Chapter 3 #2
"We have an in-house team, but we've partnered with external agencies for specific campaigns." He picks up his wine glass, and I notice his hands—strong, capable, with a expensive watch glinting at his wrist.
"What about you? What kind of clients do you typically handle?"
"Corporate accounts, mostly. Crisis management, media relations, brand positioning." I warm to the topic, something I actually know how to talk about.
"A lot of damage control when executives say the wrong thing on Twitter."
His mouth curves into a smile.
"I can imagine. The media landscape has become a minefield."
"You're telling me. Last month, I had a client whose CEO made an offhand comment about remote work that went viral. We spent two weeks putting out fires."
"How'd you handle it?"
"Controlled the narrative. Got him on a few sympathetic platforms to clarify his position. Issued a company-wide statement emphasizing their commitment to flexibility." I take a sip of my wine.
"Sometimes it's about letting the storm pass and redirecting attention."
"Smart." He's looking at me with something like respect.
"It's rare to find someone who understands that silence can be strategic."
"Not everything needs a response. Sometimes engaging just adds fuel."
Barbara has turned to talk to my mother, leaving Dax and me in our own bubble of conversation. I'm vaguely aware that I should probably be talking to Miles, but he's stepped away from the table again, phone pressed to his ear.
"Miles mentioned you've been together three years," Dax says.
"Almost. We met at a corporate event where I was working." I glance toward where Miles is now pacing near the bar, still on his phone.
"He was covering it for his outlet."
"And you've been in Chicago the whole time?"
"Yes. I grew up in Texas, but I moved here for college and never left. I love the city."
"It's a good city." He swirls his wine thoughtfully.
"Very different from New York."
"Have you always lived in New York?"
"Most of my adult life. I went to Harvard for undergrad and business school, then moved to New York when I started working for my father's company." There's something guarded in his expression when he mentions his father.
"After he died, I took over. That was ten years ago."
"Miles mentioned that. I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you." He pauses.
"It was a long time ago."
There's more he's not saying, layers beneath the polite response. I want to ask about it, want to understand the distance between him and Miles, but it's not my place.
"Do you enjoy the work?" I ask instead.
"Running the company?"
"I do. It's consuming, but rewarding. Building something, expanding it, seeing strategies pay off." He looks directly at me.
"I imagine you understand that. The satisfaction of a campaign well executed."
"I do." Our eyes hold, and something passes between us. Recognition, maybe. Two people who understand ambition and drive.
Miles returns to the table, sliding into his seat.
"Sorry. That was my editor. The corruption story is getting more complicated."
"Everything okay?" I ask.
"Fine. Just work." He picks up his fork, barely glancing at his untouched appetizer.
Barbara leans over.
"Miles, dear, you've barely eaten. Are you feeling alright?"
"I'm fine, Mom." He takes a bite to appease her, but I can see the tension in his jaw.
The main course arrives—pasta for most of the table, chicken for a few others. Conversation continues, but I find myself hyperaware of Dax's presence. The way he listens when people speak, the careful way he chooses his words, the intensity of his focus when it lands on me.
"Scarlett," he says during a lull in conversation, "Miles tells me you went to Northwestern."
"I did. Undergrad in communications."
"That's where you met your friends–Jane and Sarah?"
"Freshman year. We were randomly assigned as roommates and somehow became inseparable." I glance over at my friends, who are deep in conversation with Miles's groomsmen.
"They're the sisters I never had."
"It's good to have people like that. People you can count on." There's something wistful in his tone.
"Do you have close friends in New York?"
"A few. My COO Mark has been my best friend since Harvard. We've been through a lot together." He cuts into his pasta.
"Though most of my relationships are professional these days. Occupational hazard of the job."
"That sounds lonely."
The words slip out before I can stop them. I immediately regret the intimacy of the observation.
His eyes meet mine. "Sometimes it is."
The honesty catches me off guard. This man who seems so controlled, so perfectly composed, admitting to loneliness.
"I'm sorry," I say quietly.
"That was too personal."
"No." He shakes his head.
"It was honest. I appreciate honesty."
Miles's phone buzzes again. He checks it under the table, types a response, sets it down. Then picks it up thirty seconds later to check again.
Barbara notices too.
"Miles, perhaps you should put your phone away? It's your rehearsal dinner."
"Sorry." He pockets it, but his hand keeps drifting toward his jacket.
I catch Dax watching his brother, a flicker of concern crossing his features before his expression smooths back into neutrality.
The rest of dinner passes in a blur of conversation and excellent food. I'm acutely aware of every time Dax looks at me, every time our eyes meet across the table. There's something building in the air between us, something I don't have a name for and don't want to examine too closely.
This is wrong. He's Miles's brother. I take another sip of wine and try to focus on anything except the man sitting across from me.
Dessert is served—tiramisu and panna cotta—and Miles's best man stands, tapping his glass with a fork.
"Can I have everyone's attention?" Eric grins, clearly already tipsy.
"I'd like to make a toast to Miles and Scarlett."
The room quiets, all eyes turning toward him.
"I've known Miles since college," Eric begins, "and I've never seen him as happy as he is with Scarlett. She's smart, she's beautiful, and for some reason, she agreed to marry this guy." Laughter ripples through the room.
"Tomorrow, they're going to promise to love each other for the rest of their lives, and I have no doubt they will. To Miles and Scarlett!"
"To Miles and Scarlett!" everyone echoes, raising their glasses.
I smile and take a sip, trying to ignore the tightness in my chest.
Jane stands next.
"As Scarlett's maid of honor, I'm legally required to embarrass her a little." More laughter.
"We've been best friends since we were eighteen, and I've watched her grow into this incredible woman. Miles is a lucky man. Tomorrow is going to be beautiful, and I'm so honored to be standing beside you. To love and happiness!"
"To love and happiness!"
My father gives a brief, awkward toast about marriage being a partnership. My mother dabs at her eyes with a napkin. Barbara stands and speaks about watching Miles grow up, about how proud his father would be, about welcoming me into their family with open arms.
Then Dax rises. The room falls silent in a different way. There's weight to his presence, authority that commands attention without demanding it.
"I'm not usually one for speeches," he begins, his voice carrying easily through the space.
"But my brother is getting married tomorrow, and that deserves acknowledgment."
He pauses, and his eyes find mine across the table.
"Miles and I haven't always been close. We've lived different lives, made different choices. He chose journalism and independence. I chose the family business and responsibility. But despite our differences, he's my brother, and I want him to be happy."
His gaze hasn't left my face.
"Marriage is a commitment. A choice you make every day to put someone else first, to build a life together, to weather whatever storms come your way. It's not easy. It requires sacrifice and compromise and unwavering dedication."
Something in his tone makes my skin prickle.
"Scarlett," he says, and the sound of my name in his voice does something to me, "you're clearly an exceptional woman. Intelligent, driven, passionate about your work. My brother is fortunate to have found you."
The compliment should feel generic, appropriate for a rehearsal dinner toast. Instead, it feels personal. Intimate.
"To Scarlett and Miles," Dax raises his glass.
"May you find the happiness you both deserve."
"To Scarlett and Miles!"
Everyone drinks. I bring my glass to my lips with a shaking hand.
Dax sits down, and Barbara leans over to whisper something to him. He nods, responding, but his eyes drift back to me. I feel flushed, overheated despite the restaurant's air conditioning. This is insane. He gave a perfectly appropriate toast. There's no reason for my heart to be racing.
Miles reaches over and squeezes my hand.
"That was nice of Dax."
"Yes," I manage. "It was."
Across the table, Dax picks up his wine glass and takes a slow sip, watching me over the rim. I look away first.
Dinner winds down slowly. Guests begin gathering their things, saying their goodbyes. I hug relatives, accept well-wishes, smile until my face hurts.
My parents are among the first to leave. My mother kisses my cheek and whispers, "Try to get some rest tonight. Tomorrow is a big day."
"I will, Mom."
My father hugs me tight. "We love you, sweetheart."
"Love you too, Dad."
Jane and Sarah appear at my side.
"We're going to head out," Jane says.
"Let you have some time with Miles before tomorrow."
"Thank you for everything tonight." I hug them both.
"I couldn't do this without you."
"That's what we're here for," Sarah says.
"See you tomorrow morning. Bright and early."
They leave, and I'm standing near the entrance, suddenly alone in the thinning crowd.
"Scarlett."
I turn. Dax is there, just a few feet away.
"Tomorrow's the big day," he says.
"Yes." My voice sounds breathless.
"I still can't believe it's here."
"Are you ready?"
The question feels loaded with meaning I can't decipher.
"I think so. As ready as anyone can be."
We stand in silence for a moment, and I'm hyperaware of the space between us. Two feet. Maybe less.
"Scarlett!" Miles appears, slightly unsteady on his feet. He's definitely been drinking. He wraps an arm around my shoulders.
"Hey, babe. The guys want to grab a nightcap. Bachelor party continued." He grins sloppily.
"That's fine." I lean into him, trying to ground myself.
"Have fun. Just don't party too hard. You need to be functional tomorrow."
"I'll be perfect tomorrow." He kisses my temple, then turns to Dax.
"You want to come? Have a drink with your little brother?"
Dax's expression doesn't change.
"I appreciate the offer, but I have some work to catch up on. Early morning tomorrow."
"Work, work, work." Miles shakes his head.
"That's all you ever do."
"Someone has to." There's no heat in Dax's words, just a statement of fact.
Miles's groomsmen call to him from across the room.
"Miles! Let's go!"
"Alright, I'm coming!" He kisses me again, quicker this time.
"I'll text you later. Love you."
"Love you too."
He stumbles slightly as he walks away, and one of his friends catches his arm, steadying him. I'm left standing with Dax again.
"He'll be alright," Dax says quietly, watching his brother leave.
"Eric will make sure he gets back safely."
"I know."
Barbara approaches, saving me from whatever I might have said next.
"I'm heading back to the hotel, dear. Do you need a ride anywhere?"
"No, thank you. I have a car waiting."
"Alright. Get some rest." She hugs me warmly.
"I'll see you tomorrow. You're going to be a beautiful bride."
"Thank you, Barbara."
She leaves with a small wave, and the room is nearly empty now. Just me, Dax, and a few stragglers.
"I should go too," I say.
"Long day tomorrow."
"Of course." He steps aside, but as I move past him toward the exit, he speaks again.
"Scarlett."
I stop, turn back.
"It was truly a pleasure meeting you."
The words are simple, appropriate. It's the way he says them—with quiet intensity, like he's saying something else entirely—that makes my breath catch.
"You too, Dax."
I walk out before I can say anything else.
The hired car is waiting at the curb. I slide into the backseat and give the driver my address.
As we pull away from the restaurant, I glance back through the rear window.
Dax is standing on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, watching the car drive away.
Our eyes meet through the glass for one brief moment before the car turns the corner and he disappears from view.
My apartment is dark and quiet when I arrive.
I kick off my heels inside the door and flip on the lights, the silence pressing in around me.
I go through the motions of getting ready for bed.
Remove my makeup. Unpin my hair and let it fall loose around my shoulders. Change into pajamas. Brush my teeth.
The wedding dress hangs on my closet door, waiting.
I climb into bed and turn off the light.
The darkness is thick, suffocating. I stare at the ceiling, trying to calm my racing thoughts.
Tomorrow I marry Miles. Sweet, distracted Miles who can't stay off his phone.
Miles who gets cold feet and makes jokes about commitment.
Miles who I love, who I've built a life with over the past three years.
I roll onto my side, punching my pillow into shape as the rehearsal dinner replays in my mind. The conversations, the toasts, the way the evening unfolded. Dax's presence had filled the room in a way I hadn't expected. That commanding aura, the intensity of his focus when he spoke.
I push the thoughts away as I close my eyes and focus on my breathing, willing sleep to come.
It takes a long time before it finally does.