21. Fracturing Foundations
Fracturing Foundations
Naomi
T he reflection staring back at me from the restaurant bathroom mirror is almost unrecognizable. Flushed cheeks. Bright eyes. A woman who looks alive .
I smooth my hands over the emerald dress Olivia insisted I buy, the silky fabric cool against my palms. It hugs my curves in ways Lucas would have deemed inappropriate , but the woman in the mirror has opinions of her own now.
I take a deep breath, letting it fill my lungs completely before exhaling. My hands tremble as I reapply my lipstick—a subtle rose shade Olivia also convinced me to try. “For a woman who’s being thoroughly fucked,” she’d whispered in the boutique, making me blush furiously.
And God, was she right. The thought of Micah’s hands on my body sends heat spiraling through me, even now. The way he’d looked at me when I first tried on this dress at the cabin, his dark eyes drinking me in before he’d crossed the room in three long strides and—
“Naomi? You okay in there?” Eve’s voice interrupts my improper train of thought.
“Coming,” I call back, giving myself one final assessment. The woman in the mirror has secrets—dangerous ones— but tonight she’s just having dinner with friends. Nothing uncomplicated about that.
If only I could make myself believe it.
I return to our private dining room, tucked away in the back of what was once someone’s Victorian home.
The converted restaurant maintains the building’s original charm—exposed brick walls, wooden beams crossing the ceiling, large windows with ornate moldings.
White tablecloths and fresh flower arrangements add elegance without sacrificing the inherent warmth of the space.
“There she is.” Olivia raises her wine glass as I slide back into my seat. “We were about to send a search party.”
“Sorry,” I say, settling into my chair. “Just needed a moment.”
Eve studies my face, though her expression remains friendly. “Everything all right?”
“Fine.” I assure her, reaching for my own wine glass. “Just get overwhelmed sometimes. Being out like this.”
Lydia reaches across the table to squeeze my hand, her hazel eyes warm with understanding. “After what you’ve been through? Totally understandable.”
The compassion in her voice catches me off guard. These women know pieces of my story—the abuse, fleeing Lucas, the fear of being found—but none know the whole truth. They don’t know the truth behind Lucas’s murder.
I’m not sure how much Eve knows. But she’s Zeke’s wife, and Zeke knows everything about what happened that day in Micah’s apartment.
“So,” Lydia leans forward, eyes glittering with mischief as she tops off my wine, “are we going to talk about the mountain of a man standing guard by the front door? The one who practically frisked the waiter before letting him approach our table?”
Heat rises in my cheeks instantly. “Micah’s just protective.”
“Protective,” Olivia repeats, drawing out each syllable with gleeful emphasis. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
“Stop it,” I mutter, though I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips.
“Oh my God.” Lydia’s eyes widen. “I’m right, aren’t I? You two are together. But isn’t he…”
“My father-in-law. Yes.” The words hang in the air, challenging anyone to judge. “Ex-father-in-law, technically.”
To my surprise, Lydia just shrugs. “Well, he’s definitely got that silver fox thing going. Those shoulders. And the beard? Very sexy.”
“Lydia,” I splutter, nearly choking on my wine.
“What? I have three kids. I’m tired, not dead.” She grins, popping an olive into her mouth. “Besides, anyone who makes you smile like that gets my stamp of approval.”
Her acceptance—so casual, so genuine—makes my throat tighten.
“It’s new,” I admit, “but good. Really good.”
“He’s a good man,” Eve adds, her contribution carrying particular weight. “Complicated, sure, but good where it counts.”
“And in bed?” Olivia arches one perfectly manicured eyebrow.
“Olivia,” Eve and Lydia scold in unison.
I hide my burning face behind my wine glass but can’t suppress the smile that spreads across my lips. “No complaints.”
Olivia crows with delight and Lydia fans herself dramatically.
“I knew it,” Olivia declares triumphantly. “Those big, quiet ones are always the best.”
The atmosphere in the private dining room shifts as Lydia leans forward, her petite frame casting a delicate shadow across the white tablecloth. A faint smile plays at her lips, but uncertainty lingers in her hazel-green eyes.
“I feel like such an outsider sometimes,” she admits, fingers tracing the stem of her wine glass.
“My life is so normal. Plain, really. The scariest thing I deal with is Nora’s dance recital drama or Harper forgetting her lunch.
” She glances between Eve, Olivia, and me.
“But you all live in this whole other world. With dangerous, powerful men and secrets I probably don’t want to know about. ”
The vulnerability in her voice makes my heart ache. Sweet Lydia, who survived her own battles but emerged with her kindness intact. Who bakes cookies for her daughters’ classes and volunteers at their school and somehow manages to run a successful boutique as a single mom.
“How do you handle it?” she asks, her gaze settling on each of us in turn. “The constant danger, the violence that’s always lurking beneath the surface? The knowledge that the men you’re with operate in a world most people pretend doesn’t exist?”
I take a slow sip of wine, letting the rich Cabernet coat my tongue as I consider her question. “It’s—” I begin, searching for words that won’t frighten her further.
“It’s like learning a new language,” Olivia takes over for me, reaching to squeeze Lydia’s hand. “At first, everything seems foreign and scary. But gradually, you start to understand the rhythms, the unspoken rules. You learn when to ask questions and when to look the other way.”
“You make it sound so elegant.” I laugh softly at Olivia’s description, though there’s truth in her words. The careful dance of knowing when to push and when to yield, when to question and when to trust. “Like we’re all taking lessons in some exclusive finishing school instead of—”
“Instead of being in love with men who occasionally have to handle things in less than legal ways?” Eve cuts in, raising her glass with a faint smile that holds equal parts amusement and understanding.
Her green eyes sparkle in the restaurant’s soft lighting as she continues.
“Danger aside, these powerful men would do anything to keep us safe.” She pauses, taking a deliberate sip of wine before adding with a wicked grin, “And it helps that the sex is phenomenal.”
I nearly choke on my wine as unbidden images of Micah flash through my mind—his large hands gripping my hips, his beard rough against my inner thighs, the way he fills me so completely I forget where I end and he begins.
“Oh my God,” Lydia squeaks, her face turning pink even as she leans forward. “Really? All of them?”
“Let’s just say there’s something about men who are used to being in control,” Olivia purrs, shooting me a knowing look that makes me squirm in my seat. “They tend to be thorough in all their endeavors.”
A shiver slides down my spine. Micah’s thoroughness extends far beyond the bedroom—from the meticulous way he cleans his weapons to how carefully he plans for every contingency to keep me safe.
Even now, I know he’s positioned near the entrance, watching, protecting, ready to eliminate any threat before it reaches us.
Lydia sits back in her seat and sighs. “Maybe I need to find me a morally gray hottie who’s more than a little thorough.”
“I’m sure that could be arranged,” Olivia says with a waggle of her brow.
“To dangerous men who keep us very, very satisfied,” Eve declares, raising her glass in a toast that makes us all dissolve into scandalous giggles.
The conversation drifts to less intoxicating topics after that—Lydia’s children, a difficult customer at the boutique, the unusually harsh winter.
I let the normalcy wash over me, savoring each moment like a starving woman at a feast. This connection, laughter, and belonging feels like a gift I’d forgotten I deserved.
Our food arrives, temporarily halting conversation as we appreciate the chef’s artistry.
I cut into my seared salmon, watching steam rise from the tender pink flesh.
Simple pleasures like a well-prepared meal in beautiful surroundings once seemed permanently beyond my reach.
Now each bite tastes of possibility, of a future where joy might outweigh fear.
“So, I hate to ask, but I’ve been worried about you. How are you handling all the trouble Sandra’s been causing?” Eve asks quietly, her professional persona edging into her voice.
I set down my fork, appetite suddenly diminished. “Micah says she’s hired private investigators. She’s convinced I had something to do with Lucas’s murder.”
“Well, that’s ridiculous.” Lydia gasps.
Her immediate rejection makes me smile.
Eve shakes her head, taking a measured sip of her wine. “She’s grasping at straws. There’s nothing linking you to his death.”
“But what if—” I begin.
Eve cuts me off with a gentle but firm hand on my wrist. “Naomi, listen to me.” Her green eyes hold mine, steady and certain.
“The case is essentially closed. All evidence points to drug-related violence. There’s nothing—absolutely nothing—that would lead any competent investigator to suspect you of involvement. ”
“But Sandra—”
“Is grief-stricken and looking for someone to blame.” Eve’s voice softens with compassion. “I’ve seen it a hundred times. She can’t accept that her son made choices that led to his death, so she’s creating a narrative where he’s the innocent victim of a scheming wife.”