Chapter 38 #2
Cheyenne enters first, full of perfume and exactly the kind of chaos I expected. She’s wearing pink, short enough that Jacob clears his throat the second he gets a proper look at her. The sound is so painfully dad-coded that I have to look away to keep from laughing.
Maria follows behind her in a deep blue dress that should make her seem elegant, if not for the fact that she is still very obviously Maria underneath it, already scanning the room with the kind of energy that says she’s prepared to make tonight everybody else’s problem if she gets bored.
“Where is that sexy bitch at?” Cheyenne asks, grinning as she steps inside.
Then she sees me.
Maria sees me at almost the same moment.
Both of them stop.
It’s brief, but it’s there. That tiny visible reset where a person realizes the room contains something they weren’t prepared for.
Cheyenne’s eyes flick down the suit, back up to my face, then down again as if she needs to verify that yes, I am actually standing in Jacob’s foyer looking like this.
Maria’s reaction is quieter but somehow more satisfying, because her brows lift just enough to show she’s equally thrown.
“Damn, Silas,” Cheyenne says, staring openly now. “If I didn’t know you, I’d probably try to fuck you.”
Jacob’s eyes widen so fast that for one glorious second I think he might actually choke.
Maria, without missing a beat, lifts one hand in a half-apology to the room. “She may have pre-gamed.”
That makes Stephanie laugh. A real, helpless laugh. Jacob looks like he is reconsidering every life choice that led to this foyer containing these people. Cheyenne only grins wider, entirely unashamed.
A scoff slips out of me, head shaking.
“My mind is occupied with someone else,” I say.
The words come easy because they are true, because at this point even breathing feels secondary to the fact that Octavia is upstairs and has been upstairs too long. Every nerve in me has been fixed in that direction for the better part of ten minutes.
Then I hear it.
A creak from above.
The sound is small, but it cuts through everything.
Every part of me turns toward the staircase before thought catches up.
The foyer goes softer around the edges for a second, Stephanie’s camera, Cheyenne’s grin, Maria’s commentary, Jacob’s measured silence, all of it fading behind the single sharp line of anticipation that runs straight through my chest.
Because she is finally moving.
If the moth in the little velvet box has already managed to drag a smile out of me, God knows what seeing her is about to do-
My thoughts fade the minute she steps into view.
For one impossible second, the whole house seems to stop with me.
Octavia appears at the top of the staircase like something conjured out of every selfish, feverish thought I’ve had about her since the moment Jacob handed me that suit.
The sight of her hits so hard it doesn’t feel like looking at a girl.
It feels like being struck. Every bit of air in my lungs leaves at once, stolen cleanly by the shape of her in black.
The dress is sin made elegant.
Dark, fitted, impossibly soft-looking where it clings to her body before loosening just enough to trail behind her with every step.
The neckline dips low enough to show the swell of her cleavage, enough to make my mouth go dry instantly.
One slit parts high at her thigh, showing flashes of skin each time she moves, each glimpse somehow worse than if the whole thing had been bare.
The dress doesn’t scream for attention. It doesn’t need to. It drags it in and keeps it.
Her hair is curled, half up and half down, the pinned-back pieces exposing enough of her neck to make me think sinful things before she’s even reached the second stair.
The rest spills over her shoulders in dark waves that make the whole look feel softer and more lethal at the same time.
Her makeup is heavier than usual, smoky black framing her eyes until they look even larger, even darker, her lipstick red.
Red.
My first coherent thought is that it’s going to end the night all over my mouth, my throat, my collar if I get any kind of luck at all.
The thought is filthy.
She sees me then.
That is the part that nearly does me in.
Her eyes widen the second they land on me.
Whatever she had been expecting to find at the bottom of these stairs, it clearly wasn’t this.
The color already in her cheeks deepens, pink rising under her makeup until it warms her whole face.
It should make her look younger. Instead it makes her look devastating, like the woman in that dress still has enough girl in her to be caught off guard by the sight of me in a suit.
God.
Every part of me is fixed on her now. The room, the girls, Stephanie’s camera, Jacob’s watchful silence, all of it fades to static at the edges while she stands there looking at me like I’ve stolen something from her just by breathing.
And maybe I have.
Because she’s staring the same way I am.
Not politely. Not casually. Openly. The kind of stare people don’t usually survive in front of parents, friends, and formal dresses.
Her gaze moves over the suit, the watch, my shoulders, my face, then comes back to my mouth and stays there just long enough to make the blood in my body change direction.
The pink in her cheeks turns deeper.
If I had any sense at all, I would look away first.
I don’t.
The silence only lasts for a second.
Cheyenne gasps first, loud and delighted, both hands flying to her chest like Octavia has personally offended her by keeping this hidden until now.
Maria’s eyes go wide beside her, then wider, taking in the dress, the hair, the makeup, every careful little detail that turned the girl who ruins me in private into something so stunning in public that my body forgets, for one dangerous second, that we are standing in her parents’ foyer.
“Oh my God,” Cheyenne breathes. “You look…”
“Gorgeous,” I say.
The word leaves me before she can finish, with no room left in it for anything but truth.
The whole room stills around it.
Stephanie’s gaze flicks to me immediately, and for the first time since I’ve known her, there is an actual question in her face.
Not accusation. Not even suspicion fully formed.
Just the brief narrowing of her eyes, the small pause of a woman hearing too much certainty in a boy’s voice when he looks at her daughter.
It is there briefly, gone almost in the same breath, smoothed over before anyone else can catch it, but I see it.
God.
Octavia sees none of it, or maybe she is too busy trying to hold herself together under the weight of all of us looking at her.
She starts down the stairs, careful with the dress, one hand skimming the banister while the other gathers the trailing fabric just enough to keep it from catching.
Every step makes the slit at her thigh shift.
Every step gives me another glimpse of skin and another reason to stop pretending I know how to act normal in this house.
Cheyenne and Maria are talking now, both at once, their praise tumbling over itself in the way only girls can manage.
The hair. The lipstick. The dress. The way black somehow makes her look even softer yet more sexy at the same time.
Maria tells her she looks criminal. Cheyenne calls her evil.
Stephanie laughs and starts talking about photographs before anyone cries.
Through all of it, Octavia keeps offering little thank-yous, blushing harder each time, but her eyes keep coming back to me.
That is what destroys me.
Because she looks at all of them politely.
She looks at me like I am the reaction that matters.
By the time she reaches the last stair, I can still feel the small velvet box in my hand, forgotten and remembered in the same second. Stephanie is already trying to herd everyone into some kind of group arrangement in the foyer before moving outside for better light.
“One more thing,” I say quietly.
Her attention shifts to the box immediately. Confusion softens her features first before curiosity, then finally, something more fragile when she realizes I am holding it out for her.
She takes it carefully.
The room doesn’t disappear exactly, but it blurs at the edges while she opens it.
The moment her eyes land on the necklace, recognition hits her face so fast it nearly knocks the breath out of me.
Not because she has seen this exact piece before, but because she understands it right away.
The little gold moth. The pink diamond set at its center.
The private language of it. The piece of me inside it.
Her mouth parts.
Watching a sheen rise in her eyes almost instantly, the fact that she tries to hold it back is somehow worse than if she simply cried. Watching her fight emotion always feels like witnessing something too private to deserve.
“Can I?” I ask.
The question comes out rougher than I mean it to. She nods without speaking.
When she turns, lifting her hair, all I can think is that no man should be trusted with a neck like hers.
The fastening itself is simple. My fingers are not.
They should be steadier than this. They aren’t.
The clasp catches once before I manage it properly.
When the necklace settles against her skin, the moth looks like it was made for her in a way I was not prepared to survive.
My fingertips brush the back of her neck as I let the clasp go.
Soft skin. Warmth. One tiny shiver that travels straight through me.
I expect her to turn and smile.
Maybe to cry.
Maybe just to whisper thank you.
Instead, the second she faces me again, she steps forward and wraps both arms around my neck.
The hug catches me completely off guard.
For the smallest fraction of a second, I freeze, too aware of the room, of Stephanie, of Jacob, of the girls, of the fact that I’m still standing in his suit with his daughter pressed against me like she doesn’t care who sees.
Then my arms are around her, holding her properly, fully, because there is no world in which I don’t return this.
Her body fits against mine with devastating ease.
The dress is cool under my hands. Her hair smells like whatever girls use to become unforgettable.
Her heartbeat is fast enough that I can feel it through both of us.
My eyes close for one brief, helpless second because if I leave them open, I might do something worse than hold her.
I might kiss her right there in front of everyone and let the night sort itself out later.
A camera flash goes off.
Of course it does.
When I open my eyes again, Stephanie is lowering the camera with a smile she’s trying and failing to hide.
“I have a feeling,” she says, “you’re going to want that one.”
Across the room, Jacob is looking at me over her shoulder.
The message in his face is unmistakable. We will be having a conversation the second this house empties out again. There is no anger in it, which somehow makes it scarier. Just the calm patience of a man storing things away for later.
Then Stephanie starts shepherding everybody toward the door, calling for outside pictures before the light goes bad, fussing over dresses, heels, and the exact placement of hands.
The foyer breaks into movement around us.
Cheyenne grabs Maria by the wrist. Maria grabs her clutch.
Stephanie keeps talking while Jacob steps aside.
For one breath, no one is really looking.
Octavia pulls back from the hug just enough to see my face. Then she rises onto her toes, kisses me once on the cheek, whispering so softly I feel the words before I hear them.
“I love you.”
That one simple sentence lands with more force than the stairs, the dress, the hug, the camera flash, all of it.
Suddenly every dangerous thing about tonight feels worth it just because she said it out loud in a house full of people who almost understand.