Chapter 25 A New Era
Wednesday morning, Ariella went back to her bakery for the first time since moving out.
Marcus drove her, which felt ridiculous, but she was learning to accept the invasion of drivers and schedules and people managing every aspect of her life.
The construction crew was already there, half a dozen workers transforming her grandmother’s bakery into Aiden’s vision. They’d torn out the old ovens, stripped the walls, pulled up the damaged flooring. It looked like a disaster zone.
It looked like grief.
“Oh my god,” Ariella whispered.
Her mother appeared from the kitchen, covered in dust. “Hey, baby. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I needed to see it. To make sure it was real.”
They stood together, looking at the destruction that was supposed to be renovation.
“It’s hard,” her mother said quietly. “Seeing it torn apart. Even though I know it’s necessary. Even though the end result will be better. It still feels like losing her all over again.”
“Grandma.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry. I should have asked you before agreeing to this. I should have…”
“No.” Her mother took her hand. “You were trying to save us. You were trying to do something good. That’s not wrong, Ari. It’s just hard.”
They went upstairs to the apartment, where at least nothing had changed. Same cramped kitchen, same water-stained ceiling, same sense of home that the mansion would never have.
“How is it?” her mother asked. “Really.”
“Weird. Isolating. Like living in a museum.” Ariella paused. “But Aiden is…he’s not what I expected. He’s kind. And sad. And we’re kind of becoming friends, I think.”
“Just friends?”
“Mom.”
“I’m just asking. You’re living with a handsome boy your age. Things happen.”
“Things are not happening. We’re barely holding it together. And besides, this is fake. The whole thing is fake.”
“Is it though?” Her mother studied her face. “Because you have this look when you talk about him. This soft thing. Like maybe it’s not as fake as you think.”
“I’ve known him for a week.”
“And you’re already sleeping in his room every night.”
Ariella’s face burned. “That’s not…I’m helping him with nightmares. It’s not romantic. It’s just…”
“Intimate. There’s a difference between romantic and intimate. And sometimes the intimate stuff matters more.”
Ariella didn’t know what to say to that.
They had lunch together, simple sandwiches from the corner and talked about normal things. The bakery's timeline, Ariella’s online classes starting next week, whether they should get a cat now that they could afford pet deposits.
Normal things that felt precious because they were fleeting.
At two, Marcus texted that the car was ready whenever she was.
“I should go,” Ariella said. “Media training at three. Final prep before the announcement tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” her mother repeated. “Your face is going to be everywhere.”
“Don’t remind me.”
They hugged at the door, holding on longer than usual.
“I’m proud of you,” her mother whispered. “For being brave. Even when you’re terrified.”
“I’m not brave. I’m just surviving.”
“Sometimes they’re the same thing.”
The media training was brutal.
Patricia drilled her for three hours, asking invasive questions, pushing her until she wanted to cry, forcing her to stay composed while her entire fictional life was picked apart.
“When did you lose your virginity?” Patricia asked casually, like it was a normal question.
“I…what? That’s none of your business.”
“Wrong answer. Try again. A reporter will ask this. Maybe not that directly, but they’ll imply it. They’ll ask if you’re pregnant. If that’s why you’re rushing into marriage. You need a response that shuts it down without being defensive.”
Ariella took a breath. “My personal life is personal. Next question.”
“Better. But add a smile. Make it seem like you’re amused by their audacity, not threatened.”
They practiced until Ariella could deflect anything. Until she could smile through questions about her father (gone), her brother (dead), her family’s finances (none of your business), her relationship with Aiden (perfect and private, thank you).
By the end, she felt hollowed out. Like she’d scraped away every authentic part of herself and replaced it with polish and performance.
Aiden was waiting outside the conference room when she emerged.
“How bad?” he asked.
“I want to set something on fire.”
“That bad.”
“Patricia asked about my virginity.”
“She asked me about mine last week. I told her to fuck off. She said I needed to work on my media diplomacy.”
Despite everything, Ariella laughed. “We’re both terrible at this.”
“Catastrophically terrible.”
“But we’re doing it anyway.”
“Tomorrow,” Aiden said. “Tomorrow it becomes real. The announcement goes live. Our photos get released. And everyone in Portland will know your name.”
“I think I’m going to throw up.”
“Me too. Want to throw up together?”
“That’s weirdly romantic.”
“Shared nausea is the foundation of all great relationships.”
They walked back to his car, he’d driven himself today, giving Marcus the day off. The BMW was ridiculously expensive and impractical, but Aiden drove it like he was afraid it might break.
“You drive like my grandmother,” Ariella said.
“Your grandmother is dead.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m a cautious driver. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“You’re going fifteen in thirty-five.”
“The speed limit is a suggestion.”
“It’s literally the law.”
“Law is a strong word.”
They bickered the whole way back to the mansion, and somewhere in the middle of it, Ariella realized she was smiling. Actually smiling. For the first time in days.
When they pulled into the circular driveway, Aiden turned off the car but didn’t get out.
“Thanks,” he said.
“For what?”
“For not running away yet. For actually trying. For…” He paused. “For making this less terrible than it could be.”
“We’re partners in this. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Even though it’s hard?”
“Especially because it’s hard. Someone once told me that’s what partnership means.”
Aiden looked at her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. “When did I say that?”
“You didn’t. But you showed me. Every night when you let me help with your nightmares. Every time you tell me the truth instead of the performance. Every…” Her voice caught. “Every time you make it feel okay to not be okay.”
“Ariella…”
“We should go inside. Lily’s probably spying on us through a window.”
“Definitely spying.”
They got out of the car. At the front door, Aiden stopped.
“Tomorrow is going to be hard,” he said. “Really hard. But we’ll get through it. Together.”
“Together,” Ariella agreed.
He offered his hand. She took it.
And for just that moment, standing on the threshold of the mansion with the sunset turning everything gold, it felt like maybe they really could do this.
Maybe they really could survive each other.
Maybe, just maybe…they were already more than partners.
But neither of them was ready to say that out loud.
Not yet