Chapter 9
PORTIA
D ominion Hall gleamed like it knew it was about to host a dynasty’s worth of weddings.
I pulled up the long drive just after seven, the soft golden haze of morning light spilling across the manicured lawns and curling around the grand front columns. The pavement hummed beneath my tires in a rhythm that felt almost ceremonial—another step deeper into the lion’s den.
Monte opened my door before I could reach for the handle. Always one step ahead.
“You sure about this dress?” he asked as I stepped out.
I flashed him a look. “Why? You think it’s too much?”
He didn’t answer. Just blinked, once, slowly. Then muttered something under his breath about sins and distraction.
The dress was deliberate.
A delicate silk slip in ivory champagne, bias-cut and whisper-light, it skimmed my body like it had been poured onto me.
The neckline dipped low enough to hint, but not reveal.
Spaghetti straps crossed at the back, baring the soft line of my shoulders.
The hem fluttered just past my knees, revealing glimpses of thigh with every breeze that slipped beneath the fabric.
On my feet, a pair of nude heels with barely-there straps wrapped around my ankles, adding just enough height to sharpen my posture.
No panties.
That was the part I hadn’t told Monte. That was for me.
Or rather—for him.
Silas.
I didn’t plan to corner him. I didn’t even know if he’d show today. But when I’d stood in front of the mirror this morning, cool-toned sunlight slanting across my skin, I’d thought of his hands. His mouth. The way he touched me like he’d been born to ruin me.
So I left the panties in the drawer. Just in case.
Monte scanned the exterior with sharp eyes as we approached the front entrance. “Security looks tight from a distance. But those side cameras are too high. You get someone with a ball cap and a cause, they’re slipping right under the line of sight.”
I nodded. “I’ll talk to Ryker about access to their private feed.”
We stepped into the grand foyer—arched ceilings, oil paintings, and enough dark wood to make Versailles feel rustic.
A few early staffers moved around quietly, polishing railings and arranging florals like it was just another day, not the lead-up to six high-profile weddings hosted by a family straight out of a black-ops fairytale.
Monte’s eyes swept the space. “It’s quiet. Too quiet.”
“Good,” I said. “Let’s keep it that way.”
We moved into the main ballroom first. The layout had changed overnight—more floral samples, a mockup of seating clusters, and an installation half-built in one corner where Ryker’s fiancée, Isabel, wanted a floating garden to descend from the ceiling.
I scribbled mental notes, checking off focal points and congestion zones.
Monte adjusted his stance beside me, his tone shifting into logistics mode. “High-profile guests will want a discreet entrance. If we use the west drive, I can set up a screened check-in point behind the hedge wall. No photos, no gawkers.”
I nodded. “Perfect. You’ll coordinate with Bea on that.”
He raised a brow. “Bea?”
“Of course, I’ll need my assistant. She’s flying in this afternoon. I’m putting her in Charleston full-time until the last wedding’s done.”
“Okay, I get it. She is the one who calms down crying aunts and makes angry bridesmaids confess their sins.”
I smiled. “That’s our girl. She’s like Xanax in kitten heels. Looks soft, but she’s a shark with a seating chart.”
“Good.” Monte scanned the ceiling. “You’re gonna need her.”
I crossed my arms, thoughtful. “I don’t expect much drama from the fiancées. They seem grounded. Focused.”
Monte snorted. “Yeah. But this isn’t about them. It’s the guests. The ones who don’t like that these guys are marrying outside the country club circuit. The ones who think military service is fine for a résumé but not for bloodlines.”
He wasn’t wrong.
And that’s why he was here.
The calm behind the chaos. I trusted him with everything—my business, my life, my reputation.
Right now, I trusted him to keep a lid on anything that might boil over.
I glanced around the still-empty room, mind spinning through timelines and to-do lists. The last thing I needed was distractions.
Which, of course, meant I’d already noticed the one person who wasn’t here.
Silas.
Not a single glimpse of tall, dangerous, brooding in black.
My skin tingled anyway.
I tried to focus. I really did. But all I could think about was the way his mouth had tasted. The way he’d grabbed my wrist and kissed me like I was oxygen and he’d been drowning. And now?
Now he was gone. Silent.
Which made me wonder if yesterday had even been real …
Or if The Ghost had already disappeared.
I straightened my posture and looked at Monte. “Let’s do another sweep. Garden next. I want line-of-sight maps and a plan for evening coverage. With this many billionaires in one place, we don’t leave a single window unsecured.”
He nodded. “On it.”
I followed him out toward the terrace, the hem of my dress whispering around my thighs with every step.
Silas or not, I had a job to do. I’d be damned if anyone was going to shake me off my game.
We moved along the garden path, early dew still clinging to the edges of the rose bushes. The air smelled like money and magnolia—polished, clean, and vaguely dangerous. Somewhere inside, I could hear the low hum of voices and the distant clatter of silver trays. Dominion Hall was waking up.
Monte walked beside me with his hands clasped behind his back, taking it all in with a trained eye. “You think these brothers are gonna play nice when things get real?”
“Define ‘real,’” I said, eyeing a hedge that would be perfect for discreetly stationed security.
He grunted. “When brides start crying, timelines collapse, and somebody’s second cousin starts live-streaming.”
I smirked. “We’ve survived worse.”
He nodded, then added casually, “They’re decent guys though. The ones I met this morning—Atlas, Marcus, Noah—they’ve got presence. Real backbone.”
“I figured they’d get along with you,” I said.
He glanced sideways at me. “Except for the one who wasn’t there.”
“Silas,” I muttered.
He didn’t push. Just gave a single, knowing nod.
After a beat, Monte said, “You worried about bringing Bea into this?”
That made me blink. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged, but there was something too casual in the gesture. “She’s single. Young. Still soft in the middle, even if she doesn’t act like it. This crowd chews up people like her.”
I laughed, the sound light but edged. “I’m single, too.”
“Exactly,” he said. “And you think I’m here just for the wedding security?”
I turned to look at him fully, but he kept his gaze forward, professional. A faint smile pulled the edge of his mouth, nothing more.
Monte never said too much. Never crossed lines. But every so often—usually when I least expected it—he dropped something that cracked the armor I wore so carefully. And that crack now hummed in the air between us like a silent alarm.
I didn’t respond. Not directly.
Because what could I say?
That I saw the way he looked at me sometimes? That I felt the steady presence he wrapped around me? That there were moments, in quiet lulls between events and disasters, when I wondered what it would be like if I turned to him and asked for more than loyalty?
But then there was Silas. Still burning behind my eyes. Still etched into the ache between my thighs, into the defiance in my jaw.
I didn’t have room for one man complicating my life, let alone two.
We rounded the corner to the back lawn, where the dock jutted out. Monte stopped, scanned the horizon, then pulled out his phone to snap a few photos.
“Line-of-sight here is clean,” he said. “But I want portable barricades brought in. Crowd control just in case we get any press who don’t understand the word private.”
“Bea can coordinate the delivery,” I said.
He nodded. “I’ll set up the rotation schedule once I get full team approval from the Danes. You think they’ll give me access?”
“Once they see you’re not just a suit with a clipboard? Yeah. They’ll respect you.”
He shot me a grin. “You’re damn right they will.”
And with that, the moment passed. Shifted.
He dropped the subject of Bea. Dropped the weight of whatever had just almost been said.
We rounded a corner that led to the covered breezeway outside the east wing—columns laced with ivy, wrought-iron lanterns still glowing faintly from the night before. I slowed, waving Monte on ahead with a murmured, “I’ll catch up.”
He nodded and disappeared toward the vendor entrance, phone already in hand.
I needed a minute.
That’s when I heard voices. Female, low, and unmistakably raw.
I froze before turning the corner, tucked just out of sight by one of the thick limestone pillars.
“I just—” Hallie Mae’s voice cracked. “I wish he were here. That’s all.”
Anna’s voice followed, softer, steadier. “I know you do.”
“I love Noah. I love him so much. But I keep thinking about how my dad would’ve walked me down the aisle. What he’d say. If he’d approve. And I feel like … like I’m betraying him by doing this without him.”
She took a shaky breath. “And I think the hormones are making it worse. Not that I’ve told anyone—not even my mom—but I’m pregnant.”
Anna let out a soft gasp. “Wait—Hallie Mae …”
“I’ve known for a little while,” she said quickly. “I wanted to focus on the wedding, not … everything else. But it’s like—I don’t know—I’m carrying this little piece of the future, and it makes missing my dad hurt even more.”
I swallowed hard, frozen just beyond the hedge, my breath caught in my chest.
I’d seen the note in Hallie Mae’s intake brief— Father, deceased. Close relationship. It had been a bullet point. One line in a long list of logistics. But hearing her voice crack around the words made it real in a way no bullet point ever could.
Grief wasn’t tidy. It didn’t follow timelines. And it sure as hell didn’t care how many zeroes were on the wedding budget—or how tightly a secret clung to a heart already bursting.
This wasn’t about florals or seating charts. It wasn’t about branding or building my portfolio. Not right now.
It was about a woman trying to step into her future while still aching for the past. A bride carrying both joy and sorrow down the same damn aisle.
I felt stupid for letting myself spiral over Silas.
Foolish for reading too far into Monte’s lingering glances or my own bare skin beneath silk.
This wasn’t a game. These weddings mattered.
They weren’t just events—they were moments women would carry for the rest of their lives.
And Hallie Mae was about to say yes to forever without the man who raised her.
My chest ached.
There was the rustle of a tissue, maybe a hug. Then Anna again, gently: “He’d be proud. You’re marrying someone who protects you. Who sees you.”
Hallie Mae let out a shaky breath. “I don’t want to cry in front of Noah. He’s got enough to worry about.”
“Then cry with me,” Anna said softly. “I’m here.”
There was a pause, tender and quiet. Then Hallie Mae managed a weak smile. “You’re a good friend.”
Anna’s laugh was gentle. “I try.”
That made Hallie Mae laugh—wet and grateful.
But me? I stood frozen.
I wasn’t supposed to hear it. Would’ve backed away if I’d had the strength.
There was something sacred about the moment—two women with their hearts cracked open, talking not about table linens or calligraphy, but about grief. Love. The absence of someone so essential.
And in that instant, I remembered why I did this.
Not for the perfect pictures. Not for the fat paychecks or brag-worthy venues.
It was this.
Helping people walk forward when everything inside them screamed to go back. Giving them beauty when the world had offered pain. Making something unforgettable out of days that might otherwise feel hollow.
I wiped at my eye with the back of my hand before any tears could fall, exhaled slow, then slipped away before they noticed me.
Back to the job.
But some part of me stayed right there—in the ivy-shaded corridor, tucked beside the honesty of two women who reminded me what this work really meant. And why I gave it my whole heart.