Chapter 12
Lark couldn’t deny that she was happy to see Hoot. Surprised, yes. Confused, definitely. But happy.
Good Lord. It should be criminal for one man to look so incredibly yummy in a tuxedo.
The sharp, crisp lines of the tuxedo hugged his frame perfectly, the black fabric a stark contrast against his skin.
He carried himself with an effortless grace, the kind that made the silk of the lapels gleam under the soft, ambient light.
The sheer perfection of his appearance felt almost scandalous, a delicious visual feast.
She’d spent most of the evening surrounded by people who smiled without meaning it, laughed because someone important had made a joke, and spoke in carefully polished sentences designed to reveal absolutely nothing.
Hoot was different. He didn’t belong here. Neither did she. Maybe that was why standing beside him felt like taking a breath after being underwater too long.
And then there was the flirting. Lark still hadn’t quite recovered from that. Maybe you bring it out of me. She’d replayed the words in her head at least a dozen times since he’d said them. The grumpy SEAL flirting with her. Who would have thought?
She was smiling when she noticed the change in him. One second, Hoot was relaxed. The next, he was completely still. His gaze had fixed on a man entering the ballroom. Lark followed it.
The man wasn’t particularly imposing. He was tall, well dressed, probably somewhere in his early forties, with dark hair threaded with gray at the temples. His tuxedo fit perfectly. His smile was easy.
But something about him made the tiny hairs on Lark’s arms rise. She couldn’t explain why. Still, she studied him. Then she saw it. A small pin attached to his lapel. A circle. And inside it, a helmet.
Lark’s breath caught. The broken piece of wood she’d found on the island flashed through her mind. The symbol burned into the crate. She’d only seen half of it, but there was no mistaking the resemblance.
Her fingers curled into the material of her gown. What the hell? Was it a coincidence? It had to be. There were probably hundreds of organizations using variations of helmets, shields, circles, crests...
Except she’d never seen that particular design before. And now it was here. On the lapel of the man who had just made Hoot look like he’d spotted an enemy combatant.
Lark glanced at Hoot. He was watching the man with an intensity that made her stomach tighten. She wanted to ask. She wanted to tell him about the crate. But this was hardly the place.
“Hoot...” Before she could finish, her mother’s voice cut across the room.
“Lark!” She turned. Hildi was waving her over. Of course.
“Apparently, I’m being summoned.”
Hoot’s attention shifted toward her. “Stay close to others.”
The words were quiet. Almost an order. Lark raised an eyebrow. “Are you worried about me?”
His gaze met hers, and there was something that looked suspiciously like surprise in those startling blue wonders.
“Guess I am.” Her heart stumbled. However, he followed that with a playful jab that made her want to roll her eyes at him.
“Beside, we both know how accident-prone you are.” Then he was gone, melting into the crowd with the same uncanny ability he’d displayed when approaching her earlier.
Lark shook herself. Stop it. She headed toward her family. As she approached, she stopped. The man she’d been watching was standing with her parents. With Bradley and the Whitmores. And judging by the laughter, they knew him. Very well.
Her mother beamed. “Lark, darling. Come meet someone.” She didn’t like the sound of that. “Grant Calloway, my daughter Lark Meadows,” Hildi said.
The man turned toward her. His gaze slowly swept over her. Too slowly, causing her discomfort to intensify.
“An honor,” he said. His smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“Grant is with Praetorian Strategic Group,” her mother continued.
“Yes. I’ve heard of your beauty and requested an introduction,” he said in a voice dripping with polished ease. Lark wanted to gag.
Lark didn’t bother pretending she was impressed. “I haven’t heard of you.”
Her mother’s smile tightened, and Grant chuckled. “That’s probably a good thing.”
Bradley stepped forward. “Grant has helped the foundation with several security and logistics matters.”
“He’s been invaluable,” Charles Whitmore added.
Grant waved off the compliment. “Happy to help.”
Lark glanced at his lapel. There it was again. That symbol with the same style of helmet. Her stomach twisted.
“You work security?”
Grant’s eyes returned to her. “Among other things.”
Something about his attention made her want to step backward. She didn’t. Her mother, however, stepped closer. “Grant is quite accomplished.”
Lark knew that tone. She’d heard it before. Her mother’s matchmaking voice. Oh, no. Absolutely not.
“Lark is recently back in the area,” Hildi continued. “She lived in Bell Creek for a while.” She wanted to roll her eyes at the blatant lie. She hadn’t moved back home. That would never happen. She planned to be a permanent resident of Bell Creek.
“I’ve heard that’s a charming area.”
“It is.”
Grant smiled. “Perhaps you could show me around sometime.”
“No.” The answer came so quickly that Bradley coughed to cover a laugh. Hildi’s expression could have frozen water. Lark smiled sweetly. “I mean, I’m rather busy at the moment.”
Grant’s gaze lingered on her. “We all make time for the right company.”
That may have been true, but she knew deep down he would never be the right company for her. Definitely not. And apparently, according to her mother’s expression, Grant was very much on Hildi’s approved list of potential replacements for Bradley.
That was never happening. Not now. Not ever.
Fortunately, the men eventually moved on to another conversation. Grant gave Lark one last look before joining them.
She waited until they were several feet away before releasing the breath she’d been holding. Her mother drifted toward a group of society friends. With a menacing glare, she seethed, “Lark, darling, don’t disappear,” before turning away.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Hildi smiled knowingly and walked away.
Lark turned toward Wren and stopped. Something was wrong. Her sister looked beautiful. Perfect, actually.
Her gown was elegant. Her hair was immaculate. Her makeup flawless. But there was something missing. Life.
Wren stood quietly beside her, hands folded in front of her. Too quietly. “You okay?” Lark asked softly.
“I’m fine.”
Lark frowned. “You don’t look fine.”
“I’m just tired.”
“Are you happy?”
Wren looked at her. “Of course.”
The answer came too quickly. Too smoothly. Lark lowered her voice. “Wren, you don’t have to lie to me.”
“I’m not.”
“Do you really want this?”
A flicker crossed Wren’s face. Then disappeared. “Of course.”
“You know you don’t have to marry him.”
Wren’s shoulders stiffened. “Mom and Dad want this.”
“Screw them. I don’t care what Mom and Dad want.”
“But I do.”
“Do you?” Wren looked away. Lark touched her arm. “Because if you don’t want this, I can help you.”
Wren’s eyes snapped back to hers. “Help me how?”
“Get out.” Wren stared at her. “Out of the engagement. Out of all of this.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand more than you think.”
“You walked away.”
“Exactly.”
“You left.”
“Because I didn’t want it.”
“And I do.”
Lark studied her. “Really?”
“Yes.” The word sounded rehearsed. Like she’d said it so many times she’d stopped thinking about what it meant.
Lark’s heart hurt. “Wren...”
“I’m happy, Lark.”
“Okay.”
“I am. Bradley’s a good man and he’ll take care of me.”
Was that all there was to it? Did she just want to be taken care of? Did her sister not want something for herself? “Okay,” Lark managed, her voice tinged with hesitation.
“I love Bradley.”
Lark swallowed. She didn’t believe her. Not completely. But pushing harder tonight wouldn’t help. “All right.”
Wren looked relieved. Lark squeezed her hand. “If you ever change your mind...”
“I won’t.”
“But if you do.” She left the rest unsaid.
Wren’s expression softened for just a moment. “I know,” she whispered, understanding completely what was left unspoken.
Lark nodded. “Good.” She stepped back. She wanted to believe her sister. She really did. But something about tonight felt wrong. Not just the docileness of her sister. It was everything. The gala. Grant Calloway and that damn symbol along with Hoot’s reaction.
Too many pieces didn’t fit. Lark glanced across the ballroom. Hoot was nowhere in sight. She wished he were. For the first time all evening, she wanted someone who would tell her she wasn’t imagining things.
Because deep down, she knew something was wrong. She just had no idea what.