Chapter 17 Adaline #2
My cheeks burn. I force myself to breathe through it, because snapping won’t help. Crying won’t help. Showing him how much it hurts will only make me feel smaller.
“Okay,” I say, too controlled. “I’ll attend.”
He nods once, like it’s a contract term, and leaves the room without another word. Aunt Jane’s face pinches with disapproval. “Honestly. He forgets he has a heart.”
I swallow past the sting. “It’s fine.”
But it isn’t.
The worst part is how calm he sounded while he suggested replacing me.
As if he’s already halfway there.
Today feels nothing like the knot of worry I went to bed with.
It starts with the doorbell and a parade of garment bags—designers from the city. Two women with measuring tapes around their necks and tablets in their hands, smiling like this is their favorite type of chaos. Boxes of shoes. Trays of jewelry that glitter in the light—a rolling case of makeup.
Aunt Jane is in her happy place.
Mrs. Lane hovers with a proud, amused expression, like she’s been waiting years for this kind of energy to return to the house. And me?
I get swept up in it before I can talk myself out of it.
There’s laughter—real laughter. Warm teasing. Aunt Jane insists I try something “bold,” Mrs. Lane telling her that no one in Rose Hills is ready for Aunt Jane’s definition of bold.
The next few days turn into the most fun I’ve had in a very long time.
A manicure at the kitchen table that turns into a debate about lipstick shades.
A pedicure by the fireplace while Aunt Jane recounts one infamous fundraiser scandal like she’s narrating a soap opera.
I feel… light. Like I’m allowed to be cared for without earning it. It’s so rare it almost makes me dizzy.
And it makes me think of Connor. Not in a threatening way. In the quieter, more painful way.
He didn’t care about wedding planning. Not really. He didn’t want to choose flowers or taste cake. He didn’t get excited about venues or music or anything that belonged to us.
I used to tell myself he was busy. That his career mattered. That not everyone shows love the same way. Now, sitting with Aunt Jane’s hand on my wrist as she coos over makeup color swatches, I realize something sharp and ugly.
Connor didn’t avoid wedding planning because he was overwhelmed.
He avoided it because he didn’t care. And I… I accepted that because I wanted to be loved more than I wanted to be chosen.
The thought sits heavy in my chest. Was I na?ve?
Or just desperately lonely?
By the time Hunter appears, I’m mid-change behind a folding screen in Aunt Jane’s room.
The emerald dress is on my body like it was made for me, deep green, elegant, soft fabric that skims instead of clings. It makes me look like someone who belongs at a fundraiser ball.
Someone polished.
I step out, adjusting the neckline, and Aunt Jane makes a sound of pure triumph.
“Oh, Adaline,” she breathes. “You look absolutely breathtaking.”
Mrs. Lane presses a hand to her chest. “Jane, she looks like a movie star.”
I laugh, embarrassed, cheeks warm. “It’s just a dress.”
“It is not just a dress,” Aunt Jane insists. “Turn around. Let us see the back.”
I do, and that’s when I notice Hunter in the doorway.
He’s there to speak to Aunt Jane, I know that. He’s holding a folder. He looks like he intends to keep this brief. But he’s staring at me. Not in a way that feels like judgment. In a way that feels like he forgot what he was doing.
His throat bobs. He clears it, sharp and too loud in the quiet.
“Aunt Jane,” he says, voice slightly rough, eyes snapping away from me as if he has to physically rein himself in. “We need to review the guest list.”
Aunt Jane’s smile turns wicked. “Yes, we do. But first—Hunter, isn’t she stunning?”
He doesn’t look at me again, but I see it anyway, the tension in his shoulders, the way his grip tightens on the folder, like he’s holding himself together.
“She looks… appropriate,” he says stiffly. Aunt Jane beams like she’s won something. Hunter turns too quickly and leaves the room like the air is on fire. My heart is doing something ridiculous in my chest.
And I hate it.
Because he’s cold to me. Distant. Punishing. And still my heart reacts to him like he’s gravity.
When he’s gone, I find the guest list on the table and scan it fast, my pulse racing for a different reason now.
No— Dr. Connor Davis.
Relief floods me so hard my knees almost weaken. It’s brief, but it’s real. Maybe he won’t follow me there.
As Aunt Jane fusses over dresses and makeup, the reality settles in quietly, this night matters. Not just to her, but to Hunter too. I could face Connor if I had to—I know I did nothing wrong, but the thought of him showing up, twisting the night into a spectacle, makes my stomach knot.
I’ve fought for every inch of the career I’ve built, for credibility Connor never had to earn. One accusation from him could still do real damage. But more importantly, after all that has happened in the last few days, I know deep in my heart, I can't afford to lose Hunter’s trust again.
Maybe Rachel was right, I should tell them about Connor. But standing here, watching Aunt Jane glow with anticipation, I realize something else matters more right now.
I won’t let Connor’s threat poison something that’s important to them. Whatever I have to say will have to wait.
At night, when the mansion quiets again, I reach for the one person who usually helps me untangle my thoughts.
North.
I open HeartLines. He’s not online.
My chest tightens with something like disappointment.
Wind: Hey… are you okay?
Wind: You disappeared after our last conversation. I’m worried.
I stare at the screen, waiting for the little typing bubble. It doesn’t appear. And as I lie back on my bed, phone on my chest, it hits me with uncomfortable clarity. Whenever my feelings for Hunter get too loud, too confusing, too dangerous—I reach for North.
North feels safe. Hunter feels like walking barefoot through fire.
It isn’t avoidance. It’s triage, reaching for the one place that steadies me when everything else feels sharp.
So the real question isn’t whether I’m drawn to Hunter.
I can’t deny that anymore.
But can I survive what my heart wants if I finally face it?