Chapter 7 - The Seat He Saved for Her
Six months later, Chantelle stood on a subway platform beneath the city.
Devlin looked deeply unhappy.
“I own twelve cars.”
“I know.”
“Three have armored plating.”
“I know.”
“I have drivers.”
“Yes.”
“And you insisted on this.”
Chantelle smiled.
“You promised.”
Devlin looked toward the approaching train.
“I make questionable promises around you.”
The doors opened.
They stepped inside.
There were no obvious guards.
Chantelle knew better.
Liam was in the next carriage.
Two others were somewhere behind them.
Devlin had compromised.
Mostly.
The train was crowded.
Then Chantelle saw two empty seats.
She looked at him.
“You planned this.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Devlin Murphy, did your men clear two subway seats?”
“No.”
A passenger started toward them.
Liam appeared through the connecting door and looked at him.
The passenger immediately changed direction.
Chantelle burst out laughing.
“You're impossible.”
Devlin sat beside the window.
Chantelle took the aisle seat.
Exactly like the first night.
But this time nobody was frightened.
Well, almost nobody.
A teenage boy across the aisle recognized Devlin and whispered to his friend.
Chantelle leaned closer.
“You're ruining public transportation again.”
“I've improved.”
“Marginally.”
Devlin looked at her.
She had changed during those six months.
Not into someone wealthier.
Not into someone colder.
Into someone who finally understood how valuable her instincts were.
She had become director of strategic client relations at Murphy Maritime.
She had exposed two internal fraud attempts.
She had negotiated a labor dispute everyone else believed impossible.
And she still occasionally worked Saturday mornings at a neighborhood café because, as she told Devlin, she liked normal people.
He had responded, “You don't think I'm normal?”
She laughed for nearly a minute.
Tonight they were traveling downtown for dinner.
No motorcade.
No private dining room.
No closed restaurant.
Her rules.
The train moved.
Chantelle looked at the scar along his neck.
“Do people still ask about it?”
“No.”
“They're scared to?”
“Usually.”
“Does it bother you?”
“The scar?”
She nodded.
Devlin thought for a moment.
“It used to remind me that I trusted the wrong person.”
“And now?”
His gray eyes settled on her.
“Now it reminds me that surviving something isn't the same as living afterward.”
Chantelle became quiet.
“That was suspiciously emotional.”
“Forget I said it.”
“Absolutely not.”
The train entered another station.
Passengers boarded.
An exhausted elderly woman looked around for somewhere to sit.
Every seat was occupied.
Chantelle immediately stood.
“Here.”
The woman smiled.
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
Devlin watched Chantelle move toward the pole.
Then he stood too.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Standing.”
“You hate standing on trains.”
“I hate trains.”
“Fair.”
He moved beside her.
The elderly woman glanced at the empty seat Devlin had abandoned.
A young man started toward it.
Then he recognized Devlin.
He stopped.
Devlin sighed.
“Sit down.”
The young man blinked.
“Sir?”
“The seat.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
The man sat immediately.
Chantelle smiled.
“Look at you.”
“What?”
“Sharing public transportation.”
“I've always been generous.”
“No one in New York believes that.”
The train rocked.
Chantelle lost her balance slightly.
Devlin caught her hand.
Neither released the other.
At the next stop, they climbed the stairs into the city.
Rain had begun falling.
Chantelle opened her umbrella.
Devlin looked at it.
It was the same inexpensive umbrella from the night they met.
“You still have that?”
“It works.”
“Half of it is bent.”
“It has character.”
“You say that about everything broken.”
Chantelle looked at the scar on his neck.
Devlin immediately understood.
“Don't.”
She grinned.
They walked beneath the umbrella.
At the restaurant, Devlin stopped outside instead of entering.
Chantelle turned.
“What?”
He reached inside his coat.
She narrowed her eyes.
“If that's another phone, I'm leaving.”
“It isn't.”
He removed a small velvet box.
Chantelle stopped breathing.
Devlin looked strangely more nervous than he had inside the stopped train.
“Before you panic—”
“I'm not panicking.”
“I am.”
That made her laugh.
He opened the box.
Inside was a simple diamond ring.
No spectacle.
No crowd.
No photographers.
Just rain falling behind them.
Devlin said, “The first night we met, you sat beside me because your feet hurt.”
“Romantic beginning.”
“You ignored four armed security men.”
“I was tired.”
“You argued with me.”
“You were rude.”
“You refused to move.”
“You hadn't bought two tickets.”
His mouth curved.
“And somehow, that became the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Chantelle's smile disappeared into something softer.
Devlin continued.
“I don't want you because you aren't afraid of me.”
She waited.
“I want you because you see me clearly and stay anyway.”
He held up the ring.
“Chantelle, marry me.”
She looked at him for several seconds.
Then she asked, “Are your security men watching?”
Devlin glanced toward a parked SUV.
Four heads immediately disappeared below the windows.
Chantelle laughed.
“Apparently.”
“Should I fire them?”
“No.”
She stepped closer.
“And yes.”
Devlin froze.
“Yes?”
“Yes, Devlin.”
He slipped the ring onto her finger.
Then Chantelle grabbed his lapels and kissed him beneath the battered umbrella.
Across the street, Liam quietly pumped his fist.
Devlin noticed.
“I'm firing him tomorrow.”
“No, you're not.”
“No.”
He smiled.
“I'm not.”
Months later, their wedding was small by Devlin Murphy's standards and enormous by Chantelle's.
Liam stood beside Devlin.
Chantelle invited former coworkers, neighbors, and even the elderly passenger they had helped in the tunnel.
After the ceremony, Liam approached her.
“I've always wondered something.”
“What?”
“If that seat hadn't been empty that night, what would have happened?”
Chantelle looked across the room.
Devlin was speaking to several businessmen, but the instant he felt her watching, his eyes found hers.
She smiled.
“I would've stood for forty minutes.”
Liam laughed.
“And Devlin?”
“Probably would've remained impossible.”
“I heard that,” Devlin said as he approached.
Chantelle slipped her hand into his.
“You were supposed to.”
Later that evening, they left the reception without the motorcade.
At Chantelle's insistence, they walked two blocks to the station.
Devlin stared at the entrance.
“You cannot be serious.”
“One ride.”
“We just got married.”
“Exactly.”
They boarded.
The carriage was nearly empty.
Devlin found two seats.
He sat beside the window.
Chantelle remained standing.
He looked up.
“What?”
She smiled.
“Is this seat taken?”
Devlin looked at the empty place beside him.
Six months earlier, every passenger in a midnight carriage had been too frightened to sit there.
Now Devlin touched the seat beside him.
“Always.”
Chantelle raised an eyebrow.
“That sounds like it's occupied.”
He corrected himself.
“Always saved for you.”
She sat down.
The train pulled away from the station.
This time there was no frightened silence.
No stopped train.
No hidden enemy.
Just the low rhythm of wheels beneath the city and Devlin's hand closing gently around hers.
Chantelle leaned against his shoulder.
“You know,” she murmured, “your personality has improved.”
“High praise.”
“Don't get excited.”
Devlin looked down at her.
“And your feet?”
She smiled.
“They don't hurt anymore.”
May you like
Outside, the dark tunnel gave way to lights.
And the seat nobody in the city had dared to take became the place Chantelle Murphy would never have to ask for again.
