16. Lauren
Lauren
T he soft strains of U2’s “Beautiful Day” play in the background, barely audible, but enough to stir a memory. Silas always loved U2. He used to wear their T-shirts back in school, his way of showing off a little edge amidst his otherwise polished appearance. Now, as he drives, he hums quietly along with the song, clearly in a good mood. The lightness in the car is infectious, and for a moment, I let myself relax, watching the landscape blur past the window. Silas is happy—really happy—and it’s a rare thing to witness.
I can’t help but smile to myself.
I packed in a rush, and truthfully, I didn’t have much in my wardrobe suited for a weekend in the Hamptons. With a little creativity, though, I managed to throw together enough outfits so I wouldn’t be mistaken for the help.
The Hamptons, after all, are a different world— his world. Silas’s family comes from old money, and I know appearances matter to them. His parents, especially. I remember seeing his mother, Mary, a few times when we were younger—always dressed impeccably, like someone who had stepped out of a magazine. The kind of woman who never had a hair out of place. Silas’s father, on the other hand, was a bit more down-to-earth. He dressed casually, smiled often, and always found a way to contribute generously to the school, like many of the wealthy parents.
“What are you thinking about?” Silas asks, turning down the volume on the music, breaking my reverie.
“Your parents,” I admit. “I was remembering them.”
“And what do you remember?”
There’s a curiosity in his voice, like he’s genuinely interested in what I have to say—a side of Silas that feels new. Unexpected.
I search my mind, letting memories of his family surface. “That your father smiled more than your mother,” I start, recalling the contrast between them. “And that your mother always dressed perfectly. All the other moms hated her for it.” I laugh softly, remembering the petty jealousy that circulated among the school’s parents.
Silas laughs too, his deep voice filling the car. His lips curve, and I can’t help but notice them, remembering the kiss he gave me a week ago. The fire he sparked in me, the way my body responded as if I were tuned to him in a way I’d never been with anyone else. That same pull I felt the day we almost?—
“My mom only dressed up to leave the house,” he says, cutting through my thoughts. “At home, she was always in sportswear.” He pauses, his voice tinged with bitterness. “And yeah, she doesn’t smile much because she’s terrified of wrinkles. It’s ironic, really, considering how much time she spends in a surgery room. ”
I can hear the irritation in his tone when he talks about her, a tension I wasn’t expecting.
“Do you think anyone will recognize me?” I ask, half-joking but still curious.
He glances at me, studying my face like he’s searching for something, though I’m not sure what. “I don’t know,” he says, sounding less certain than I expected. “I wasn’t exactly open with my parents back in school. They didn’t really know my classmates.”
“Neither was I,” I murmur, more to myself than him, but it slips out aloud. This happens often around Silas—I can’t seem to keep my thoughts in check when we’re in the same space, or, in this case, the same car.
I shift my focus to the road ahead, reflecting on the past. My parents were always involved in school events—fairs, parties,—but they never really knew what went on. They didn’t know my friends either, or lack thereof.
“Are you still in touch with anyone?” Silas asks, his eyes on the road but glancing at me with fleeting curiosity.
I laugh, surprised by the question. He knows I didn’t have any real friends in school. “No, but I did run into Mateo about two years ago.”
At the mention of Mateo, Silas’s body tenses, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.
“He was with his wife and daughter,” I continue, as casually as I can, “just sightseeing in Central Park.”
Silas’s knuckles remain white for a beat longer, but then he relaxes, his hold loosening. “Daughter? Wow,” he mutters, his voice distant. “I guess everyone’s living the adult life now, huh?”
His words trail off, and I can tell he’s checked out of the conversation, lost somewhere else. His eyes seem to drift beyond the road like he’s caught in his own thoughts. I know the feeling. It happens to me all the time—my mind will seize on a thought, lock onto it like a predator, and suddenly the rest of the world fades. Conversations dissolve into background noise, and all I can do is chase that one idea to its end. I wonder where he’s gone, what thoughts have him so far away .
“Yeah, everyone seems to have their life together.”
Except for us.
Silas glances at me, catching the thought before I can stop it. “Well, maybe we just need more time.”
I whip around, horrified. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”
His eyes glint with amusement. “Yep, you did.”
“Ugh, I hate when that happens.”
He laughs, the sound warm and rich, and before I know it, his hand is on my knee, a gentle pat that sends a rush of heat through my body. It feels too intimate, too comfortable, but I don’t pull away. “I don’t mind,” he says, his voice soft, casual. “It’s like I can read your thoughts sometimes.”
“Yeah, but that’s not fair because I can’t read yours!” I protest, sounding more like a sulky kid than I’d like to admit.
“Oh, my mind’s wide open to you, Lauren.” He leans in just slightly, his voice dropping lower. “It’s just that you don’t want to know what I’m thinking.”
I fall silent, his words cutting through the lightness of the moment. He might be right. Something changed between us after his near-heart attack. There’s a part of Silas that seems unlocked now, and I’m scared to find out what’s behind that door. I’m scared because I need to control what I feel around him, and right now, control is slipping away. If I had to draw it, I’d picture a black knot tangled inside me, each twist and turn representing something dangerous and real:
Love.
Hatred.
Lust.
Admiration.
Each strand pulling me in a different direction, all leading back to him.
Silas’s parents' house is breathtaking—a stunning beach house with white and light wood paneling framed by Maple trees. It exudes understated wealth, the kind that’s so ingrained it doesn’t need to boast. As Silas pulls my suitcase from the trunk, the door swings open, and his mother, Mary, steps out. There’s a smile on her face—or at least what should be a smile. The tightness in her cheeks suggests she's spent more time with a surgeon than with a mirror. Silas wasn’t exaggerating when he said his mother practically lives in the surgery room. Her sharp cheekbones and wide eyes give her an oddly sculpted look.
“Silas!” she calls, her voice trying to sound enthusiastic as she descends the three steps to greet us.
“Hi, Mom,” Silas replies, his tone flat, mechanical. “This is Lauren,” he says, gesturing toward me. “My friend.”
Friend? I shoot daggers at him. He was supposed to say ‘secretary’—that I was just here to work overtime. Friend sounds suspiciously informal.
Mary looks me over, her eyes sweeping from my head to my shoes, her smile stretched across unnaturally full lips. “Lauren, it's a pleasure,” she says, extending a manicured hand. It’s clear she has no memory of me from school or from Silas’s past.
“Likewise, Mrs. Walker. Thank you for having me.”
“Come on in. Your siblings aren’t here yet, but I’m sure they’ll arrive soon.” She waves us inside.
The house is even more immaculate than I imagined. White, gold, and blue accents everywhere, highlighting its luxury. Mistletoe and Christmas lights twinkle in every corner. I stand in the foyer, mouth almost dropping at the opulence. If I could let myself drool, I probably would.
Silas touches the small of my back, urging me to keep moving, and we follow his mother inside.
“What about Dad?” Silas asks, his hand still on me, guiding me along.
“Santino Moran invited him to his golf course,” she says, her voice tinged with a slight bitterness. “He promised to be back by noon.” She throws in a thin smile. “But let’s not dwell on that. Come, I’ll show you to your room. You must be tired from the trip.”
Your room? Singular?
I glance at Silas, panic creeping up my spine. He ignores my distress, so I grab his shirt and tug on it lightly. “We are not sleeping in the same room,” I whisper through clenched teeth.
Silas shrugs, the picture of nonchalance. “It’s not like we haven’t before,” he murmurs into my ear, sending a jolt through me.
I barely suppress a shiver as Mary opens the door to a gorgeous room with blindingly white walls and light oak flooring. The windows face the sea, the soothing sound of waves filtering in from the balcony. It’s beautiful. Too beautiful. This house is making me feel like a peasant in the middle of a royal palace.
Silas walks past me and whispers, “Wipe the drool.” His smirk makes my cheeks flush, pulling me back to the present moment as Mary waits in the doorway.
“You have a beautiful house, Mrs. Walker,” I say, honestly floored by the elegance of it all.
“Thank you, dear. It was a gift from Thomas for the children many years ago. Now we use it to spend the holidays together since my children are scattered all over the country.”
Emma is going to hate me when she finds out where I am.
Silas stands in the doorway, starting to close the door with his mother still there. “See you at noon?”
“Yes, yes. Lunch will be ready by one. Be ready,” she says, unfazed, as she turns and walks away, leaving us alone.
I immediately whirl on him. “How can you dismiss her like that?”
“She’s a busybody. Trust me. Besides, you don’t know her like I do. This whole room thing was a test,” he says, “It’s better to keep her at bay than let her worm her way into your life.”
I blink, realizing just how different Silas’s relationship with his mother is from my own. His mom isn’t the shoulder to cry on or the source of comforting advice. She’s almost a stranger in his life.
“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” Silas says, his tone accusatory. “My mother’s spent more time in Cancun than at home with us. She doesn’t have my respect, and by now, no one expects anything from her.”
“Fine! I wasn’t going to say anything!” I snap, throwing my hands up in surrender.
He raises an eyebrow, studying me like I’m hiding something. “We know each other too well, Lauren. I can tell when you’re silently judging someone.”
I roll my eyes, trying to brush it off. “If we sleep in the same room, they’re going to think that?—”
“Why do you care what my parents think?” he interrupts.
“Have you forgotten I work with your brothers? And that your dad saw me on camera the other day?” I point out, hoping it’ll make him reconsider this whole situation.
That finally makes him stop and think, though not in the way I hoped. “Well, the more unclear everything is, the better—more questions in their minds that aren’t related to me or my performance at the company.” He grins, thoroughly amused by my frustration, while I feel the overwhelming urge to strangle him.
I’m already regretting coming here. I should’ve stayed in my freezing apartment with the broken heater. Dealing with the cold and loneliness would have been easier than managing Silas and his unexpected attitude toward … us .
Does it really not bother him what his parents think? Or is this exactly what he wants—to blur the lines until whatever this is between us becomes a reality?