Chapter 14 Willow
WILLOW
A few days later, I stand looking at my reflection in the mirror. I’m wearing the gold dress Ransom picked out, and I let his words replay in my mind as I smooth down the skirt of it, trying to feel more confident.
At least the cuts and bruises from everything that happened to me while I was Troy’s captive are slowly fading. Still visible, but not as dark and grim as they were at first.
Just a few months ago, I would have been trying to cover them up the same way I used to always try to cover up the scars.
The old urge to hide everything is still there, but I push it back, not letting it take over.
Honestly, the dress I’m wearing tonight doesn’t leave room for hiding.
It’s off the shoulder and has short sleeves, showing the bruises and my scars, and I won’t try to put coverup on them.
No long sleeves, no makeup.
The truth is, I’ve fought my way through a lot to get here.
I’ve been dodging death since before I even really knew it.
All the way back to when Olivia killed my birth mother and tried to kill me, setting fire to our house to make it seem like an accident.
Somehow, I managed to come through that in one piece.
I’ve been through a hell of a lot, and every mark on my body is proof that I’m a survivor.
That despite what happened to me, I’m not done fighting yet.
There was definitely a time when I felt like I was weak, or when I doubted my own strength to push through. But even then, I was fighting. Dealing with Misty, putting myself through college as best I could, trying to make a better life for myself with the little I had.
It makes me feel strong as I stand before the mirror, and I drag in a deep breath, nodding to my reflection.
With the dress and my face lightly made up, I look good.
My dyed brown hair spills over one shoulder in soft curls, pinned on one side, and although I still prefer my natural blonde color, the darker color seems to fit the occasion.
I look like I can walk into a fancy party and hold my own.
And that’s what I intend to do.
I step out of the bathroom and into the main room of the hotel room we’re all still sharing.
The guys are already ready, Ransom and Malice sitting on the beds while Vic checks last-minute things on his computer. When I step out of the bathroom, all three of them look up.
They’re a bit dressed up too, in dark slacks and well-tailored blazers, their shirts underneath the only pops of color in their ensembles.
I can feel all three of them looking at me, their gazes starting at my head and moving down, taking in my outfit.
It’s the first time Malice and Vic are seeing the dress, and as Ransom tears his focus from me for a second to take in their expressions, he looks smug and pleased, as if he’s even more sure that he made the right call in picking out this particular dress.
“Do you like it?” I ask them, smoothing my hands down the front of it again.
“You’re stunning,” Vic replies, not taking his gaze off me.
“Looks like you’re not the only one who can pick out a dress, Vic,” Ransom says to his brother, grinning.
Vic just rolls his eyes, and Malice doesn’t let his eyes leave me for a second. There’s a look in the dark depths of his irises that lets me know exactly what he’s thinking about, and a flicker of heat flares in my belly.
If things were different, I’d be hoping for one of them—all of them, really—to touch me.
To slide their fingers down my arm or dip them under the neckline of the dress.
But now the thought of it makes my stomach twist with nerves, that hint of nausea still there, proof that I’m not over what happened to me yet.
None of the guys have rushed me or pushed for anything, all content to let me move at my own pace, but I still hate it. I want to feel normal again.
“Fuck, Solnyshka.” Malice’s hoarse voice draws my attention back to him and his brothers, breaking me out of my thoughts. “You look…”
He trails off like he doesn’t have the words for it. There’s more than heat in his eyes, and when I glance at Vic and Ransom, I can see it’s the same for them. There’s pride there too, shining at me from three directions, and something that looks kind of like awe.
That knowledge makes my stomach clench in a different way. A much better way.
It makes me feel powerful, having these three men feel this way about me. It reminds me that I’m strong the same way the scars and cuts and bruises do. That I can get through this, because I’ve come through everything else that’s been thrown at me.
I can do this.
“We should get going,” Vic says, running a hand over his hair even though there isn’t a single dark strand out of place. “The invitation I found said the party starts at eight.”
“Yeah, but it’s more normal to be fashionably late to these things,” Ransom replies. “You know how these rich fucks love to make an entrance. Everyone’s already there, and they get to show off their outfits or their jewels they just bought from exploiting children in other countries.”
Malice snorts and Vic shakes his head, but Ransom does have a point.
“Are you ready?” Vic asks me, looking into my eyes.
I take another deep breath, shaking out my hands to dispel a little nervous energy.
“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. “I don’t know what’s going to happen tonight.”
“We’ve covered all the bases we can,” Malice says, glancing to his twin for confirmation.
Vic nods. “We’re covered. All that’s left to do is go talk to Olivia. If you’re ready, butterfly.”
I lick my lips, glancing at all three of them in turn. If I had to go do this by myself, it would be much harder to agree, but knowing they’ll have my back and will make sure nothing bad happens tonight—as much as they can, at least—helps so much.
So I nod. “I’m ready.”
Malice claps his hands once. “Then let’s go do this shit.”
He leads the way to the door, and we follow him out, getting into the car. For once, Vic lets Ransom ride shotgun, sliding into the back with me.
Once we pull out of the small parking lot and get onto the highway, my heart starts pounding, thoughts of how tonight could go wrong racing through my head. What if the judge they blackmailed went back on the deal? What if Olivia tries to grab me right there at the party? What if it’s all a trap?
Before I know it, I’m breathing harder, swallowing and trying to get a handle on myself, but it’s hard. Olivia’s already proven how dangerous she is, and that she’s willing to do whatever it takes to get what she wants.
Killing Troy was one thing, and at least as his widow, I have more power in this world now. But Olivia is going to be even trickier to deal with. What if she—
My rambling train of thought is cut off by a hand sliding into mine.
I glance down to see Vic’s fingers lacing through my own. His large hand envelops mine, and he squeezes lightly, offering comfort.
“It’s going to be fine,” he murmurs. “Breathe for me.”
I force myself to take a deep breath and then another, clinging on to his hand as tightly as I can.
Breathe, Willow. Just keep breathing.
The party is being held at a high-rise building in the heart of Detroit, and it only takes us about thirty minutes to reach it. There’s a valet out front, but Malice parks the car himself, and we all get out, heading for the door together.
There’s a doorman checking people’s names off a list, and I square my shoulders, trying to channel calm and give the impression that I’m supposed to be here.
The doorman looks us all over and raises an eyebrow.
“Name?” he asks, sounding half bored, half like he’s pretty sure he’s not going to find my name on the list.
“Willow,” I tell him. “Willow… Copeland.”
It tastes bad in my mouth to say it, but I know it’s our ticket in. The guys tense behind me, and I swear I can feel a shift in their emotions like a physical thing. They hate that name as much as I do, or maybe even more, if that’s possible. But it’s part of the plan. They know I have to do it.
The doorman nods, marking my name off. “Welcome, Mrs. Copeland,” he says. Then he glances at the guys, looking a bit skeptical.
“They’re with me,” I explain.
For a second, it seems like he’s going to protest, but then he nods, ushering us inside. I’m sure it’s not the first time someone has arrived at one of these kinds of parties with their bodyguards in tow, and it’s not like the doorman knows of any reason not to let them in.
“The elevator is down the hall to the right,” he says. “Head up to the roof.”
“Thank you,” I reply, and we walk down the hall, our shoes echoing on the marbled tile as we make our way to the elevator.
Malice jabs the button for the roof, and the three of them move in to surround me protectively. The odds of us being attacked in the elevator are almost zero, but it does make me feel better to have them so close.
The ride up takes less time than I wish it would, and as we near the top of building, I lift my chin, putting my game face on before the elevator doors slide open.
The rooftop is lavishly decorated with twinkling lights, gold accents and ornate ice sculptures. Waiters weave skillfully between guests, offering little canapés and flutes of champagne.
The guests are the usual set for this kind of thing, the same sort of people who showed up to the engagement party Olivia threw for me and Troy.
Most of them were probably at the first disaster of a wedding too, although I wasn’t paying enough attention that day to recognize any of them.
They sparkle in their finery, glittering with jewels, expensive watches, and designer clothes.
The occasion is an anniversary party for Troy’s parents—a big, fancy rooftop party for all their friends and people they want to impress or do business with.