Chapter 22
AURELIA
My parents’ house had always loomed over Pacific Heights like it had been plucked from a gilded age. A different time. A different place.
With its limestone facade, wrought-iron balconies dripping with ivy, and tall windows that caught the morning light, it was less of a home and more of a statement. Old money at its most ostentatious.
When I’d been in elementary school, I used to hear kids whispering about it being haunted. Since I didn’t do ghosts, I’d spent nights lying awake, wondering if they were right. Eventually, I’d realized that the only thing haunting these halls were my own family’s traditions and expectations.
I used to feel small every time I came back here. Now, as I walked up the stone steps, I just felt removed. Like a guest arriving at a museum. It was Saturday morning and an icy breeze swept down the street, but I would have rather kept walking than to actually go inside.
Unfortunately, my mother was expecting me. I’d been summoned to help her put the final touches on the arrangements for the Christmas Ball, and if I didn’t show up, she’d never forgive me.
Resigned to spending the morning finalizing the seating chart and whatever else she still needed done, I reached the landing, but I hadn’t even knocked yet when the double doors swung opened. Stephanie, my parents’ house manager, smiled when she saw me.
“Aurelia, you’re home. It’s wonderful to see you, darling.”
I returned her smile, pulling her into a hug that made her laugh and try to pry me off. “I’ve missed you, Steph. Have we figured out why they need a house manager yet?”
She fussed and let out another burst of laughter. “This is not proper, Aura. Let go of me.”
I hugged her tighter, fighting a smile before I finally let go. “I don’t care if it’s proper. You’re the one thing around here I actually miss. Are my brothers home?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Little consolation,” I muttered, ducking the inevitable swat she sent my way.
She smoothed her silver-gray hair as if I’d messed it up terribly with my hug. Her brown eyes were warm as she shook her head at me. “They’re your family. You shouldn’t speak about them like that.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “I wouldn’t, but—”
“Ah, Aurelia.”
I cut myself off when I heard my father’s voice, turning to find him standing at the foot of the grand staircase.
One of his hands rested on the banister like he was a benevolent monarch surveying his kingdom. I hadn’t seen or spoken to him since my resignation, but he looked at me as though no time had passed at all.
Like nothing had changed between us. Although, I supposed, I’d quit and none of them had cared.
To him, nothing had changed. He certainly hadn’t.
His silver hair was exactly the same, he wore a sharp suit that was perfectly tailored even though it wasn’t a workday and he probably wouldn’t even leave the house, and his spine was still ramrod straight.
“Hi, Daddy,” I said quietly, walking over to embrace him in a formal kind of hug that didn’t linger.
He patted my back and dutifully launched straight into a lecture when he released me, even clasping his hands behind his back.
“It’s good to finally see you living the life you want, being available to your mother and focusing on your own pursuits.
Mom has been ecstatic and you certainly look much lighter. ”
I smiled, nodding in all the right places, but I kept my mouth shut.
It wasn’t like I could tell him that my so-called own pursuits were exactly what I’d been doing for him all along, because that was what made me happy, especially now that it wasn’t his name across the top of every document anymore.
He definitely didn’t want to know that I was pouring all my energy into myself—with a side dish of Westwood & Sons, his greatest competitors in the market.
No. It’s better to let him keep his illusions.
I did find myself bringing a hand to my chest, though. It’d become something of a habit, touching the ring over my clothes to remind myself that I had a plan. A future. Someone who had my back in a way my own family never had.
Because of this ring, I was about to upend the entire narrative my parents had written for me, marrying not to become the perfect wife and mother, but a powerful businesswoman in my own right.
Still, there was a part of me that wanted to remind him of the work I’d done for him.
A part that maybe was searching for just one sentence of acknowledgment that I’d meant something at Van Alen & Associates.
“What about the Kingsley portfolio?” I asked, doing my best to make it sound like I didn’t care what had happened. “I’ve been wondering if you got it in the end?”
“No, we didn’t.” His jaw tightened, the self-satisfied expression vanishing from his face. “W&S won it. Sterling Westwood personally oversaw the acquisition. They were faster, and unfortunately, he outbid us.”
Sterling Westwood, huh? I didn’t even know if Sterling knew about that acquisition yet. The poor guy had a lot on his plate at the moment, with the baby coming and all.
I lowered my gaze, hiding the little curve of triumph I felt ghosting across my lips.
Van Alen & Associates had only ever stood a chance at that portfolio because of me.
I was the one who had found out about the deal, nurtured a relationship with the attorneys, and brought Kingsley to the table.
My father had let it slip through his fingers, and I wanted to howl at the moon in victory.
Even after all the time I spent at the firm, he still couldn’t tell me they’d lost it when I’d left. Because I’d left. No, it had to have been because of Sterling, because the way Dad saw it, there was no other reason the client wouldn’t have stuck with him.
Before I could say anything more, my mother swept into the foyer, bringing with her a cloud of perfume and silk. “There you are, baby girl. I need you. Which of these tie-backs should we use?”
Her diamond bracelets jingled as she lifted the swatches of silk between her fingers. She didn’t bother waiting for a response before she motioned me down the hall. She also didn’t even glance at my father.
Instead, she just kept talking, also not checking to make sure I was following.
“The florist botched the garland for the banister. They brought hunter green instead. Can you believe it? Hunter green for Christmas. It’s ridiculous.
The caterer somehow got it in their heads that pheasant is festive and I still haven’t finalized the seating chart. We have so much to do.”
I let myself be swept away from my dad to mom’s study, which was essentially her party and event planning headquarters.
When I walked in though, I winced. It looked like a mashup between Santa’s workshop and the palace of Versailles.
Swatches of ribbon lay on every overstuffed chair, sample menus were scattered across her imported desk, and a seating chart stood on an easel front and center.
My mother was in her element. I was out of my depth. Give me corporate strategies and complicated acquisitions any day over this. I did my best to keep up, learning about napkins and wine pairings on the fly.
It took us hours to go through it all, everything from centerpieces to the exact shade of candlelight she demanded, but I finally escaped. By the time I got home, I was ready for silence, a long, hot bath, and a massive glass of wine.
When I stepped into the lobby of my building, however, I stopped short, and suddenly, it seemed highly unlikely that any of that was going to happen.
Harrison was here, but not as the polished billionaire in the bespoke suit.
He was in dark blue jeans and a worn leather jacket, his hair pushed back like he’d been running his hands through it all day.
My mouth dried up instantly. He looked good. Too good. But before I could start getting all worked up about the kiss again, I noticed the weight in his eyes. The same eyes that could make me laugh with just a glance were shadowed and tired, the faintest of rings underneath them.
Two days. That was how long it had been since that kiss, and they’d been two days of silence. Two days of me pretending I wasn’t replaying it in my head every minute of every day.
I clutched my keys tighter in my hand as our gazes held, but he didn’t say a word. He was just standing there, leaning against the counter, looking like he was about to fall asleep right there on his feet.
“Would you like to come up?” I asked, my voice a little softer than usual. “I don’t think the wine I’ve got is as good as what you had, but it looks like you might be willing to drink it anyway.”
Harrison didn’t say a word, crack a smile, or even offer a joke about my shoddy taste in wine. He just pushed off the counter and followed me across the lobby. My heels clicked too loudly on the marble, my heartbeat even louder in my ears.
The elevator ride was suffocating, his silence filling every inch of the small space, and when we reached my floor, I couldn’t tell if I was relieved or terrified to finally have him alone.
My hands trembled faintly as I fumbled with my keys.
The brass lock seemed suddenly complicated, the motion of sliding the key in unfamiliar.
All the while, he stood behind me, close enough that I felt the warmth of him and inhaled the faint scent of leather and cedar in the air. When I finally managed the herculean task of unlocking and opening my front door, I stepped aside and waved him in.
“Make yourself at home,” I said, but my voice wasn’t nearly as confident as it should’ve been.
He moved past me, but he wasn’t walking with his usual easy swagger. Rather, his gait had a kind of heaviness about it too, just like his eyes, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
As he paused by the window, sliding his hands into his pockets and looking out at the twinkling city lights below, I stood in the doorway for a moment, just watching him. My stomach started tangling itself into hundreds of tiny, tight little knots.
Is he about to call this whole thing off? Ask for the ring back?
The chain around my neck suddenly felt unbearably heavy, making me overly aware of how bothered I would be by its absence. I’d grown used to the weight, the warmth, and the secret thrill of having it cradled against my skin.
The idea of losing it made my chest ache in a way I hadn’t expected. Is he going to tell me this was all a mistake?
Logically, I knew that would probably be the smart thing for both of us. We’d jumped into this at reckless speed, following through on a drunken suggestion to get married after we’d barely known each other a week. As it was, kissing him had turned me inside out.
Walking away now, before anyone found out what we’d done and before it got messy, would be the practical choice, but the thought of it ending before it’d even truly begun soured my stomach. It scared me more than I wanted to admit.
Just a couple days ago, I’d been telling myself I hadn’t signed up for romance. That this wasn’t supposed to feel like anything more than strategy, but now, the idea that it might turn out to be nothing at all made me want to reach for him and hold on as tight as I possibly could.
He still hadn’t spoken, though. He hadn’t even looked at me. Squaring my shoulders, I stepped further into the foyer and shut the door behind me, intent on not drawing this out any longer.
“Harrison,” I said softly, my voice refusing to cooperate with my brain’s command to sound like I was confident and in control. “What’s going on? Why are you here? Has something happened?”