Chapter seven Melody
Chapter seven
Melody
Settling into this new life isn’t so bad with Kaden by my side. He doesn’t talk much, but I don’t mind filling the space for both of us. Even this party isn’t as stifling as I thought it would be.
Mr. Wilder encouraged Mom to start her own clothing line.
She’s always wanted to do something in fashion, and he provided the money and connections to help her get started.
After months of planning, she’s finally opening her own store in Queens.
Tonight is her celebration and a chance to mingle with the city’s fashion icons.
Men and women in fancy dresses and expensive suits converse in the ballroom of the Upper East Side.
The ceiling is grand, with massive golden chandeliers hanging high above, glittering and sparkling under the lights.
Intricate paintings reside above, scenes of angels in the clouds making the air itself feel sacred.
Glasses clink softly as servers glide through the crowd with practiced ease.
A string orchestra plays from the far end of the room, the sounds of violins swelling into something hauntingly beautiful.
The smell of cologne and something sweet mixes with the air.
Kaden stands beside me, a dark and dapper suit jacket covering his arms. He looks out of place among the socialites and businessmen with his mussed curls that can’t seem to stay out of his eyes.
He also looks very bored.
“This place is beautiful,” I whisper in awe as I turn in place.
My dress is a soft, pale green, gentle on the eyes, layered with sheer white fabric that drapes gracefully over the skirt.
The hem falls longer in the back, nearly brushing the floor, while delicate white flowers form the straps over my shoulders, giving the look an organic, earthy elegance.
My hair is pinned back, half of it cascading over my shoulders like a quiet waterfall.
Kaden hums, uninterested. “It’s just like every other ballroom.”
I push his shoulder playfully. “You know I’ve never been to one before.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, but he doesn’t smile. He never does. “You haven’t been to a lot of places.”
“Rub it in, why don’t you?” I grumble under my breath.
One thing is for sure: we’ve grown a lot closer over the last two months. We go to the creek every day after school, and spend a lot of time together when he isn’t with his friends. He’s also become extremely comfortable with picking on me.
My eyes snag on the massive chocolate cake the catering company wheeled out near the food table. No one will cut it until dinner has been served, but I’ve been hungry since Mrs. Jasmine, our nanny, decided to give us tuna sandwiches for lunch. Which I didn’t eat.
The middle-aged woman is nice, but she doesn’t listen to food preferences.
She makes whatever is easy for our busy schedules, and I can’t complain, or Mr. Wilder will fuss at her.
I don’t want to get her in trouble, so I politely wait until she’s out of the room before discarding my food in the trash.
But the cake looks delicious, and my mouth is watering. My stomach grumbles pitifully as my shoulders slump.
Kaden notices my mood, his eyes tracking across the glistening ballroom to the six-tiered cake. “You wouldn’t be hungry if you ate lunch with me.”
“I don’t—”
“You don’t like tuna,” he finishes with a sigh. He crosses his arms, staring at the dessert. “Can you give me a distraction?”
My eyes widen. “But you’ll get in trouble.”
His gaze flickers to mine, something mischievous twinkling in his irises. “Don’t worry about that. Distract the adults around the table, and I’ll get you some cake.”
The corners of my lips tug up. “Okay.”
Kaden leads me across the room, instructing with a hand behind his back to part ways as he sneaks around the adults lingering close to the table. I peel away from him without breaking stride, stepping neatly into the path of the four men clustered near the banquet table.
I lift my chin and offer them a soft, thoughtful look.
“Excuse me,” I say, tilting my head as though a question has only just occurred to me. They slow, then stop—exactly as planned. One of them blinks, another straightens his jacket, and suddenly I have their full attention.
Behind them, Kaden moves.
“I can’t find my brother,” I moan, lying on my distress with wobbling, pouty lips.
One of the men with dark hair, combed and styled, moves his glass to the side as he leans down. The amber liquid in it sloshes as the scent of something strong, like hand sanitizer, singes my nose hairs. “Where did you see him last, sweetheart?”
My eyes flicker behind him, to the table piled high with food. Kaden is crouched down, using a fork to slice a heaping wedge of chocolate cake. It’s messy, some crumbling to the floor as he slaps it onto an elegant plate.
“Ummm…” I trail, watching my brother as he slides under the table and uses the thick white cloth draped over it to cover himself before he shoves his arm out and motions for me to join him. My eyes snap back to the man waiting patiently for my answer. “Never mind!”
He blinks. “Oh…okay?”
“Have a good night!” I call before I shuffle around them and slide into the darkness under the table. In my haste, I end up headbutting Kaden in the nose, and he hisses at the pain.
“Sorry!” I exclaim.
He holds up a fork in one hand while his other hand holds his throbbing face. “Here.”
“Thank you,” I whisper sheepishly as I take it from him. “You didn’t get any?”
He shakes his head as he leans back and rests his hands on the floor behind him. He extends his legs out, getting comfortable. “I don’t like sweets.”
I gasp, horrified. “You don’t like sweets?”
“The agony,” he mutters sarcastically.
I chuckle lightly, cutting into the cake. “You’re missing out.”
“I’m really not.”
I take a bite, humming at the rich thickness of the chocolate. It’s perfect. “This is amazing.”
Kaden stares at me for a moment, silence blanketing over us. “This is the best part of my night.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” he says heavily. “I hate these events, but you make things better.”
My cheeks twinge with heat as I duck my head and shove another bite of cake into my mouth. “Thank you.” I glance up at him, swallowing. “You make things better too…”
He doesn’t smile, not really—but there’s a softness that settles into his eyes whenever he’s pleased with me. His whole face gentles when he looks at me, as if he’s holding something fragile. I think it’s because he doesn’t want to make me cry again.
And that warmth spreads through my chest. He may not know how to show what he feels, but he can’t hide the way he cares for me. It’s quiet, restrained—his own unmistakable touch.
And I don’t think I’d want it any other way.