Chapter 7 - A Table Built for Twenty
One year later, Arthur Vale sat at the head of the same marble table where he had once believed he was dying.
This time, every chair was occupied.
Dominic sat beside Caleb.
Nora's restaurant manager had brought his wife.
Several members of Arthur's household crowded around the enormous table.
And Nora stood in the doorway carrying a chipped white bowl.
Arthur immediately recognized it.
“No.”
She smiled.
“Yes.”
Dominic started laughing.
Caleb looked confused.
“What?”
Dominic pointed toward the bowl.
“That is the most expensive bowl in Chicago.”
“It’s worth six dollars,” Nora said.
“Wrong. That bowl saved the boss.”
Arthur sighed.
“Can we stop telling this story?”
“No,” everyone answered.
Nora placed the bowl in front of him.
Spaghetti.
Tomatoes.
Burned garlic.
Black pepper.
Exactly as she had prepared it one year earlier.
Arthur looked at her.
“Anniversary?”
“Something like that.”
Nora sat beside him.
Her restaurant in Queens had opened six months earlier.
Arthur owned twenty-five percent.
Technically.
In reality, Nora refused to let him make a single decision.
The place had become successful enough that reservations were booked weeks ahead.
Not because Arthur promoted it.
Nora had forbidden him.
People simply liked the food.
Arthur wrapped spaghetti around his fork.
Dominic raised his glass.
“To Nora.”
Arthur narrowed his eyes.
“Why?”
“For accomplishing what doctors couldn't.”
Caleb raised his glass.
“To Arthur.”
Nora looked at her brother.
“For what?”
Caleb smiled.
“For giving my sister somebody else to boss around.”
Everyone laughed.
Arthur ate.
He had regained the weight he lost.
The hollow look was gone.
The nightmares had become less frequent.
He had also changed the way he handled his organization.
Not completely.
Arthur Vale was still Arthur Vale.
But fewer meetings ended with fear.
More problems ended with conversations.
Some men called it weakness.
Dominic called it evolution.
Nora called it “finally developing common sense.”
Dinner lasted two hours.
Eventually everyone left.
Arthur remained at the table.
Nora collected plates.
“Leave those.”
“I can carry plates.”
“You own a restaurant.”
“And?”
“You don't need to clean my table.”
Nora stopped.
“Arthur.”
“Yes?”
“Remember when I was your maid?”
“I remember everything.”
“You were unbearable.”
“Was?”
She smiled.
Arthur stood.
Something small rested in his palm.
Nora noticed.
Her smile vanished.
“Arthur.”
“I had a speech.”
“Oh no.”
“It was good.”
“How long?”
“Seven minutes.”
“Absolutely not.”
Arthur laughed.
Then he opened his hand.
A simple diamond ring rested there.
Nora stared.
“No marble ballroom?”
“No.”
“No orchestra?”
“No.”
“No fifty thousand roses?”
“You specifically threatened me if I did that.”
“Good.”
Arthur looked at her.
His voice became serious.
“Forty-two days without food made me think I was dying.”
Nora said nothing.
“Then you gave me something simple.”
“Overcooked spaghetti.”
“Terrible spaghetti.”
“Careful.”
Arthur smiled.
“You reminded me that life didn't have to taste like everything I'd done wrong.”
Nora’s eyes filled.
Arthur took her hand.
“You didn't save me because you're magical.”
He paused.
“You saved me because you refused to treat me like a monster or a king.”
Nora whispered, “Arthur.”
“You treated me like a hungry man standing in your kitchen.”
He lowered himself onto one knee.
Nora covered her mouth.
Arthur looked up.
“I don't need someone to obey me.”
His fingers tightened gently around hers.
“I need someone who tells me when I'm being an idiot.”
Nora laughed through her tears.
“That's a full-time job.”
“Excellent benefits.”
“Arthur.”
“Nora Reed, will you marry me?”
She stared at him.
For once, Arthur couldn't read her.
Five seconds passed.
Ten.
“Nora?”
She wiped her cheek.
“I’m enjoying watching you panic.”
“You're cruel.”
“I learned from Chicago’s most feared Mafia boss.”
“Nora.”
She smiled.
“Yes.”
Arthur stood so quickly the chair nearly fell over.
He pulled her into his arms.
She laughed against his chest.
Then suddenly pushed him back.
“Wait.”
Arthur froze.
“What?”
“One condition.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Of course there is.”
“You cook dinner once a week.”
Arthur stared at her.
“I control half of Chicago.”
“And apparently none of the kitchen.”
“I can't cook.”
“I'll teach you.”
Arthur considered it.
“Fine.”
Nora kissed him.
“Deal.”
Six months later, they married in the garden behind Nora's restaurant in Queens.
No politicians.
No criminal associates conducting business.
No extravagant spectacle.
Just family, friends, Dominic complaining about the folding chairs, Caleb giving Nora away, and Arthur standing beneath strings of warm lights looking healthier than anyone remembered.
Their wedding dinner wasn't duck breast.
There was no caviar.
No vintage wine.
Nora served pasta.
Tomatoes.
Garlic.
Olive oil.
Black pepper.
Arthur looked down at his plate.
Then across the table at his wife.
Nora raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
Arthur smiled.
“Nothing.”
“Then eat.”
He lifted his fork.
“Yes, boss.”
Nora laughed.
And for perhaps the first time in his adult life, Arthur Vale understood that a home wasn't the mansion surrounding him, the empire beneath him, or the name people feared.
It was a crowded table.
It was someone arguing with him from across the kitchen.
It was garlic burning in a battered skillet.
And it was knowing that when he came home hungry, Nora would be there.
May you like
Arthur took another bite.
This time, everything tasted like life.
