Chapter 18
Afew hours later, I’m in my room, dressed, made-up, and staring at myself in the mirror. My reflection stares back, uncertain, excited, nervous, guilty. I smooth down my dress for the tenth time, my hands trembling. What am I doing?
This isn’t just meeting someone’s family. I’m about to meet my sister’s fiancé’s mother. And the kicker is that Abigail probably hasn’t even met the woman before.
It’s wrong. Twisted, even. And yet… here I am, stepping willingly deeper into the chaos.
I take a deep breath and head downstairs. When I reach the bottom, Calvin is waiting, leaning casually against the wall like this is all perfectly normal. His eyes sweep over me, a slow, appreciative glance that makes my stomach flutter despite everything.
“You look incredible,” he says, taking hold of my hand and spinning me around.
“You like it? I made it myself.”
The dress is soft pink with delicate rose prints scattered across it, the fabric flowing gently around my legs every time I move.
The halter neckline dips just enough to feel feminine without trying too hard, and the fitted waist gives way to a full, romantic skirt that sways like it has a life of its own.
It’s the kind of dress that makes me feel… pretty.
His eyes soften as he looks at me. “You made this?” He reaches out, brushing his fingers along the fabric. “It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”
Heat rises to my cheeks. “Thank you,” I say quietly, suddenly aware of how fast my heart’s beating.
As soon as we settle into the car, the reminder of the flogging I received a few hours ago makes itself known.
I shift slightly, wincing, and that’s when I notice the two bouquets on the seat.
Is one of those for me? What do they mean?
I’ve come to look forward to the flowers he gives me, though I work hard not to show how much they affect me.
“Don’t even act like you’re not dying to know which one’s yours,” Calvin teases.
I quickly look away, hoping he doesn’t catch the truth in my eyes. I shrug, feigning nonchalance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He laughs, and the sound is warm, infectious. I hate how beautiful it is, how much I want to hear that sound again.
“You’re adorable,” he says, picking up the sunflowers and handing them to me. “These are yours. They mean adoration and loyalty.”
The words nearly undo me. Adoration and loyalty. Is that what he’s saying? That he’s loyal to me? The thought is absurd, laughable, even. He’s engaged to my sister. And yet, hearing it from him, I want to believe it. I want to believe him.
The sunflowers are bright, almost too bright, like they don’t belong in something this wrong. Still, I manage a small smile, forcing my voice to stay steady. “I love them,” I whisper, brushing my fingertips along the soft petals. “Thank you.”
My eyes flick to the bouquet still in his lap. “What about those?” I ask, nodding toward the pink carnations.
He glances at them. “Gratitude and a mother’s love,” he explains, then looks at me with that same easy smile. “For my mom.”
It’s sweet. This man is too much, too perfect in moments like this, and it makes my chest tighten. I’ve been treading dangerously close to a line, and I know it. Yet here I am, sitting in a car with my sister’s fiancé, clutching flowers that mean adoration and loyalty. How ironic.
I bite my lip, forcing myself to stay composed, but my thoughts betray me. He’s making this too easy. One more step, one more touch, one more bouquet, and I might do something as stupid as falling in love with him. That would be crazy, though, right? Completely unhinged.
Right?
I glance at him again, and the smile he gives me is enough to make me believe that unicorns exist.
Falling in love with my sister’s fiancé would definitely be crazy, but the idea doesn’t feel as impossible as it should.
The longer we drive, the harder my pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out reason and logic until all that’s left is the restless beat of nerves. Meeting his mother feels too intimate, like crossing a line that can’t be uncrossed.
Sure, we’ve already done things that would earn us a special corner in hell, but somehow, this feels worse.
When the car finally slows, I look up, and my breath catches. The estate before us isn’t just a house. White columns, manicured hedges, a driveway wide enough for three cars to pass without touching. Every window gleams like it’s never known dust.
The driver eases the car to a stop near the entrance, and before I can gather my thoughts, Calvin is already stepping out. He exchanges a quiet word with Jarad, something about waiting for his call when we’re ready to leave, then turns to my door.
When he opens it, the afternoon light spills in. He extends his hand to me like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And even though I know I shouldn’t, I take it.
“You ready?” he asks.
I nod, though the nerves twist tighter in my gut. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Mom,” Calvin calls out as we step inside.
“In the kitchen,” a warm, sweet voice responds. I feel my stomach flip as we move toward the kitchen. My grip on Calvin’s hand tightens without me even realizing it. Suddenly, he stops, turning to face me with a concerned look.
“Are you okay?” he asks, brow furrowed.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve got a death grip on my hand. Come on, breathe. Relax.” he steps closer to me, his presence instantly grounding me.
I exhale shakily, trying to unclench my fists. “I just… what if she doesn’t like me?”
“She’ll love you.”
He says it so matter-of-factly, like there’s no room for doubt. But it doesn’t calm the nerves running wild in me. He’s probably brought lots of women home before, confident, polished women who belong in his world. I’m not that. In fact, I’m not supposed to be here.
“Breathe.”
The command snaps me out of my spiral, and that’s when I realize I haven’t taken a breath.
“Blair,” he says again, firmer this time. His hand comes up, wrapping lightly around my throat, not to restrain, but to guide. He squeezes just enough to ground me. “Breathe.”
The air rushes out of me, and when I finally inhale again, it feels like the first real breath I’ve taken all day.
“There you are.” His thumb brushes my jaw. “That’s my girl. Now, look at me.”
I do.
“Everything’s going to be fine. I’ve got you. And if it’s not… if at any point it doesn’t feel right, we leave. Understood?”
I nod, believing him. He would walk out without a second thought if I needed him to.
“Color?” he asks, voice quieter now.
For a heartbeat, I consider saying yellow. The thought of meeting his mother terrifies me. What if she looks at me and knows instantly that I’m not the woman she was supposed to meet? What if she doesn’t accept me? But then I think of him, his hand steady on mine, his calm certainty, and I know.
“Green.”
A faint smile touches his lips. “I’m proud of you,” he says softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
“For saying green?” I manage, a small, nervous laugh escaping.
He shakes his head. “For thinking about it before you answered.”
He presses a slow, lingering kiss to my mouth, then takes my hand. Together, we move toward the kitchen, and the moment I see her, poised, elegant, I understand exactly where Calvin gets his composure from.
Calvin’s mother sits at the marble island, a porcelain teacup balanced gracefully between her fingers.
She’s stunning, an elegant, beautiful Black woman whose presence fills the room without her needing to say a word.
Her skin glows against the soft cream of her silk blouse, and every detail of her outfit whispers wealth rather than shouts it.
Diamond studs catch the light when she turns her head, and her perfume, something delicate and expensive, wraps the air in quiet sophistication.
She looks up as we enter.
“Calvin,” she says, her voice smooth as satin. Then her gaze drifts to me. For a moment, I feel as though she can see every secret I’ve ever tried to hide.
I manage a smile, even as my pulse races. My fingers twitch at my side, and I clasp them together, trying to keep them still.
“Mom,” Calvin says as a greeting, bending down to kiss her cheek. “You look beautiful as ever. I got you some flowers.”
She beams, taking the bouquet from him. She inhales the blooms and smiles. “Gratitude and mother’s love,” she says fondly. “You boys are just like your father. Thank you, my love.”
She pulls him into another hug, and I can’t help but notice how small she is compared to Calvin. It makes me wonder if he takes after his father’s size.
Her gaze lands on me again. And she smiles.
“You must be Blair,” she exclaims, pulling me into a warm, unexpected hug before I can even react.
I freeze for a second, stunned that she already knows who I am. Words fail me. I must look confused, because she chuckles softly as she pulls back.
“Calvin called earlier to let me know he was bringing someone home for dinner,” she explains with a knowing smile. “I had to drag your name out of him, but it’s so lovely to meet you.”
“You too, Mrs…”
“Oh, no. You call me Jewel,” she interrupts with a grin.
“I wouldn’t dare, ma’am,” I say, and her smile widens.
“Then call me Mama Jewel, it’s how everyone else calls me. Come, let’s sit and get to know each other.” She points to the chair right beside the one she’s been using.
I’m just settling into my seat when someone’s voice cuts through the room like a dropped glass. “Well, it’s about time you fucking showed up. I almost thought I had to go drag you out of your office.”
The crassness feels absurd in a house this beautiful, in front of a woman who looks like she was woven from calm and silk.
My head snaps up. A man is filling the doorway, carrying a bag of groceries.
He’s tall, maybe even taller than Calvin, with sleeves rolled up, tattoos coiling down both arms in intricate, dark patterns.
His brows lift comically when his gaze lands on me, confusion flickering across his face before he looks straight at Calvin.
“What the fuck?” he blurts, shock plain in his voice.
Before Calvin can say a word, Mama Jewel’s voice lands on him like a gavel. “Boy, you better watch your mouth in my house before I wash it out with soap. Don’t think you’re too old for that either.”
The man’s grin disappears in an instant. “Sorry, Mom,” he mutters, the sheepishness immediate.
Mom?
“Blair,” Calvin says smoothly, “meet my dumbass brother, Desmond.”
“Big brother, don’t you forget it,” Desmond shoots back with a cocky smirk.
My eyes go wide. This is the Irish twin Calvin mentioned? The one who owns Luxe? I wasn’t expecting a white man.
“Man, fuck you,” Calvin shoots back, but he’s smiling as he stalks across the kitchen and pulls his brother into a hug.
“You boys know better than to make me repeat myself. I’ll whoop both y’all’s asses up, keep it up,” Mama Jewel warns, wagging a finger at both of them as if she’s setting rules for the entire planet.
I can’t help it, I chuckle. The timing is perfect. Calvin had literally just punished me not long ago, and now his mother is brandishing the same kind of threat at him. The irony lands hard, and for a few seconds, everything in the room feels disarmingly, wonderfully ordinary.
“Oh, that’s funny, huh?” Calvin teases, trying to look stern but failing to suppress his grin.
“Just a little,” I admit, still laughing.
“You just wait…” he warns, but before he can continue, Mama Jewel jumps in to defend me.
“Don’t you threaten her. She can laugh all she wants,” she says, throwing Calvin a sharp look while giving me a warm, protective smile.
“Mother,” Calvin protests weakly.
“Hush now, let me get to know Blair,” she insists, turning her full attention back to me. I can’t resist sticking my tongue out at Calvin, feeling surprisingly at ease and truly welcomed.