? Helena and Clara broke apart, both laughing through their tears. The biggest party, Helena promised, scooping Sophia up in her arms. And you’re all invited.
As the excitement died down and people returned to their activities, Helena and Clara found themselves alone again, holding each other close and marveling at how much their lives had changed in the span of a few hours. “So, what happens now?” Clara asked, echoing the question that had haunted them for weeks. “Now we plan a wedding,” Helena said with a grin. “A real one this time, with flowers and music and terrible speeches from our friends.
” And after that, Helena’s expression grew more serious. After that, we build whatever life we want together. No more choosing between love and duty. No more impossible decisions. Just us figuring it out as we go. Clara leaned into Helena’s embrace, feeling more secure and hopeful than she had in months. I like the sound of that.
Good, Helena said, pressing a kiss to the top of Clara’s head. because I have a feeling it’s going to be the adventure of a lifetime. 6 months later, Helena and Clara stood in the garden of a small venue in Lincoln Park, surrounded by friends and family who had come to witness their second wedding.
This time, there were no challenges or bets, no media attention or business implications. There was just love, pure and simple, celebrated by people who cared about them. Margaret Whitfield had become an unexpected ally and friend, helping Helena navigate the sale of her company shares and offering advice about starting fresh. Several other board members had also reached out, expressing their support for Helena’s decision and their interest in working with her on future ventures.
Eduardo had not attended the wedding, but he had sent a brief note acknowledging their marriage and expressing hope that they would find happiness together. It wasn’t the reconciliation Helena had hoped for, but it was a start. Clara’s friends from the community center were there along with colleagues from the hospital and new friends they had made together. The guest list was smaller than it would have been for a traditional Dwarte family wedding, but it was filled with people who genuinely cared about their happiness. As they exchanged vows they had written themselves, Helena and Clara
reflected on the journey that had brought them to this moment. It had been messy and complicated and sometimes painful, but it had also been real in a way that neither of them had experienced before. “I promise to choose you,” Helena said, her voice carrying clearly across the garden. “Not just today, but every day in big decisions and small moments.
In times of joy and times of challenge, I promise to choose love over fear, partnership over control, and our future together over anything else the world might offer. Clara’s vows were equally heartfelt. I promise to see you clearly, to support your dreams even when they scare me, and to build something beautiful with you that honors both of our histories while creating something entirely new.
When Judge Morrison, who had insisted on officiating their second wedding as well, pronounced them married again, their kiss was met with cheers and applause from their guests. But Helena and Clara barely heard them, lost in each other and in the promise of the life they were building together.
Later, as they danced their first official dance as a truly married couple, Helena whispered in Clara’s ear, “Any regrets?” Clara smiled, thinking about everything they had been through, everything they had overcome, and everything that lay ahead of them. Just one, she said. Helena pulled back to look at her, concerned. What’s that? I wish I had asked you to dance that first night, Clara said with a grin.
Instead of waiting for you to challenge me, Helena threw back her head and laughed, spinning Clara around the dance floor as their friends and family watched with joy. Well, she said as she dipped Clara dramatically, I suppose we’ll just have to make up for lost time. And as they danced under the stars, surrounded by love and laughter and the promise of tomorrow, both women knew that they had found something worth more than all the money and status and family approval in the world.
They had found each other, and they had found home.