‘I made you
a promise when I was nine,’ he said.
‘Back then I thought being rich was the important part.
It wasn’t.
You fed me before I had anything to give back.
You taught me what kind of life is worth building.
I don’t want to marry you because I finally made money.
I want to marry you because every place I ever called success was still empty until you walked into it.’
His voice shook once.
He let it.
‘Victoria Hayes, will you marry me?’
She laughed and cried at the same time, which he would later learn was one of his favorite sounds in the world.
‘Only if you understand,’ she said, ‘that I still get veto power on bad kitchen layouts.’
‘I understand completely.’
Then she said yes.
They were married six months later in the courtyard of Lincoln House, with Mr.
Barnes in the front row, Richard looking uncomfortable in a tie he had clearly not chosen himself, Malik walking Victoria down the aisle, and a reception catered largely by women from the neighborhood who refused to let an event like that be handled by people who did not season food correctly.
