Fourteen
Ellory
I gather the doll and baby stroller I picked out for Amelia, admiring the delicate details one last time. She’s going to love them, no question.
“You ready?” Duane asks, hovering near the door.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I murmur, nerves curling low in my stomach. “Where’s Richard?” I’ve been to black-tie events with global CEOs and red carpets with celebrity designers. But today? I’m more nervous than I’ve ever been. Not because of the crowd. Because of Matteo.
“Right here,” he calls from behind me. “There’ll be several Clear Security agents at the party. We’ve got Golden Gate Park locked down for the afternoon.”
Matteo’s throwing a huge birthday bash for Amelia, not far from the zoo.
It’s going to be magical. I should be excited, but instead, it feels like I’ve swallowed a swarm of bees.
It’s not the crowd. I’ve probably met half the guest list. It’s Matteo.
I know I’ll want to stay close to him. Maybe too close.
But are we ready to go public with…this? Whatever this is?
Duane drops us at the park entrance, and Richard and I cross the grass.
It’s impossible to miss the party. A massive white tent rises like a castle, complete with spires.
Balloon arches in gold, lavender, and mossy green sway in the breeze.
Playful music drifts through the air, kids darting around like sugar-fueled pinballs.
And it all sits behind a security fence.
Security meets us at the gate. No surprise. The press has been relentless. Matteo says there’s practically a bounty for a clear photo of Amelia. It’s disgusting. I blame Willow. We all do.
Inside, the tent is packed. Guests are everywhere. At the back wall, a lush greenery backdrop blooms with oversized paper flowers, Amelia’s name spelled in shimmering balloon letters. A sign reads, Wild One.
And then it hits me. Where the Wild Things Are combined with her first birthday. As a lifelong book lover, my heart swells.
I drop my gift on the overflowing table and take in the scene—storybook details, tiny crowns, tree-trunk stools, forest-inspired centerpieces. It’s whimsical. Thoughtful. Perfect.
“So glad you made it,” a voice murmurs near my ear.
I turn, and there he is. Matteo. My chest tightens just looking at him.
He’s sunlight and gravity, pulling me in even when I try to stay grounded.
I want to touch him. Claim him. But I don’t know if I’m allowed to want that anymore.
I want to reach for him, kiss him, pull him in close. But we’re not alone.
“This is incredible,” I say softly.
He shrugs, trying to play it off. But I know better. “It might be a little over the top,” he says. “But this is the first time a lot of people are meeting Amelia. I missed so much at the beginning. This felt like a way to make up for some of that. For what Willow took from me.”
I want to dig into that—his grief, the guilt, the ache he never says aloud. But now isn’t the time.
“She won’t remember this,” I tell him gently. “But she’ll always feel how loved she is.”
He leans in and kisses my cheek. “I’m so lucky to have you.”
Before I can answer, Emerson Healy appears beside us, beaming. “Ellory! So good to see you.” She’s standing with another tall blonde. “This is my sister-in-law, Sara Arnault. She’s SHN’s attorney.”
I extend my hand. “So nice to meet you.”
Matteo squeezes my hand once before slipping away toward Amelia.
“When do we get to see you in the Night to Remember dress?” Emerson asks, her voice warm with excitement. “Any chance you’ll model it sometime? I saw it at the Felicity Ford show. It was breathtaking. With your coloring? It must be spectacular.”
I laugh. “I don’t know if anyone wants to see me strut a runway, but I’m sure I’ll wear it to a few events.
I love that dress. The collab is going strong.
We’re working with Knight and Day public relations, and if they get their way, I’ll be in every campaign Olivier puts out.
You won’t be able to turn a corner without seeing it. ”
Emerson’s eyes go wide. “Larkin’s amazing, isn’t she?”
“She really is. I’ve never seen anyone so naturally gifted at PR.”
“She works with some of our startups,” Sara says. “She does fantastic work, and that’s with boring tech things. I can only imagine what she has planned for Olivier’s.”
“Well, Luster’s lucky to have this collab with you,” Emerson says. “Our company’s their investor, and we can’t wait.”
Before I can respond, two sandy-haired boys race over, breathless and buzzing with energy.
“Mom! Mom!”
“What’s up?” Sara ruffles the younger one’s hair.
“They’ve got one of those bungee-jump things! Can we go? Dad said to ask you!”
She sighs theatrically and gives me a look. “I swear, I’m always the villain in this movie,” she mutters.
She scans the crowd and spots her husband across the tent, who just shrugs and lifts his drink.
“Fine,” she says. “But listen to everything the operator tells you.”
The boys take off before she finishes the sentence.
“Active boys,” I say, breathless just from watching them tear across the tent.
Sara laughs. “You have no idea. It’s either absolute love or full-blown war at our house. When they were toddlers, I had to hire two nannies just to keep up. They’d run in opposite directions, and that was the only way to keep anyone employed longer than a week.”
She smiles fondly, then adds, “I adore them, of course, but I’m a much better working mom than I ever would’ve been staying home. That job is hard.”
I nod, even if I can’t completely relate. Still, one look at her boys and I believe it.
We stand in companionable silence, taking in the crowd. It’s a beautiful mix—old money, new money, no money at all. Every culture, every age. It doesn’t feel curated or performative. It feels…real.
“Matteo hated having to tent the whole thing,” Emerson says, scanning the high white canopy above us. “But it was the only way to keep the press out.”
“He told me there’s a bounty on a photo of Amelia,” I say quietly, the words catching in my throat.
Emerson’s smile fades. “Willow is a foolish woman.”
My gaze drifts to the cake—three tiers, each one topped with a glittering rhinestone crown. I swallow. “I don’t know if she’s that foolish. She managed to get pregnant while Matteo was using protection.”
Sara lifts an eyebrow. “That’s not cunning. That’s just dumb luck.”
I shake my head. “Amelia is so lucky. She has a father who really loves her.”
“She does,” Emerson agrees softly. “And what impressed my husband and me the most—Matteo never wavered. He was overwhelmed, sure, but he never once hesitated. He did what was right from day one.”
I glance across the tent, and there he is, kneeling beside Amelia as she unwraps a present, his smile patient and steady. My chest aches with how much I feel for him. For them.
He’s not just doing the right thing. He’s doing it with his whole heart.
Sara’s youngest tugs at her hand. “Mom, Aunt Em, come see this!”
She laughs and lets him pull her away. “See you in a bit!”
I drift through the crowd, chatting with a few familiar faces.
The party hums—music, laughter, the chaotic joy of kids bouncing between activity stations.
Amelia’s just woken from her nap, fresh-faced and sweet in a white lace dress, tiny Mary Janes on her feet, a bow perched in the soft blonde fluff of her hair.
She looks like a porcelain doll. My heart melts.
It’s the kind of day you want to bottle and keep.
I’m balancing a plate of cake when a woman with glossy dark hair and a mischievous smile weaves her way through the crowd.
“You made it,” Gianna says, her tone warm and animated. “I just started with the company—graduated with a degree in marketing—and I’m beyond excited about the collaboration with Olivier. Larkin at the PR agency and I have been working on some ideas, and I think it’s going to be huge.”
Her enthusiasm is so genuine that I can’t help but smile. “That sounds amazing. Matteo mentioned the partnership is keeping everyone busy.”
“Oh, busy is an understatement,” she laughs. “But the kind of busy that makes you want to jump out of bed in the morning. I love it already.”
She leans closer, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Tell me you’ve tried the desserts yet.”
“Just the cake,” I admit. “I wasn’t sure where to start.”
“Oh no, you can’t stop at cake.” Her eyes sparkle as she gestures toward the long dessert table.
“The cannoli are my personal contribution—family recipe. If you don’t try one, I’ll be offended.
And the lemon bars? Gone in five minutes if you don’t move fast. The tiramisu looks fancy, but trust me, it’s overrated. ”
I laugh, charmed by her playful authority. “Noted. Cannoli and lemon bars first.”
“Exactly.” She nudges me lightly with her elbow. “Stick with me and you’ll survive Marino parties just fine.”
Her grin is so infectious that I feel my shoulders loosen, the noise and chaos of the tent fading into the background. For the first time tonight, I feel like I might belong.
The tent hums with laughter and music, more than three hundred people packed under the canopy of lights.
It’s overwhelming—tables lined with flowers, children darting underfoot, servers weaving through with trays of sparkling wine and appetizers.
I’m still trying to take it all in when a woman with dark hair approaches, a distinguished-looking man at her side.
“Ellory?” she asks warmly. “I’m Rebecca James, and this is my husband Henry.”
I smile and shake their hands, grateful for the kindness in their eyes.
“We’re Matteo’s aunt and uncle,” Rebecca continues, her smile deepening. “We raised the boys after their parents passed, so Amelia is our granddaughter as far as we’re concerned.”
Henry nods, his expression soft as he looks toward the stroller. “She’s beautiful. We’ve heard so much about you. And about how important you’ve become to both of them.”