Chapter Eight
Crowned
Lincoln
I’ve got just over an hour before I meet Cornelia, Hailey, and Ebony at Madison Manor to tour the wedding spaces. So I’m dressed and on the road, giving myself time to settle in before the crew arrives. With any luck, Ebony will show up early, too, so we can chat.
Of course, with all the potential for drama, I’m not surprised that five minutes into my drive, Dom calls in on Bluetooth.
I let out a quiet groan as I answer.
“Big Dom!” I put a little extra bass in my voice, bracing for his antics. Although mentally, I’m kicking myself for carelessly bringing up this meeting on the blacktop in front of him.
The man won’t let up with his “body language doesn’t lie” theory that Ebony’s secretly into me. Yeah, okay.
“Figured you be up and racing to the site…” He snorts. “’Cause, boy , when those nerves hit…” He releases an impressed whistle.
He’s not wrong.
As much as I’m thrilled to hear Cornelia’s latest to-do list, I’m hoping for a few minutes to pull Ebony to the side so I can smooth things over.
After our last conversation, something didn’t sit right with me.
But that was over two weeks ago. All that awkwardness aside, I’m just wondering if she’s okay—on a human level—because today, the “ear to the streets” guy that Dom is, he sends me a link saying Julian Livingston and Nora Whitfield are expecting, which, to say I’m astounded… The man is a straight clown.
Truly, it’s embarrassing how this wannabe Casanova can’t keep his dick in his pants—couldn’t even when he was married. And now he’s about to be someone’s father?
He’s a joke.
I lay on the gas, like if I just press harder, I’ll make time move faster.
“Yeah, I’m on the way now. I want to get there and get settled,” I say, sidestepping his comment. “Hopefully she’ll have a minute to chat.”
Dom hums his agreement. “Man, when I tell you they been hounding Ebony for her reaction. Coming at her sideways… It’s just foul.”
Fire blazes in my chest, and I scrape my hand over my beard scruff.
“ Pfft . Mm-hmm.” I nod, poking my tongue in my cheek and inhaling a long breath. “Least I can do is make sure she doesn’t feel isolated if Cornelia tries to put her on the spot,” I say, then I remember whom I’m talking to and clarify, “I don’t need to be pursuing her romantically to show empathy.”
He lets the silence linger for a beat. “All right, I’m not going to press you.” Yeah, you are. “But you and I both know you’re holding back like a professional .”
There it is.
I bark out a laugh at the sheer level of his commitment. The lengths he’ll go to in order to make his point is awe-inspiring.
“Go on. Get it out.” I shake my head, smiling.
“Playing the long, long game, acting like you’re on a high-speed chase away from your feelings,” he continues. “The poster child for denial. Mind you, fooling absolutely no one—”
“Thank you so much for that riveting read. I’m so glad I answered this eight a.m. call.” I’m still laughing as I pull into a parking space on the street, then tell Dom I’ll hit him up later.
He’s a fool, but I admit, I do feel lighter.
As planned, I’m the first to arrive, so I spend a few minutes inspecting the new shipments for the woodwork and paneling.
Yet I can’t deny my disappointment when Hailey and Cornelia arrive.
“Good morning.” I force myself to smile and greet them—really working that professional angle, as if I don’t feel some kind of way about both of them for different reasons.
As Hailey leans in to hug me, over her shoulder, I catch sight of Ebony, and I’m completely caught off guard.
Damn.
Hailey pulls back, arching her dark, severe eyebrows in confusion as she meets my stare. Did I just say that out loud?
Apparently so.
That frown immediately turns upside down as she follows my line of vision. Not that I can blame her, because… me too.
“Hey, Ebs!” Hailey exclaims, twirling around in a heavy cloud of floral perfume, then rushing Ebony with a hug.
“Oh my gosh. First of all, you look absolutely stunning. And second, can you freaking believe that I’m getting married at Madison Manor?
” She unleashes an ear-piercing squeal, but I barely register it.
I feel the pull of gravity as if the ground itself is holding me in place, anchoring me to this spot.
The thing about Ebony Livingston is that she’s always been undeniably beautiful.
She’s got this deep brown skin that shimmers with the subtle iridescence of Tahitian pearls, catching the last rays of daylight.
Hypnotizing hazel eyes with olive-green undertones.
And her lips… Jesus. Full, soft, begging to be kissed.
Even underneath, when she was the polished Christie doll on the arm of an undeserving anchorman, she carried herself in a way that commanded attention.
But this Ebony…she’s unexpected.
Her long, dark brown waves, cascading down her back?
Gone, replaced by a tapered pixie cut that frames her face in a way that, somehow, feels daring.
Bold. And it’s not just the haircut. The soft, debutante-approved pink lips are a velvet red.
She’s shed the usual chic-but-reserved clothing, too.
The sleeveless corporate dresses and cashmere athleisure set have been swapped for an elegant, bold-print scarlet-red mini dress that barely reaches her smooth ebony thighs and fits like it was made to showcase every precision-cut line and breakneck curve of her body.
Legs, collarbone—every exposed inch of her, every confident shift as she walks toward us, says she’s unapologetically stepped into a new version of herself.
I’m not sure I’ve seen her this commanding or undeniably show-stopping since…well, since she was Ebony King.
All of me notices all of her, and I could easily lose myself again.
And, apparently, for too long, I do.
“Well…” Cornelia quietly clears her throat, then grins cheerfully. “It’s lovely to see you two have picked up right where you left off. I just knew the, uh…synergy with this partnership would be off the charts.”
Ebony manages a tight smile, and it’s enough to remind me why I spent all morning preparing for this meeting.
I straighten, drawing myself up to my full height. “Oh, absolutely.” I give a light chuckle. “Ebony is not just an outstanding event planner; she’s been nothing short of extraordinary. Professional, dedicated, passionate—”
“Passionate?” Cornelia’s eyebrows dip. She purses her sensible pink lips, like she wants to really explore the sentiment.
So, maybe I laid it on too thick.
But for the life of me, I can’t figure why, of all the adjectives I just hurled at her, she latched on to that one. And I’m not about to try, either.
Instead, I simply nod and say, “Yes, in every sense of the word.”
Evidently—by the fury blazing in Ebony’s eyes—that was the wrong response.
She immediately interjects, “What I think he means is I’ve made it abundantly clear that not only will we meet your expectation of the job…
” She pauses, and they’re stuck at some sort of an impasse.
A subliminal challenge waged right before our eyes.
Then she continues, sharply, “…we’ll exceed it.
We’ll restore the beautiful heritage of this historic manor, on schedule, for a timeless wedding.
” She turns away from Cornelia with a downright sinister smile on her face as she shifts her focus to Hailey.
“Trust me, it’s going to be breathtaking. ”
Well, hell. I guess she didn ’t need me to have her back.
“I do,” I reply. “Implicitly.”
Ebony flashes me an intense stare, watching me curiously. Which, considering our texts last week, and now my overselling of her qualities to her ex-mother-in-law, I get.
A few seconds later, she enters Madison Manor with Cornelia trailing on her heels, leaving Hailey and I knee-deep in their wreckage.
“Damn,” she and I say in unison.
She offers me a warm smile, lingering for just a beat longer than necessary. “ Ugh. That was probably about Julian,” she says, and even if it’s an act, she’s got the decency to look contrite on behalf of her soon-to-be brother-in-law.
It makes me pay attention.
Half of me unsympathetically feels she should’ve anticipated the War of the Livingstons when she asked Ebony to plan this wedding—fresh off a divorce due to the “irreconcilable difference” of public infidelity.
But the other part of me? I’m looking at Hailey’s pained expression and the way her shoulders are pulled low.
Sometimes, you can’t control whom you fall for. Other times, that person isn’t the one you’re supposed to be with, and you deal with it.
A soft sigh spills out of me.
“Listen, Hailey, you’re probably right. Those two have been battling long before today. So how about for now we focus on you, hmm?” I playfully nudge her shoulder with mine, waiting until she meets my stare. “And congratulations again.”
“Thanks.” Hailey’s lips curve up slightly. “I’m so in love with that man, I don’t what to do with myself.”
Again, I study her, dissecting her tone, the inflection in her voice, now paying way too much attention to body language, thanks to Dom.
Surprisingly, though—despite my inherent biases, knowing the stock she comes from—I don’t get the “Land a Livingston” craze from her.
She didn’t thrust her hand out to wiggle her ring finger in my face like a gemstone trophy to gloat over.
This feels genuine.
Families are made up of individuals, I remind myself, considering maybe I’ve misjudged her.
“Probably a good thing.” I smile at her. “It’s going to be an exciting chapter.” And a wedding that’s going to be one for the books.
When we rejoin the others inside, Ebony wastes no time getting down to business.