Chapter 22 – Morgan #2
I couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my lips. "My anger was not at the action, but at the concealment." I turned back to my father, letting him see the steel in my eyes. "But you step out of line again, Dad. You give Clarissa any trouble, and I'll let him finish what he started."
My father's face went more ashen. Good. Let him be afraid.
I took Lance's hand, feeling the calluses on his palm, the strength in his fingers as they intertwined with mine. Together, we walked toward the door, but I stopped at the threshold.
"You have twelve hours to vacate OUR house," I said without turning around. "Or I'll let Lance get creative. And so you know, Clarissa will be moving back in. You forgot that house doesn't belong to you.”
He sputtered and scowled. “You cannot speak to me like this!”
I ignored him and kept going. “That’s a fact you never let me in on.
Oh no, you acted like you had any right to put me out.
That house belongs to Gwen! She added me to the deed.
You had no right to tell me to leave. That was a mistake.
" I squeezed Lance's hand, drawing strength from his solid presence beside me.
“I was fighting the trust. That is the family home and I had a right to it.”
"Maybe Grandpa could see what a selfish ass you were and chose to protect the house. You are such a lying conniver."
“That is my house.”
“Never was. Get out of our house. Clarissa will be staying there from now on.”
And with that, I walked out, leaving him exactly where he belonged.
In the past.
The party was still in full swing when we returned, guests mingling with champagne flutes and laughter, completely oblivious to the confrontation that had just taken place.
I plastered on a smile as we moved through the crowd, accepting congratulations and well-wishes, playing the part of the blissful bride-to-be.
But Lance's hand never left mine, his thumb tracing circles against my palm—a silent reminder that I wasn't alone in this anymore.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of congratulations and well-wishes. I found myself genuinely enjoying the attention, the celebration, the sense that maybe—just maybe—things were going to work out.
Amber appeared at my elbow with a fresh glass of champagne and a knowing smirk. "So," she said, settling in beside me as we watched the crowd. "This is quite the party."
"Gwen knows how to throw an event," I agreed, taking the champagne gratefully.
"That's not what I meant." Amber's eyes sparkled with mischief. "I meant the part where you're practically glowing every time Lance looks at you."
I nearly choked on my champagne. "I am not glowing."
"Honey, you're practically radioactive." She bumped my shoulder. "And I'm happy for you. Even if I still think he's a little intense for my taste."
"A little intense?"
"Okay, a lot intense. But he's clearly crazy about you, so I approve."
It wasn't until later, when the crowd had thinned and I was standing by the windows watching the city lights, that my sister found me.
"You look happy," she observed, coming to stand beside me.
"I am happy." I took a sip of champagne, feeling loose and relaxed for the first time in weeks. "It's a good party."
"It is." Gwen studied my profile. "So, are we going to talk about it?"
"About what?"
She rolled her eyes. "About whatever has you eye-fucking Lance every time he comes within ten feet of you."
Heat crawled up my neck, but I couldn't help the smile that tugged at my lips. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Bullshit."
I glanced across the room to where Lance stood with Atticus, laughing at something Micah said. My body responded instantly—that familiar pull low in my belly, the memory of his hands on me just hours ago.
"Okay, fine," I said, unable to keep the grin off my face. "Maybe I've been eye-fucking him a little."
Gwen snorted. "A little ?"
"He looks really good in that tux."
"He does." Gwen's voice turned more serious. "But that's not what I'm talking about, and you know it."
My smile faded slightly. Because she was right. This wasn't just about how Lance looked in a tux. This was about the way my heart raced every time he was near. The way I felt safe when he was touching me. The way I'd started to think about forever.
"Look, I don't understand it," Gwen continued. "But you don't have to hide from me. I'm on your side. Always."
The knot in my throat made it hard to speak. "Will you and Lance be okay?"
Gwen was quiet for a moment. "I need time. Same way you did. But if you want him, and he makes you happy?" Her voice turned fierce. "That's all I care about. It's all I ever cared about."
I swallowed hard, the champagne making me braver than usual. "He said I'm his," I whispered. "That we'll figure out the rest. But I don't know what the hell that means."
"What do you want it to mean?"
The question hit me square in the chest. Because I knew exactly what I wanted. I wanted Lance—all of him. His protection, his intensity, his complete and utter focus. I wanted morning coffee, late-night conversations, and lazy Sunday mornings in bed.
"I want him to love me the way I love him," I said, the admission ripping out of me before I could stop it.
Gwen's eyes widened. "Morgan?—"
"I'm in love with a man who comes from a family of killers."
"Have you told him?"
I laughed, but it wasn't entirely bitter. The champagne and the success of the evening had me feeling reckless. "Right. Hey Lance, I know we're fake married for my protection, but surprise—I'm actually in love with you. That won't make things awkward at all."
"You're being an idiot."
I raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"The man bought you a building, Morgan. He nearly killed our father for ruining your life. He looks at you like you hung the fucking moon." Gwen stepped closer, her voice dropping. "Trust me when I say that is not a man who's just figuring things out. That's a man who's already decided."
"Then why hasn't he said anything?" He’d dicked me down plenty. Said we were figuring it out. Called me his. But he hadn’t said he loved me.
"Maybe because he's waiting for you to stop running long enough to listen."