Chapter 9 - The Zurich Horizon
By November, the arrangements for Zurich were finalized.
The medical trust set up through Elias’s network covered every expense, but more importantly, Dr. Sandra Vance’s clinic offered a revolutionary, non-invasive valve repair technique that meant Poppy wouldn’t have to undergo the terrifying open-heart procedures previously recommended by Boston General.
The flight was scheduled for a Friday morning.
On the Thursday night before their departure, Marlo stood alone in the bakery after closing hours, packing up the remaining inventory into storage boxes. The shop was quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerators and the soft patter of rain against the front windows.
The bell above the door chimed.
Marlo looked up, expecting Ruthie or a late delivery. Instead, Elias stepped inside, wearing a dark wool suit, looking as if he had just walked out of a boardroom meeting.
“You’re still here,” Elias noted, walking slowly toward the counter.
“Just tying up loose ends,” Marlo said, wiping down the stainless-steel surface with a damp cloth. “The bakery will be closed for two weeks while we’re in Switzerland. Ruthie promised to water the plants, but I’m terrified she’s going to drown my ferns with kindness.”
Elias stopped in front of the counter. He didn’t order a tart. He simply stood there, his hands resting in his pockets, looking around the quiet, warm interior of the shop.
“You’re nervous,” he observed quietly.
Marlo dropped the cloth into the sink and leaned against the counter, letting out a long, shaky breath. “Nervous doesn’t even cover it, Elias. For three years, every time I thought about her heart, I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff. Now we’re actually going to cross it... what if something goes wrong?”
Without a word, Elias stepped around the end of the counter.
He didn’t offer platitudes. He didn’t tell her everything would be fine with empty optimism. Instead, he reached out and took her hand—the exact same gesture he had offered in the heat of panic months ago, steady, large, and unfinchingly warm.
“Nothing is going to go wrong,” Elias said, his voice a low, anchoring baritone that seemed to absorb all her fears. “You built this place out of nothing, Marlo. You raised Poppy alone while fighting off men like Preston Ashby. You are the strongest person on this street.”
Marlo looked down at their joined hands, then up into his dark, intense eyes. A strange, powerful warmth bloomed in her chest—one that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with safety.
“You make it sound so easy,” she whispered.
“It’s not easy,” Elias replied, his thumb brushing lightly across her knuckles. “It’s necessary.”
He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small, heavy silver key on a leather cord.
“What is this one?” Marlo asked softly.
“My private office downtown,” Elias said. “If you need anything while you’re abroad—any legal paperwork, any medical translation, any problem that requires someone to make a very uncomfortable phone call—that key opens the private side entrance. My assistant knows your name.”
Marlo shook her head, a watery smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Elias Marchetti, you are terrifyingly thorough.”
“I like to be prepared,” he said simply.
Then, before Marlo could say another word, he leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her cheek.
It was the first time he had ever crossed that invisible line.
Before Marlo could process the electric shock of the gesture, Elias stepped back, nodded once, and turned toward the door.
May you like
“Have a safe flight, Marlo,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll see you when you get back.”
The brass bell chimed, and he was gone into the rainy Boston night.
