Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
ROYCE
Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over tables draped in white linen, each centerpiece an arrangement of white roses and gold accents. The Bellport Foundation's annual gala is always impressive, but this year Mama outdid herself.
Every detail is perfect, from the live orchestra in the corner to the carefully curated guest list of donors, politicians, and business leaders who can actually make a difference.
We're raising money for the new pediatric wing at Bellport General. It's a cause close to our family's heart. I spent weeks there as a teen after a bad accident, and the care I received saved my life. Now we're trying to give back, to make sure other families have access to that same level of care.
I should be happy. Proud. This is honest, good work.
Instead, I'm standing at the edge of the ballroom, nursing a glass of champagne I've barely touched, and trying not to check my phone every thirty seconds.
Kenneth didn't respond to my invitation to come as my plus one tonight.
It's been three days since I sent it. Three days of silence.
His last day with the team was five days ago.
An emotional goodbye where the players gave him a signed jersey and Gillies cried, actually cried, while hugging him.
Kenneth handled it with grace, promising to come to every home game, to stay involved however he could.
But since then, we've barely spoken.
He's been busy wrapping up loose ends, meeting with lawyers about the official transfer of ownership, dealing with his mother who apparently had opinions about him "abandoning the family legacy.
" I've been consumed with gala preparations and a particularly complicated case that required me to personally escort three people to a safe house two states away.
I’d told Kenneth it was handled the night I came back to him, and for the most part, it was. There’s always a need to checkup on the survivors though. Plus, I still hadn’t caught up with Gideon after missing his call months ago.
After managing all of that on top of my legitimate businesses, which I’d been neglecting, and coordinating things for the team, I haven’t had the chance to pin him down. This is the longest we’ve been apart since that first kiss.
I fucking hate it.
We've texted. They’ve been brief exchanges that feel hollow compared to our usual banter. And when I finally worked up the courage to invite him to be my date tonight—my official, public date to the biggest social event of the season—he read the message and didn't respond.
I don't know what that means. Maybe he's not ready to be public. Maybe he's realized that being with me means dealing with all the complications of my life, including the secret work I do. Maybe he's decided it's too much.
Maybe I've already lost him.
"Royce Bellport, stop moping this instant."
I turn to find my mother approaching, looking phenomenal in a floor-length emerald gown that matches her eyes. She's petite but commanding, the kind of woman who can silence a room with a look.
Right now, that look is directed at me.
"I'm not moping," I protest.
"You absolutely are. You've been standing in this corner for twenty minutes, glaring at your phone like it personally offended you." She plucks the champagne glass from my hand and sets it on a passing server's tray. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Everything's perfect. You did an amazing job—"
"Royce." She takes my hand, her expression softening. "I'm your mother. I know when something's bothering you. Talk to me."
I glance around, making sure no one's close enough to overhear. "I invited someone. To be my date. And they haven't responded."
Understanding dawns on her face. "Kenneth?"
“Yes, ma’am.”
"Sweetheart, you two weren't exactly subtle at that team dinner about your attraction. Finn texted me pictures. Plus, Bellamy can't keep a secret to save his life." She squeezes my hand.
"I know he's been busy, and I know his last week with the team was emotional, but…" I trail off, not sure how to articulate the fear gnawing at me. "What if he doesn't want this? What if being with me publicly is too much?"
"Or," Mom says gently, "what if he's just busy and hasn't seen the message? What if you're catastrophizing because you're scared?"
"I'm not scared. And he did see the message. It shows he read it.”
She raises an eyebrow. It’s the same one I inherited. The one that says I know you're lying.
"Okay, maybe I'm a little scared," I admit. "Things have been complicated. With the team transition ending, with my other work, with everything. And I know I'm asking a lot of him, coming here tonight, being seen with me in front of all these people. Plus our history.”
"You're asking him to be your partner, which is exactly what he signed up for when he chose to be with you. Stop selling yourself short, Royce. You're an incredible person doing incredible things. Any man would be lucky to stand beside you."
"Even with all the complications?"
"Especially with all the complications. Those complications are what make you who you are." She cups my face, the way she's done since I was a child. "Now stop hiding in corners and go mingle. Smile. Charm people into opening their wallets. And stop checking your phone every five seconds."
"Yes, ma'am."
She kisses my cheek and glides away to greet a couple I recognize as major donors. I watch her work the room, effortlessly connecting with people, making them feel seen and valued. It's a skill I've learned from her, though I've never quite matched her natural grace.
"Your mother's right, you know."
I turn to find Dad standing beside me, holding two glasses of champagne. He offers me one and I take it gratefully.
"About which part?" I ask.
"All of it, but particularly about you catastrophizing." He takes a sip of his drink, surveying the room with the calm assessment I've always admired. "You get that from me, I'm afraid. The tendency to assume the worst."
"Great. Inherited anxiety."
He smiles broadly. “It's served me well in business. Less well in personal relationships. Your mother spent our first year together convinced I was going to leave every time we had a disagreement."
I look at him in surprise. "Really? You two have always seemed so solid."
"We are now. But it took time. And trust. And a lot of honest conversations about what we both needed.
" He turns to face me fully. "Good things take time, Royce.
Relationships aren't built in a day, or even a month.
They're built through consistent effort, through choosing each other over and over again. "
"What if he doesn't choose me?"
"Then you'll survive it. You're a Bellport. We’re resilient. But I don't think that's going to happen. I've seen the way that young man looks at you. Like you hung the moon and stars." He squeezes my shoulder. It’s a comforting touch.
"He does?" I hate how hopeful I sound.
"He does. And if he's smart like I suspect he is, he'll be here tonight. Now come with me. There's a potential donor I want you to meet. She's interested in your work with the Foundation and has deep pockets."
I let him guide me into the crowd, falling into the familiar rhythm of networking. Smile, shake hands, talk about the hospital wing, about the children it'll help, about the importance of accessible healthcare. It's automatic at this point, a well-practiced performance.
But part of my mind is still on Kenneth. Still wondering if he'll show up. Still trying not to hope too much.
An hour passes. Then another. The ballroom fills with guests, the dinner service begins, and I find myself seated at the family table with Bellamy and Finn, my parents, and a few empty chairs designated for guests still mingling or who are running late.
One of those empty chairs was meant for Kenneth.
"He'll show," Bellamy murmurs, leaning close so only I can hear.
"You don't know that."
"I do, actually. I talked to him this morning. He said he was coming."
I whip my head toward my brother. "What? Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because watching you stress about it has been mildly entertaining." He grins at my glare. "Also because I figured he might want to surprise you. Don't ruin it by being all in your head about whether he'll show up. He's coming, Royce. Trust me."
I want to. God, I want to. But the empty chair beside me feels like a physical ache.
And aren’t my brother’s words a mirror to my own recent pleas? When I asked Kenneth to trust me, he had. Now I have to do the same.
Dinner is served once everyone is seated. I push food around my plate without really tasting it. Finn tries to engage me in conversation about the team, and I do my best to focus, to be present.
But I keep glancing toward the entrance.
Dessert arrives with flare, the servers revealing the delicate chocolate creations one by one. I'm just starting to accept that Kenneth isn't coming by this point. That maybe he wasn't ready for this step.
"Sorry I'm late."
I freeze, my fork halfway to my mouth. That voice. I know that voice.
I turn, and there he is.
Kenneth stands beside our table, looking absolutely devastating in a blue suit that fits him perfectly. His hair is styled, his face clean-shaven, and he's looking at me with an expression that's equal parts nervous and hopeful.
"Kenny.” His name comes out as barely a whisper.
"Your Majesty." He gives me a small smile. “I’m glad you saved me a seat."
I'm on my feet before I consciously decide to move, closing the small distance between us. For a moment we just look at each other, and I see my own relief reflected in his eyes.
Then I pull him into a hug, tight and desperate, and he wraps his arms around me like he never wants to let go.
"You came," I breathe against his shoulder.