Chapter 27
“Iabsolutely love your dress!” Morella squeals at me. We had picked it out together last weekend but now that it’s actually on, I love it too.
Today is the grand opening of my dads new Medical Center here in town. Part of the reason we moved here was because he was opening the center.
The dress I chose is a soft, rust color with a figure-flattering draped bodice that wraps into a feminine silhouette around my body. It has a sweetheart neckline with delicate spaghetti straps. The skirt is an A-line that falls gracefully to the floor with a sweeping train and high leg slit.
It's exquisite. I saw the color and had to have it. It matches my hair almost perfectly. Speaking of my hair, I have it down today. My tight curls fall across one shoulder onto my chest. A few shorter curls have fallen out framing my face.
I'm smoothing the stomach of the dress, looking at it in the full length mirror when I catch Morella staring at something.
“What’s up?” I ask her, turning back around to face her.
She points a long, dainty finger at the sun catcher hanging above the window seat next to the doors of my balcony.
“Oh.” I look at it for a moment and turn back to the mirror, not for any reason other than I want to avoid thinking of the past. “It’s an old birthday present from when I was younger.”
“It’s really pretty.” She says and I see her reach up to touch it in the reflection of the mirror.
“Who got it for you?” She asks. But before I can answer my phone rings.
I turn and walk to my bed and snatch my phone up.
On the screen Silas’ name shines bright.
I turn the phone to show Morella, laugh and shake my head.
I toss my phone back on the bed and go back to the mirror and step into my shoes.
They are a nude color, square heels that aren’t too tall and have one strap around the ankle. The toe is completely covered.
The sound of a phone ringing fills the room once again.
“Oh hell.” Morella laughs and shows me her phone. It’s Silas.
“He's determined, I’ll give him that.” I say, turning and showing Morella my shoes by sticking my leg out of my dress.
“Love it.” She says as she answers the video call.
“Yes Silas?” She drawls in a joking way.
“Where’s my girl?” I hear his voice filter through the phone. “I know you’re with her. You guys are always together.”
He's not wrong.
“She’s here.” Morella responds and flips the camera to me for a split second and then turns the phone back to her.
“Wait!” Silas shouts. “ I want to see that dress again.”
“You’ll just have to wait buddy. See ya!” Morella says as she hangs up the phone.
We laugh together as he tries to call back but Morella ignores it.
“Girls? Are you ready?” Dad pokes his head in my door and gasps. “Beautiful, both of you. Looks like you’re ready. Let’s head out.” He sweeps out of the room and we follow.
The SUV slows to a smooth stop beneath the arching marble awning, the soft glow of golden hour catching on the glass facade of the brand-new Hawthorne Center for Advanced Medicine. Everything about the building feels like a monument. Towering, and gleaming.
Mom steps out first, heels sharp against the stone, her clutch tucked neatly beneath her arm.
Her silk dress catches the evening light, a muted champagne color that looks custom-made even if it’s not.
I follow after her, gathering the rust-colored satin of my skirt as I step onto the stone path.
The breeze lifts a few curls from my shoulder, and I tuck one behind my ear, letting the rest fall across my chest.
Morella steps out after me in a sleek black satin dress that catches the light like moonlight on water.
It hugs her figure with an open back and a thigh-high slit, elegant but still unmistakably her.
She slides on her sunglasses even though the sun’s already fading behind the building.
Her heels click confidently as she joins me.
Dad’s already out of the car, straightening his suit jacket and smiling toward the cameras flashing from the edge of the red-carpet walkway.
“You girls look stunning,” he says quickly, his eyes scanning the crowd ahead. “Let’s head to the front doors. We’ll be greeting guests as they arrive.”
Mom nods as if this was always the plan, looping her arm through his. Morella and I follow just behind them, our heels echoing as we cross under the archway.
We only get a few steps in before a coordinator with a clipboard appears and gently steers us back toward the main entrance.
“This way, Dr. Lovelace. We’re letting guests in through the east entrance. You’ll be standing just inside the doors for your official welcome.”
Dad thanks her and turns to us. “Smile. Make eye contact. Shake hands if they offer. Let’s show them this is more than just a project, it’s a family legacy.”
We move into place, right in front of the towering glass doors as the first guests begin to arrive. The light streaming through paints gold across the floor, catching on my dress, warming the copper tones of my hair.
The first couple walks in, perfectly dressed and already smiling.
Dad greets them with a firm handshake and a practiced, “Welcome—thank you for being here.” Mom follows with her own gracious nod, then it’s my turn.
“You must be Liv,” the woman says, reaching for my hand. “That dress is stunning on you. It’s the perfect color.”
“Thank you,” I say, letting the smile reach my eyes. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
Morella, cool as ever, dips her head. “Thanks for supporting the center.”
She sounds like she means it, but there’s a glint in her eye that makes me think she’s having just as much fun pretending as I am.
The guests move on, and more people stream in behind them. Board members, local politicians, staff in their nicest suits, women in floor-length gowns and glittering jewelry. The line keeps coming, and we keep smiling.
“You’re handling this like a pro,” Morella whispers, brushing her shoulder against mine.
“Never done this in my life.”
“Tragic,” she mutters, but she’s smiling.
More flashbulbs. More names I won’t remember. A drink is pressed into my hand at one point, something sparkling and sweet that I only take a sip of. My feet are already starting to ache and I’m hoping I won’t need to stand here all night.
“Ah! Mrs. Gravemont! So good of you to come,” my dad says, his voice rising a full octave with excitement. “Your donation to the center was generous beyond words. Truly, thank you. Are these your sons?”
The warmth in his tone makes me glance over automatically, and my breath stutters in my chest.
Silas and Archer stand flanking a woman who is most definitely not either of their mothers. She’s elegant, mid-sixties maybe, in a tailored navy gown, her silver hair pulled back into a tight low bun, and glittering jewelry that whispers old money. She smiles at my father.
Beside her, Silas looks, good, stupidly good.
He’s in a dark gray suit, no tie, the jacket slung casually over one arm.
His shirt is unbuttoned just enough to hint at trouble, his hair brushed back in a way that’s deliberately messy.
Next to him, Archer stands straighter, quieter, in fitted black slacks and a crisp white button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.
A few buttons are undone near the collar, like he made a small, reluctant compromise to even show up.
He looks both composed and uncomfortable.
My eyes travel down his sleeves to his exposed forearms. They’re lean, all strength and sharp definition, with veins like faint rivers beneath pale skin.
Not bulky, but there’s a certain tension there, like he’s always half a second from clenching his fists.
Bracelets wrap his wrists in a quiet kind of rebellion.
Thin leather bands, a few braided cords, one with small metal charms dulled by time.
Rings glint softly on his fingers, silver and matte black, stacked with care or indifference.
I can’t tell. Somehow it fits. Like he doesn’t dress to impress anyone, just builds armor from whatever feels right.
I catch myself staring and look away. Or try to. Because now all I can think about is how much I suddenly want to know what his hands feel like when they’re not stuffed in his pockets or curled into frustration. What they feel like when they touch something gently. Or someone.
And then Silas sees me. His gaze latches onto mine and I feel it instantly. The shift, the weight. His eyes darken, heat flaring behind them as they trail slowly down my body and back up again. I watch his jaw tense as he presses his lips together, and then…
He licks them. Slowly. Like he’s tasting the idea of me.
Then comes the exhale. Just a soft, blown-out breath, like he’s trying not to groan in front of my dad. His eyelids dip half-closed, a silent, simmering look that would be easy to miss if you weren’t the one it was directed at.
I am.
But it’s what happens next that really catches me.
His smile flickers, not toward me, but toward Archer.
Subtle and tense. Then, without a word, Silas reaches into his pocket.
He bumps Archer’s leg with a closed fist. Archer shifts, just slightly, his hand dropping to receive whatever’s being passed.
Whatever it is, it’s small. Quick and hidden in plain sight.
Then Silas nods toward us, flashing a grin that almost makes me lose my balance, before walking off with a lazy confidence that makes me wonder if he even knows how many heads are turning as he goes.
Archer is staring at the item Silas passed him before looking up and glaring at the back of Silas’ head. I wonder what he gave him?
“They clean up nice, huh?” Morella murmurs in my ear, her voice lilting with amusement.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “They really do.”
A few more guests drift past, all of them exchanging pleasantries with my parents, and then the next familiar group steps through the doors and I know immediately by the tension that slinks up my spine who it is.