In the Age of Love and Chocolate (Birthright #3)(71)

“And even though she knows what you are like, she still wants to marry you again?”

“I am not sure if I should be insulted by that question. But yes, she does. As strange as that may seem. She forgives me and she loves me. Despite the fact that I am awful. Perhaps she thinks that life is better with company. Anya, you are crying.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” He reached across the table and wiped my eyes with the sleeve of his dress shirt.

“I’m so happy for you,” I said. And how could one not be happy when presented with evidence that love could bloom from ground once considered barren? I threw my arms around Mr. Delacroix and kissed him on both his cheeks. He smiled boyishly, and it reminded me of Win.

“What does Win say?” I asked.

“He rolled his eyes quite a lot. He said that we—and particularly his mother—were crazy. He will, of course, walk Jane down the aisle. The wedding is in March. It will only be a little affair, but you still have not said if you will stand up for me.”

“Of course I will. I am honored to be asked. Am I truly the best friend you have?”

“Yes, just about. It’s been a lonely life. And Jane and I are grateful to you. In a strange way, she thinks you belong to us, though I told her that Anya Balanchine belongs to no one except herself. In any case, we could think of no other we wanted standing beside us more, except our own daughter, had she lived.” He held me to him, and I tried not to cry again. (Aside: How much of this book—nay, my life—have I spent “trying not to cry”? When I think of the wasted effort!)

His assistant came into the office. The half hour was up. He shook my hand, and I went back out to the street. The January air was cold and bright, and it seemed as if the colors of the city were more vivid than before.

In the gutter, a yellow tulip improbably pushed its way through the mud and the trash and the ice. Apologies for the cliché, but I must tell it like I see it. The tulip was there—it is not my place to speculate why or how such miracles occur.

* * *

The wedding was in March though the day felt more like May. Win’s parents were not young people and they had already done this before, so it was not a grand wedding—only a justice of the peace at the Dark Room, Manhattan. Aside from Win and myself, the only other people there were a few of their colleagues, including Theo, who had brought Lucy. Rumor had it that Theo and the mixologist were engaged, but Theo and I didn’t discuss these matters. Natty had wanted to come, but she couldn’t get away from school.

I wore a pink dress that Ms. Rothschild had selected for me. Though I didn’t agree, she thought pink was my color, that it complemented my black hair. Win wore his usual gray suit, which I had seen several times—I hadn’t yet tired of it.

I wore heels, low ones, for the first time since I’d been hurt. I still had a pronounced limp, but I felt girlish, strong, and even a little sexy. Last year, I had never thought I’d feel pretty again.

Win’s parents said their vows. I snuck a glance at Win, who was standing beside me and who I had not seen since Christmas. He grinned at me, then leaned over and whispered in my ear, “You look awfully sweet, Annie.”

The wedding was over by three. As a present, Theo had provided the cake for the occasion—chocolate. Mr. Delacroix had recently pushed through legislation that amended the Rimbaud laws within New York City to allow for cacao to be served with a license, and so it made sense that chocolate cake would be featured at his wedding. There were no more prescriptions needed at the New York clubs either. Instead, we had a certificate on the wall that said the city permitted cacao-based products of all kinds to be served on the premises.

It was so warm out that I wanted to walk home, even though it was kind of a long walk for me. So I had Theo cut me two pieces of cake to go, and then I asked Win if he would walk me home. “If you don’t have anything else to do, that is. I’ll probably take forever.”

He looked at me a long time. “You’re sure you’re good to walk home,” he asked. “It’s a long way.”

“I’m sure,” I said. “I’m stronger than I was in the fall, Win. I think I’m finally ready.” I slipped my arm through his. “Is this okay?”

“It is,” he said after a pause.

“Let’s head west,” I said. “I’d like to go past Trinity.”

“That’s a bit out of the way,” he said.

“I’m feeling sentimental, I guess.”

“All right, Annie,” he said. “Let me carry the cake.” He took the box from me, and we made our way uptown.

* * *

“Any spring plans?” he asked as we crossed into Central Park.

“I’m going to Russia with Mouse. We’ve approached the Balanchiadze about manufacturing a line of cacao bars.”

“Aren’t you worried about working with them?” Win asked.

“No,” I said. “Not anymore. They’re in my business whether I want them there or not. I think the best option is to try to convert them to the good side.”

“That seems optimistic for you.”

“I’m optimistic now, Win. Why shouldn’t I be? I’m twenty-one years old, and I may have had a hard time and made a few pretty shady decisions, but I’ve stayed alive and mainly everything has worked out for me, hasn’t it? Look at your dad. Look at your parents. Who would ever have thought that they would get married again? I can’t help but feel hopeful today.”