Chapter Ten
Skye
The Hawthorne mansion feels smaller every time I return, like the door is closing on a life I’m no longer sure I want to be part of. I wait in the foyer, the garment bag draped over my arm, listening to Mom’s heels click against the marble floor as she approaches from the sitting room.
“Skye, darling, you’re late.” Her voice has a familiar tone of disappointment, which I’m used to hearing. “Mrs. Brown has been waiting, and her time is valuable.”
I follow her down the hall toward the formal living room. “Sorry, traffic was—”
“Traffic is an excuse used by people who don’t plan their time appropriately.” She doesn’t look at me as we enter the room. “Mrs. Brown, thank you for your patience. This is my daughter, Skye.”
The seamstress looks up from where she’s sitting. She’s a tiny woman, probably in her sixties. “Beautiful girl,” she says. “Let’s see how this dress fits you.”
I smile back, but it feels fake. Everything here feels forced.
“The event is in two weeks,” Mom continues. “Security will be handled by Lawson Security. Their head of operations will arrive shortly to give a briefing.”
I carefully unzip the garment bag, revealing the stunning midnight-blue gown inside. Even seeing it for the second time, I have to admit it’s gorgeous.
“Perfect choice,” Mrs. Brown says, examining the dress. “The color will bring out your eyes.”
I lift the dress from the bag, and Mom’s voice stops me as I head toward the guest bathroom.
“Use the upstairs guest room.” Of course, god forbid I use a room actually convenient for me.
I climb the grand staircase with the dress draped over my arm, glad that the guest room Mom mentioned is the closest one.
Closing the door, I lay the dress on the bed and strip out of my clothes, dropping them on the plush carpet floor as a fuck you to her bitchiness.
I’m struggling with the zipper when I hear voices downstairs. Mom’s tone is one I know well—her business voice, the one she uses when she wants to impress some jackass. And a man responds, his voice deep and familiar.
I crack open the bedroom door and peer downstairs. From this angle, I can see part of the foyer.
The guy from the library stands near the front door, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit.
His blonde hair is styled to perfection, and he looks completely different from the last time I saw him, when he was sitting in that study room with his feet up on the table, calling me names and being generally obnoxious. What is he doing here?
“Mr. Lawson, thank you for coming personally,” Mom says. “I know your firm handles only the most exclusive events.”
So his last name is Lawson, and he owns a security company, apparently.
“I make it a point to handle my VIP clients personally,” he replies. “Security isn’t something I delegate when high-profile guests are involved.”
I duck back into the room, and force myself to focus on the dress, zipping it up. When I finally work up the courage to go back downstairs, I find them in the living room reviewing a floor plan.
“There she is,” Mom says as I enter the room. “Mr. Lawson, this is my daughter, Skye. Skye, this is Kain Lawson from Lawson Security.”
He looks up from the papers, and our eyes meet. “Miss Hawthorne,” he says, extending his hand.
“We’ve met,” I say, not taking his hand. “And it’s Ellington.”
Mom’s jaw tightens at my correction, but she doesn’t say anything.
Kain’s lips curve into the same smirk as previously. “My mistake.”
Mom looks between us with confusion. “You two know each other?”
“We met at the library,” I explain. “Mr. Lawson was . . . memorable.”
Mrs. Brown gestures for me to step onto the small platform she has set up in front of the mirror.
“Arms out, dear. Let me see how this fits through the bodice.”
I raise my arms, trying to focus on Mrs. Brown rather than the fact that the guy who insulted me is now watching me during a dress fitting. I catch his reflection in the mirror, and unlike in the library where he seemed bored, his attention is now completely focused on me.
“The neckline is perfect,” Mrs. Brown murmurs, making a small mark with her chalk. “You have beautiful shoulders, dear.”
“She gets that from her father,” Mom says. “Harrison always did photograph well.”
“Turn slightly to the right,” Mrs. Brown instructs, and I do, while trying to ignore the tension.
“Mr. Lawson,” Mom continues, “you’ll want to pay special attention to the garden entrance. We’re expecting several city council members, and the mayor himself might attend.”
“Already noted,” Kain replies. “I’ll have coverage on all access points. Your guests won’t even notice the security presence.”
“Excellent. I can’t have anything disrupt the evening. This fundraiser is crucial for maintaining my standing at the country club.”
Of course it is.
“Arms down now,” Mrs. Brown says gently. “Let me check the length.”
I lower my arms, and she kneels to examine the hem. In the mirror, I catch Kain watching me again. This time, when our eyes meet, he doesn’t look away.
“The dress is lovely, but we’ll need to do something about that hair,” Mom says, studying me like I’m a project that needs work. “And perhaps different jewelry. Something better than those studs.”
“I like my earrings,” I say.
“Skye, darling, this isn’t about what you like. This is about representing the family in an appropriate manner. You can’t show up to a dinner worth five thousand dollars a plate looking like a college student.”
The familiar sting of her criticism hits exactly as it always does. I’m never quite right, never quite enough.
“Maybe some pearls,” she continues, oblivious. “The ones I gave you for graduation would be perfect.”
“I don’t wear those anymore.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. They’re a family heirloom.”
“No, they’re not from my family,” I snap. “They’re from yours.”
The room goes silent, and Mom’s face blushes red.
“How dare you speak to me like that!” she snaps. “After everything I’ve given you, everything I’ve sacrificed to make sure you had such opportunities—”
“Opportunities you chose,” I interrupt her. “A life you designed. I never asked for any of this.”
“You ungrateful little—”
“Mom, please—”
“No. I have spent years trying to turn you into something respectable. Someone worthy of this family’s name, and this is how you repay me? By rejecting everything that could give you a future?” Her words hit where she intended.
Mrs. Brown averts her gaze, uncomfortable and focusing intently on her pins. Kain has gone still, watching the scene unfold with an unreadable expression.
“You want to throw away your life. Live in that awful apartment with those people, work at a coffee shop like some kind of . . .” She struggles to find a word for how I live.
“You’re determined to embarrass this family.
To throw away every advantage you’ve been given.
” By this family she means her and her husband, not my real father, who doesn’t care how I live my life.
“Maybe I don’t want your life,” I whisper. She has hit every insecurity, every doubt I have about whether I’m strong enough to build a life of my own.
“Then you’re a fool,” she spits. “And if you cannot be bothered to act like a member of this family, perhaps you shouldn’t attend these events.”
The threat is hollow; we both know I will be in attendance. It’s not worth the fallout if I’m not.
“Fine, maybe I won’t.”
I step down from the platform, uncaring if Mrs. Brown hasn’t finished.
“Skye, wait . . .” Mrs. Brown stammers, but I’m already heading for the door.
“I need some air,” I mumble, brushing past Kain without looking at him.
I take the stairs two at a time, my vision blurring as tears threaten to fall. By the time I reach my old bedroom, which thankfully hasn’t been repurposed into anything else yet, I’m barely holding it together.
I close the door behind me and lean against it, finally letting the tears fall. This room feels like a shrine to the girl I used to be. My high school trophies line the shelves, pictures taken on family vacations where I’m smiling, and the desk where I used to do homework.
A soft knock interrupts my breakdown.
“Go away, Mom,” I call out, wiping my eyes.
“Not your mother, cashmere.”
My heart stops—it’s Kain. Slowly I turn and open the door, finding him standing in the hallway.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, glancing toward the stairs to make sure Mom hasn’t followed.
“Your mother asked me to check the upper level for security vulnerabilities,” he says. “I heard crying and thought I should check on you.”
“I’m fine.”
“Bullshit.” He steps closer. “You’re shaking.”
I look down at my hands to see that he’s right. I’m trembling like a leaf. She makes me so fucking angry.
“She’s always like that. It’s nothing new.”
“Doesn’t make it okay.”
I look up at him, surprised that the cocky asshole I first met is the same man standing in front of me.
“Why do you care?” I ask.
For a moment, he doesn’t answer. “Maybe I don’t like seeing people tear others down,” he replies.
“I should go back,” I whisper. “Finish the fitting.”
“Should is a dangerous word, cashmere. It leads to a lot of misery.”
“What would you suggest instead?”
A slow smile spreads across his face, the same arrogant smirk from the library. “Do what you want. Fuck what everyone else thinks.”
“Easy for you to say. You don’t have to live with the consequences.”
“Don’t I?” He steps closer, near enough I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to disappoint people? To choose between who you are and who they want you to be?”
I can feel his body heat against my skin, and our eyes stay locked as neither of us looks away.
“Who does your mother want you to be?” he asks, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear.
“Perfect,” I whisper. “Compliant. Someone who fits into her world without asking questions or causing problems.”
“And who do you want to be?”
The question hangs in the air, and I realize I don’t have an answer.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“Then maybe it’s time to find out.” He reaches out and touches my cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear. “You’re stronger than you think, cashmere. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.”
Before I can respond, we hear Mom’s voice calling from downstairs.
“Mr. Lawson? Where did you go?”
Kain steps back. “Duty calls,” he says with a crooked smile. “Try not to let her get under your skin. People like her only have the power you give them.” He turns to go, then pauses. “And cashmere? The dress looks incredible on you. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
Then he’s gone.