Epilogue 7

Epilogue 7

Soft sounds filtered through the phone: pages turning, a pen clicking.

― Three months, Lafayette. CR-1, expedited. We’ll aim for three months first. If the stars align, we might shave off a week or two. Humanitarian grounds or business grounds?

Nathan’s tone shifted into professional mode.

“…Charitable work. After my mother passed away, the chair position at the Lafayette Foundation has remained vacant. I intend for my wife to take that role. You can package that however you see fit.”

― Good. That’s more than enough justification. Oh, right. You served in Korea, didn’t you? Got anyone you know at the embassy? A word or two there could help secure an early interview date.

André named the person he had in mind.

“Michael Minton, Minister-Counselor of Political Affairs. We worked together during the Civil-Military Relations Subcommittee. Our families know each other as well.”

― Perfect. Then this case goes straight to the White Gloves Unit. Quiet, fast-track VIP processing. Obviously, every step still has to be done legally. We’re just… skipping a few lines.

“Cost.”

― You already know the retainer. The White Gloves fee won’t be small, so brace yourself.

“Deal. All required documents will be at your office within forty-eight hours. And remember, the deadline is exactly three months. Not a single day late.”

His tone left no room for negotiation.

― Deal!

Nathan shot back.

As soon as he ended the call, the car carrying André pulled up to the Lafayette Residence. He opened the door himself, stepped out, and gave a small nod to Charlie the doorman before entering the elegant, old-world lobby.

Money, influence, and power.

In the world he belonged to, he never needed to raise his voice. A quiet word or two was all it took for unseen hands to draw lines and open doors.

The only thing missing in his life was this: Miran still wasn’t by his side. Once he brought her fully into his world, his life would be flawless.

Work, love—everything was unfolding exactly under his control.

Satisfied by the thought that in just three months he would no longer have to fear losing her, André stepped into the elevator with the faintest curl at the corner of his lips.

“Full speed.”

He gave the order to the elevator man, Ramón.

“Yes, sir!”

Ramón snapped off a sloppy salute beneath the brim of his cap and enthusiastically pulled the old-fashioned lever.

—

The next morning.

After finishing breakfast at the hotel buffet, Miran hurried back to her room. The manager had announced that everyone would have free time in the afternoon and suggested they see The Phantom of the Opera together in the evening.

Fortunately, Miran escaped by claiming she had already seen it during her language-study days. Her roommate rushed out for shopping as soon as they returned to the room.

Since the musical wouldn’t end until 10:30 p.m., she had the whole day to herself.

After touching up her morning makeup, Miran took the large box from the shopping bag André had given her and set it on the bed. She had wanted to open it last night, but with her roommate around, she couldn’t.

The luxurious box was too beautiful to toss aside, and stamped on it was the logo for Kleinfeld Bridal.

Miran lifted the lid and pulled out the dress wrapped in white nonwoven fabric.

“Vera Wang? Chinese brand, maybe. Strange name for a maker.”

She muttered the brand printed on the cover and pulled the dress out on its hanger.

The ivory silk-satin dress, sleeveless with a square neckline, was simple and unadorned—clean, elegant. The bodice hugged her smoothly and highlighted her narrow waist, while the A-line skirt flared gently and swayed modestly just below the knee.

Following what she had learned during training, Miran swept her hair up neatly and held the bouquet as she stood before the full-length mirror attached to the wardrobe. At first glance, the dress had seemed plain, even a little dull, but once she put it on, it looked different.

The streamlined silhouette emphasized her straight shoulders, graceful neckline, and long limbs. The subtle sheen of the silk gave the dress an understated, refined luxury.

“André really does have sophisticated taste…”

She had worried it might look awkward on her, since this was the first time she had worn anything like it, but it suited her surprisingly well.

Since André had told her all she needed to do was show up, she assumed they would just sign a document at some government office, the way it was done in Korea. But holding a bouquet in a bridal dress made her feel like an actual bride about to walk into her wedding.

Miran exhaled, a trembling breath.

Her diaphragm felt tight, her chest uneasy. Maybe nerves, maybe excitement.

She retrieved her engagement ring from the secret pocket inside her suitcase and slipped it onto her ring finger. It was a precious ring passed down through generations, and the diamond was sizable enough that she feared losing it or having it stolen, so she usually kept it hidden deep in her wardrobe.

As she stared at the ring scattering its dazzling light, she tilted her head.

“So… are we exchanging wedding bands today too…?”

She vaguely remembered hearing that in the US, married couples always wore wedding rings, regardless of gender. The moment she realized André was about to marry her without one, her heart dropped.

“This is bad!”

Miran checked her wristwatch. One hour until he came to pick her up. Tight, but manageable. Thankfully, there was a department store nearby.

Rushing through her final preparations, Miran hurried out of the hotel and made a quick beeline for Macy’s.

—

New York City Hall’s Marriage Bureau sat wedged between the narrow, tangled streets of Chinatown and the heavy stone government buildings of Manhattan’s Civic Center.

Enzo pulled the Rolls-Royce right up to the entrance.

Miran picked up the trench coat she had taken off earlier in the car. André stopped her by shrugging off his suit jacket.

“There’s nowhere inside to store clothes.”

He draped the jacket over her shoulders, still warm from his body heat, then stepped out and opened the door, extending his hand. As she took it and climbed out, she felt people’s eyes on her.

Stepping out of a Rolls-Royce in a white dress, escorted by the man who would soon be her husband, felt unreal.

She didn’t feel like twenty-six-year-old Kang Miran from unit 201 at Sunshine Villa. She felt like the heroine of a romance movie set in Manhattan.

A memory surfaced, and Miran let out a faint, wry smile.

André and Lorraine Collins.

The two of them walking together had looked like the perfect model of an elite couple. They suited each other so well that Miran hadn’t even been able to feel jealous. The sting of that old helplessness pricked at her heart again.

How did André and I look when we stood together? Would I ever be someone who suits him as well as Lorraine Collins did?

The thought of entering this building and walking out legally bound to him made her chest tighten with fear.

They had dated with marriage in mind, but international marriages usually took a year or more, so she had assumed she would have plenty of time to prepare herself.

Yet here she was, dress and bouquet in hand at the Marriage Bureau, and suddenly the wedding was no longer an idea. It was real, crashing down on her before she had time to brace for it.

Could she really live her whole life in a country where she could barely communicate, relying only on love?

And if André’s love faded someday… what would become of her?

The fear closed in on her from all sides, like walls shrinking around her. Her heart pounded, and cold sweat gathered on her palms.

Just then, someone called André’s name.

“Hey, Lafayette!”

André glanced back and acknowledged with a tilt of his chin.

“Hamilton.”

Miran paused and pointed toward the tall blond man standing at the entrance.

“Oh, that man! The one who was with André in Itaewon, the one who lent us the camper. Right?”

With a light hand on her back, André began walking, giving a small nod.

“Right. Jared Hamilton. He’s our wedding witness.”