Chapter 23
PORTIA
I was so tired I could taste it.
The kind of tired that lived in your bones. That blurred the edges of thought, made even silence feel loud. That made the softest thing—sunlight, water, wind—scrape like glass against your skin.
The Palmetto Rose glittered in the late evening light, every pane of its tall windows glowing gold, the fountain in the main courtyard bubbling like it didn’t know how to be anything but cheerful.
I passed it slowly, heels dangling from two fingers, bare feet aching against the worn slate path.
The last of the sunset was a bruised smear over the rooftops.
Charleston at dusk was always trying to be lovely.
I wanted to scream at it.
Instead, I padded around to the private pool area, half-hidden by tall hedges and thick magnolias. The water was still, lit from beneath like a gemstone. Lounge chairs lined the flagstone deck in orderly pairs. A few citronella candles flickered lazily in glass hurricane lanterns.
It was quiet. Blessedly, painfully quiet.
No brides. No call sheets. No fragile egos or vendor meltdowns or thousand-dollar cakes being revised because someone decided that almond was “emotionally triggering.”
Just me. And the water.
I set my heels beside the nearest chair and sank down with a sigh that scraped out of my chest like it had claws. My whole body felt like a pulled thread. I tilted my head back, stared at the sky. The stars hadn’t fully come out yet. I didn’t know if I wanted them to.
The day had been a blur—the cake tasting, back-to-back meetings with florists, a sudden rescheduling crisis involving Hallie Mae’s cousin who’d caught a stomach bug, a dress delivery gone wrong, and at least one groom who’d texted me in a panic because he couldn’t remember which diamond cut his fiancée had chosen for the matching necklace gift.
By the time I returned to the hotel, I’d peeled off my blazer and seriously considered eating a handful of ibuprofen for dinner.
I hadn’t. But I’d thought about it.
Now, in a silky slip dress and a fraying sense of self, I curled into the lounge chair and let my eyes drift shut. Just for a second.
Just long enough to breathe.
And then I felt it.
That eerie tingle. The sensation of being watched. Not menacing, exactly. But close. Close enough to make the hair at the back of my neck stir.
I opened my eyes slowly. The night hadn’t changed. The pool still shimmered like melted tourmaline. The candles still swayed gently in their glass prisons. But?—
Then I saw him.
Monte.
Standing near the hedge line, half in shadow. Not moving. Just … watching.
I bolted upright, heart thudding. “Jesus, Monte.”
He stepped forward, hands raised. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You were standing there like a horror movie villain,” I snapped, pressing a hand to my chest. “What the hell are you doing?”
His jaw flexed, just once. “Watching.”
“Great,” I said, sarcasm sharp. “That makes it better.”
“Portia.” His voice was calm. Low. Too calm. “I’m watching to protect you.”
Something in my chest flickered. “Protect me from what?”
Monte didn’t answer right away. He crossed to the chair opposite mine, sat down without asking. There was something worn about him tonight—like he’d aged ten years in the space of an afternoon. He wore all black. T-shirt. Jeans. He looked like grief, bottled and walking.
“You know what’s out there,” he said finally.
I swallowed, the chill of the pool water brushing my ankles like an omen.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Nothing’s happened. Not here.”
He didn’t argue. Just looked at me like that was the problem. “You’re not fine.”
I didn’t answer.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You’re drowning in this, Portia. And I’m not just talking about Silas.”
A flash of heat rose in me. “Don’t?—”
“You’re carrying all of it,” he went on. “These weddings, these people. Everyone else gets to fall in love and cry over centerpieces and change their minds a dozen times. But you? You have to be the anchor. Every second.”
Tears pricked, unbidden. God, I hated that he could still see me like this. Hated even more that he was right.
“I wanted to give them something good,” I whispered. “Something they’d remember. Something untouched by the rest of it. The world, the danger, the history.”
“I know.” Monte’s voice was so gentle it scraped. “But you forget yourself in it. You always do.”
A breeze stirred through the hedge, carrying the scent of gardenia and salt.
“I can’t fall apart,” I said, more to the night than to him. “Not now. Not until it’s done.”
“You say that like there’s an end to it.” His tone sharpened. “But what if there isn’t? What if this just keeps stretching—more stress, more Dane family danger?”
I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to think about that.
When I opened them again, Monte was still watching me. But something had softened. Not pity. Just … familiarity. Like he was the only person who’d been behind the curtain of the mask I wore every day.
“You should go inside,” he said quietly.
“I will.”
“Don’t fall asleep out here.”
But I didn’t answer.
Because my body was already losing the fight.
The breeze shifted again. The pool water lapped gently at the stone. Somewhere a wind chime tinkled, soft as a lullaby.
And then the world faded.
I don’t know how long I slept.
But I woke to the click of heels.
And a shadow moving closer.
My eyes fluttered open. My limbs were heavy, stiff from the angle. The sky had deepened to navy velvet, the stars fully out. I sat up, heart in my throat.
A silhouette paused just feet away.
Tall. Broad. Familiar.
Silas.
He stepped into the pool’s light, face unreadable, and my breath caught.
Midnight.
He’d come.
He didn’t say a word.
Just stood there, framed by the glow of the water, his eyes fixed on me like he was afraid if he blinked, I’d vanish.
My heart stuttered.
He moved toward me, slow and deliberate. No jacket tonight. Just a black shirt that clung to his frame and jeans that fit like he was born to wreck them. His hair was a little messy, his face shadowed and unreadable.
But when he reached me, something cracked.
He crouched beside the chair, one hand brushing a curl from my cheek.
“You waited,” he said.
“I didn’t mean to.”
His mouth curved. Not a smile. Something smaller. Sadder.
I reached for him before I could stop myself, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him down. The kiss came like a breath caught too long—slow, deep, aching. His hands slid around my waist, his body folding against mine like he belonged there.
It was different this time.
Still hungry, still hot. But quieter, like we both knew what waited beyond this moment. Like we were kissing against the clock.
His hand slid down my back, then lower, fingers brushing my thigh, his gaze catching on something. He paused.
Frowned.
“What the hell is that?” His voice was low, sharp.
I blinked. “What?”
He was already moving. His fingers skimmed down my body, then lower—tracing the edge of the heel I’d left half-kicked beneath the chair. His jaw clenched.
“Portia,” he said, tight. “Someone stitched a tracker into your shoe.”
“What?”
He yanked it free, a tiny black square no bigger than a dime. He held it between two fingers like it burned.
And then his face changed.
Darkened.
His whole body went still.
“Who gave you these shoes?”
“I—I don’t know. I’ve had them?—”
“When did you wear them last?”
“Today. At Lustre. I took them off when I got back here.”
He stood so fast the chair rocked back.
“Son of a bitch,” he breathed. “Monte.”
“What?” I rose to my feet, heart pounding.
Silas was pacing now, the tracker crushed in his palm. “He’s watching you. Tracking you.”
I grabbed his arm. “Wait—Silas, stop. Monte was here earlier, yes, but—he said it was to protect me.”
“Bullshit.” His voice was a growl. “He’s obsessed with you.”
I froze.
And then, like the night was choreographed by chaos itself, Monte stepped from the shadows.
“I’m here,” he said simply.
I gasped. “Monte—what the hell?”
He looked at me, then at Silas. “You found it.”
“Don’t play coy,” Silas spat. “You’ve been following her. Stitching trackers into her damn shoes?”
“I didn’t put it there,” Monte said evenly.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect her to.”
Silas stepped forward, chest heaving. “You don’t get to pull that. You don’t get to pretend this is about loyalty. You’re in love with her.”
Monte didn’t flinch. “Yes.”
The silence exploded between us.
I stared at him. “Monte?—”
He looked at me then, and for once, he didn’t try to hide anything.
“I love you, Portia. I’ve loved you for a long time. You just never saw it. Or maybe you did. Maybe you didn’t want to deal with it.”
Silas turned to me, wild and wounded. “You knew?”
“I didn’t,” I said, stunned. “Not like that.”
Monte went on. “I didn’t say anything because I knew what you needed. You needed someone steady. Someone who didn’t bring blood and shadows through your door.”
“And so you what?” Silas snapped. “Watched from the sidelines? Slipped into her life when I was gone?”
“I stayed when you vanished,” Monte said coldly. “That’s the difference.”
I stepped between them, heart racing. “Stop it. Both of you.”
Silas’s jaw ticked. “He’s not who you think he is, Portia.”
“And neither are you,” Monte bit out.
“You’re both exhausting,” I whispered.
They turned to me.
I was shaking now, the night too loud, the scent of chlorine and gardenia wrapping around me like a noose.
“You,” I said, pointing to Silas, “didn’t show up last night. You promised me the truth, then kept me in the dark.”
“And you,” I turned to Monte, “stood in the shadows watching me sleep. Maybe the tracker wasn’t yours, but you didn’t tell me about it, either.”
They were both quiet.
And then I laughed. Broken and bitter.
“God. Maybe I’m the idiot in this story.”
“No,” Monte said, quietly. “You’re the only one who’s been honest.”
Silas looked at me, pain etched in every line of him. “I came here to talk. To tell you everything. But now?—”
“Now what?”
“Now I don’t know what’s happening.”
I rubbed a hand over my face, suddenly bone-deep tired again.
“I need space,” I said.
They both stiffened.
“Not forever,” I added. “Just tonight. I need to think.”
Silas stepped back. Monte didn’t move.
But finally, slowly, they both nodded.
And I was left standing by the pool—barefoot, exhausted, and more alone than I’d been in weeks.
The worst part?
A piece of me still didn’t know who I wanted to follow when they walked away.
Silas hesitated.
He didn’t walk away—not right away. He just stood there, shoulders tight, hand fisted around the shattered remains of the tracker.
“I really need to talk to you,” he said, voice rough. “Not just about this. About everything. And if Monte didn’t plant that?—”
He glanced at the dark hedges, where Monte had already disappeared into the shadows again, silent and steady, as always.
“Then we might have a much bigger problem.”
My stomach dropped.
“What kind of problem?”
His gaze met mine, and something in it sent a chill down my spine. It wasn’t fear exactly. But it was close.
“I’ll explain everything. I just …” He took a breath. “Let’s go to your suite, okay? I’ll meet you there in five minutes. I need to check something.”
“I—Silas?—”
But he was already moving, fast and quiet, disappearing through the far gate with a speed that said he wasn’t just a man. He was a weapon. One that had just scented something in the air.
Something dangerous.
I stood there for a long time after he left, listening to the wind through the magnolias, the ripple of the pool, the echo of my pulse in my ears.
And then a sound broke through the silence behind me.
Not footsteps.
Not voices.
Just one, single noise.
A click.
From somewhere I couldn’t see.
My breath caught.
And then the pool lights flickered.
Once. Twice.
Then went dark.