Chapter 16
Today’s lunch comes up the way breakfast did yesterday, and the day before that. I clutch the toilet, knuckles bloodless against cold porcelain, throat scraped raw. Three times in two days now.
It’s nerves.
The gala’s only a couple of hours away. It can’t be a bug.
But what if it’s something I ate? My mind flashes to the fashion show in Los Angeles, when one of my models went down with food poisoning, and I ended up walking my finale gown in her place.
Back then, fate cleared my path. Now I can’t shake the thought that it’s circled back to collect, and this time, I’ll be the one on the sidelines.
My stomach knots, and I heave another mouthful of bile into the bowl.
This can’t be happening. Hugo is counting on me, not to mention the donors who expect a preview of the gown I designed.
My month in the House of Aquarius can’t end like this.
Wait.
Has it really been that long since…?
I lean my forehead against the cool rim and count the weeks, eyes drifting to the closed cupboard under the vanity—the one I haven’t opened since I arrived in Hugo’s house.
I’m late.
Really late.
I’m not sure by how many days. A week, maybe two? It doesn’t matter, because there’s only one man and one night, and that makes the date about as unambiguous as one can get. I settle a hand over my middle, and a sound breaks free, half laugh, half sob.
A baby.
His baby.
Tears spill down my cheeks.
I can’t wait to tell him.
Except he’s an ocean away, hiding out of necessity, and I don’t know when he’ll make it home to me. I’d give anything to take his hand and place it low on my belly, to watch his expression fill with awe, the fierce lion brought to his knees by this miracle that isn’t supposed to exist.
But it does, because we broke the single most forbidden rule of the Brotherhood. A rule that stood for centuries, tangled up in a so-called curse by a vengeful queen.
If this is a curse, I’ll take it.
And I’ll protect this precious secret with my life.
Pushing to my feet, I wipe my mouth with a cloth, then brush my teeth. The girl in the mirror stares back, pale but clear-eyed, those lips wanting to turn up at the edges.
A baby and a ball, all in the same day.
Now I just have to get through it without throwing up again.
I do my makeup heavier than usual, choosing cool tones of frost and slate with a touch of silver to bring out the sapphire of my gown. A French twist leaves my shoulders bare. Only then do I unzip the garment bag to find Midnight Rain waiting for me, done at last.
I step into it feet-first, and the silk pours over my skin. Greta finished the fitting yesterday, but I still hold my breath as I reach for the zipper, almost expecting the magic to fall apart up close.
It doesn’t.
The silver beadwork catches the light, dissolving into the blue exactly the way I envisioned. To date, it’s the best thing I’ve ever designed.
And after tonight, it won’t be mine.
This gown, worn by a queen, will be donated to the foundation’s spring charity auction, where some stranger will bid a fortune for the privilege of hanging it in a closet.
I fasten a delicate chain at my collarbone, the tiny stones hanging like raindrops, then smooth a palm down the silk. For a breath, my hand rests over the secret beneath it.
Mine.
For now.
A knock pulls me from the moment. I open the door to Hugo, and for a second, all I can do is stare.
He always favors a tailored image, his morning flannel the exception, but tonight, he warrants a double-take.
The tux fits him to perfection, his hair gelled back severe enough to make his green eyes especially vivid.
And yet, he can’t manage a bow tie, which I find oddly endearing.
“You’re staring, my queen.”
“Your tie is crooked.” I reach up and slide the silk loose to start from scratch, folding and tying the way I was taught years ago by Uncle Rowan.
Hugo goes tense beneath my hands, but he doesn’t inch away.
“There. Now you’re presentable.”
“Presentable.” He bites back a rare grin. “High praise, my queen.”
“Don’t get used to it.” I flatten his lapels. “You clean up well, Mr. Alexander.”
Color creeps above his collar. “And you look…” His gaze travels the gown. “Like the main attraction. No one’s going to look at the art.”
I tilt my head. “I think there was a compliment in there somewhere.”
“You think right.” He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice comes quieter. “Happy birthday, Novalee.”
It catches me off guard. With everything crowding my head, I’d nearly forgotten. “Happy birthday to you, too.” I smooth his lapel one last time. “Of all the people to share a birthday with, I’m glad it’s you.”
“Here’s to surviving another year.” An unguarded smile touches his lips as he gestures for me to precede him down the hall. “Shall we?”
With a nod, I grab my clutch and move past him, holding my secret close—the best birthday gift I’ll ever get.
The elevator takes us to the ground floor of the tower, where music filters into the corridor.
He holds the door open, and the massive space swells with attendees.
Chandeliers hang above a sea of silk and black tie, while a string quartet threads something elegant beneath the din of murmurs and clinking crystal.
Along the far wall, the auction lots wait for an early preview, canvases and dress forms under soft spotlights.
Hugo leads me to a round table near the edge of the room, half-hidden behind a bank of white florals with a clear line to the nearest exit. It’s exactly where I would have put myself, and I have a feeling he chose it with me in mind.
Landon is already seated, one arm slung over the back of Elise’s chair. Beside them, far too casual in a tux, bow tie undone, sits Ford.
“Hot damn, baby girl.” His boyish grin spreads as he rises to pull out my chair, beating Hugo to it. “That gown should be illegal.”
“It’s just a dress, Ford.”
“Nothing’s ever just a dress with you.”
As I drop into the chair, I roll my eyes at him. Instead of getting irritated, he winks at me before sinking back down. Hugo takes the seat to my left as Elise reaches across the table and squeezes my hand.
“You look amazing. That dress is…wow. I’m so proud of you.” She’s radiant, color high in her cheeks, though the shadows under her eyes give away her sleepless nights with a newborn.
“Thank you,” I say, returning her hand-squeeze. “I’m proud of you, too. And I’m sorry I haven’t been by to visit. I’ve spent every waking hour finishing the gown.”
“It paid off, Novalee. I wouldn’t have missed tonight for anything.”
“Don’t let her fool you.” Landon aims a wry smile at his wife. “I practically had to pry her out of the nursery. She made me swear we’d be home before Theo’s next feeding.”
“He’s three weeks old.” She swats his arm. “I’m allowed to miss him.”
I laugh, glad they finally settled on a name for the baby.
My palm itches to rest over my middle again. After Sebastian, Elise is the one I’d want to tell. She’d cry and grab my hands in excitement. Shout and jump up and down as we make plans to go baby shopping.
The first course arrives before Ford can launch into whatever’s making his eyes gleam. A server sets a small plate in front of each of us, seared scallops topped with an edible flower.
“The committee overruled me on the flowers,” Hugo says, almost apologetic. “Among other things.”
“They’re perfect.” And I mean it. So far, everything about tonight has been flawless.
A waiter leans in to fill our glasses, champagne fizzing pale gold against the crystal. When he reaches mine, I shake my head. “Just water for me, thank you.”
Ford arches a brow. “You? Turning down champagne?”
“I’ve had bad luck with it.” I keep it light, but Los Angeles sits underneath the words, and Ford, who knows exactly what I mean, lets it go with a small nod. He directs the waiter toward my water glass instead.
The scallops give way to a main course of filet, potatoes, and greens. It smells divine, but my stomach disagrees. I cut everything into smaller pieces and chase down a few bites.
“Still having appetite issues?” Elise asks, a crinkle to her brow.
“Just nerves.” I spear a potato and make a show of it.
She holds my gaze a beat longer than I’d like, until Landon steals a bite of steak off her plate.
The conversation flows after that. Ford holds court with a story about a yacht, a customs official, and a crate of something he swears was perfectly legal.
He even manages to drag a reluctant smile out of Hugo.
Landon counters with a less sensational story about Theo’s weight gain, but Elise lights up so bright, he might as well be comparing their son to Einstein.
“He’s doomed,” Ford declares, raising his glass. “With Elise’s face, the boy will break hearts before he can walk.”
“He has Landon’s nose,” she says, tone so stubborn, no one would dare question her.
“My condolences to the kid.”
Landon throws a roll at Ford’s head.
I laugh with them, sparkling water sweating in my hand, grateful to share the evening with the group around this table. The baby has Elise’s chin, but if she wants my brother’s nose on him, then Landon’s nose it is.
The live music shifts into something upbeat, inviting couples to trickle toward the dance floor.
“Duty calls.” Setting his napkin down, Hugo rises. “I have rounds to make.” His gaze sweeps the table, falling on Ford last. “Behave.”
“Always,” he answers, fooling absolutely no one.
With Hugo off working the room and Ford lost to a conversation about a vintage car, I excuse myself and wander to the outskirts of the floor, near the French doors that would stand open to the gardens if the weather allowed.
Even with the space closed up for winter, the air comes easier here, the nausea that dogged me through dinner finally settling.
Couples turn in slow orbits beneath the chandeliers, light splintering off jewels until the whole room glitters. The beauty of it tips into the surreal, especially once the patrons approach me.
Hugo wasn’t exaggerating.
A woman adorned in emeralds asks where I trained.
A silver fox of a man with a buyer’s eye circles the gown twice before asking if I take private commissions.
One of the other featured designers stops to gush over Midnight Rain, then pulls me toward her own display of architectural eveningwear, softened in chiffon.
A style far different from mine, but stunning nonetheless.
Then a familiar voice joins the mix. “Now this is what I flew across an ocean to see.”
I turn to find Alejandro Von Jean staring at me as if I’m a piece of art.
“Mr. Von Jean.”
“Alejandro, please.” He takes a slow turn around me, one hand lifting toward the beaded raindrops. “Exquisite beadwork. The way you’ve scattered them across the silk, the whole gown caught in a downpour…brilliant.”
“Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you.”
“I mean every word, Novalee. One does not simply wear a storm, and yet here you stand.” He presses a hand to his chest, as though the sight pains him. “I have not stopped thinking about your raw talent. I want you in Milan. My atelier, a week, no obligations. We talk.”
It’s the kind of offer that could launch me into the stratosphere of the fashion world, but it’s one I can’t accept right now—not with all the obligations on my plate.
Two auctions.
A high-profile wedding.
Faked blood the night of.
The birth of two babies.
Lilith’s.
Mine.
“A tempting opportunity, Alejandro. I would love to, if my schedule wasn’t already full. If you’re still interested next year, I’d be honored to take you up on it.”
“Oh, I’m interested. Have your people contact my people.” He dips his head, wishing me a blessed evening, and then he’s off and fawning over someone else.
I pivot, hoping to catch sight of Hugo so I can unload some of this excitement before I make a fool of myself, but I end up doing just that by plowing straight into a chest.
“Novalee.”
One blink, and Dr. Price is just there, the way he was in the corridor.
“We must stop meeting like this,” he says as he takes a step back, protecting the drink in his hand. “People might start talking.”
“I’m sorry. It’s quite the crowd tonight.”
“Spectacular turnout.” His gaze runs the length of my body, head to toe. “You look well.”
“Thank you.” I don’t expect him to pick at my composure, the way he did last time—he’s too calculating to hint at his hand, let alone play it in a crowded room—but my muscles tense anyway.
“It’s nice to see some color back in your face. I take it you’re sleeping better?”
“Like a baby.” I keep my smile fixed. “Needed my beauty sleep for tonight.”
A faint pull at his mouth, there and gone, before I can decide if it existed at all. “Enjoy yourself, Novalee. You’ve earned it.”
He blends back into the crowd, and my heart palpitates over a conversation that, on the surface, was nothing.
It’s not nothing.
Dr. Price doesn’t do surface level. I’m not sure how I know that, but I do.
And in a few days, when I cross into his house, I’ll find out if I’m right.