Chapter 10 - The UnveilingThe wedding of the year at the Plaza Hotel was a masterclass in elegance, romance, and controlled chaos.
The grand ballroom was overflowing with white roses, twinkling fairy lights, and Manhattan’s elite, all gathered to watch Claire Whitmore walk down the aisle. As the lead coordinator, Nora executed every detail flawlessly, her checklist clipped to her clipboard, her walkie-talkie buzzing softly at her hip.
When the ceremony concluded and the reception kicked off with a live jazz band and flowing champagne, Nora finally allowed herself to exhale. She slipped out through a side exit onto the grand stone terrace overlooking Central Park, enjoying the cool autumn air against her skin.
She wore a stunning emerald-green silk gown that caught the moonlight, her hair swept up in loose, elegant waves.
The heavy glass door clicked open behind her.
Adrian stepped out onto the terrace, holding two flutes of champagne. He looked breathtaking in a custom black tuxedo, his white dress shirt crisp and his tie perfectly knotted.
He walked over, handing her a glass before leaning against the stone balustrade beside her.
“You survived,” Adrian said, clinking his glass gently against hers.
“I survived,” Nora beamed, taking a sip of the crisp champagne. “Claire is officially married, the catering went off without a hitch, and not a single tabloid reporter managed to sneak past security.”
“A triumph on all fronts,” Adrian agreed. He set his champagne glass down on the ledge, turning to face her fully in the moonlight. His green eyes were shining with a depth of emotion that made her breath catch.
“Nora,” he said, his voice dropping into that rich, steady register she loved so much.
“Yes?”
Adrian reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, velvet-wrapped leather notebook. He held it out to her.
Curious, Nora took it from his hands and flipped it open.
Inside wasn't a business proposal or a wedding schedule. It was an architectural sketch—hand-drawn in charcoal, dated ten years ago, depicting a modern, sunlit brownstone with sprawling garden terraces and massive floor-to-ceiling windows. In the corner of the page, in Adrian’s handwriting, were the words: For Nora’s studio.
She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with sudden tears. 5
“I drew this the week after I came to your parents' house with daisies,” Adrian said softly, his fingers gently brushing her cheek. “I bought the land last month. The foundation is already poured in Tribeca. No five-year plans, no expectations, no pressure. Just a blank page... built for whatever future you want to design with me.”
May you like
Nora let out a choked, happy laugh, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his in a kiss that tasted of champagne, moonlight, and forever.
“I think,” Nora whispered against his mouth, “we’re going to build something incredible.”
