Page 94 of The Bonventi Rise
Marco waves, his politician's smile firmly in place, but I can see the genuine warmth behind it. He places his hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward the building.
"Marco," I whisper urgently, "seriously, what is this? Some kind of ribbon-cutting ceremony?"
He leans in, still smiling. His breath tickles my ear. "Not just any ribbon-cutting ceremony. This one's special."
I'm about to demand more information when a woman approaches us, beaming. She's holding those comically large scissors I spotted earlier.
"Senator Bonventi, Mrs. Bonventi," she greets us warmly. "We're so honored to have you here for this momentous occasion and for making this all possible."
We're not married yet, but I haven't been correcting people on my name.
"The honor is ours," Marco replies smoothly. "This means so much to us."
The woman—whose name I still don't know—turns to me, her eyes shining with an excitement I don't understand. "Mrs. Bonventi, I was told you would like to do the honors?" She holds out the scissors.
I take them automatically. "I—of course," I stammer, looking to Marco for guidance. He just smiles, that infuriatingly handsome, secretive smile.
As we approach what I assume is the entrance to the building, I notice a large red ribbon stretched across the doorway. The crowd quiets, and I can feel all eyes on us—on me. There's a sign, but it's covered.
"Marco," I hiss under my breath, "what am I cutting the ribbon for?"
He leans in close. "Your future, Alina. Our legacy," he says. "This is for you."
My chest tightens, and I'm completely confused. "What do you mean, for me?"
But before he can answer, the woman from earlier is speaking into a microphone, addressing the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today to celebrate a new home for hope and creativity in our community. Senator and Mrs. Bonventi, if you would do the honors..."
I step forward, scissors in hand, still confused. I smile and cut the ribbon. The sheet covering the sign falls, and I read the words:The Harp Academy: Music Center for Children.
My hand flies to my mouth, and I feel Marco's arm wrap around my waist.
"Marco," I say, my voice shaky. "You did this?"
He squeezes me. "You lost your harp that night. I promised to replace it, remember? But then I thought, why stop at one? Why not create a place where others can discover the magic you found in music?"
The crowd continues to applaud, but I don't hear them. All I can focus on is the building before me. It's perfect. Perfect for practicing. Perfect for teaching. Perfect for healing through music, just as I did all those years ago.
"I can't believe..." I start, but my voice catches. Damn these pregnancy hormones. "I can't believe you did this."
"Believe it. This is yours. Your legacy. A place where you can help children find their voice, just like you did."
I turn to look at him, not caring that my mascara is probably running or that dozens of cameras are capturing this moment. The love I see in his eyes makes my heart sing in my chest. This man—this supposedly dangerous, ruthless man—built me a music school. Created a place for children to learn and grow.
"Are you happy?" he asks softly.
I laugh through my tears. "Happy? Marco, I—" I gesture helplessly at the building, at the crowd, at everything. "This is... this is everything."
The woman with the microphone is saying something about tours and refreshments, but I can't take my eyes off Marco. He's beaming at me, pride and love radiating from him in waves, and I've never felt more cherished in my life.
"Come, let me show you inside," he says, taking my arm.
I'm the luckiest woman alive, I think, as he guides me toward the entrance. Not because he built me a music school, though that's incredible. But because he saw me—really saw me—and loved not just the polished campaign manager or the skilled strategist, but the girl who found solace in music. The woman who needed to be seen, to be understood.
Inside, it's beautiful. Marco leads me through the building, pointing out various features. It's got classrooms, performance rooms, instruments, everything.
We get to a closed door, and he pauses, his hand resting on the handle.
"Close your eyes," he says softly.
