Chapter 50
Willow
Three weeks slipped away far too quickly after Christmas.
I spent the holiday with Elijah and Rivers' family, who, if I'm honest, have come to feel like my own.
The atmosphere was loud and delightful, a whirlwind of joyous chaos that enveloped me.
Beneath that surface, however, lay something profound—a genuine warmth that I had never truly experienced before.
I could feel their happiness, the kind of love that filled every nook of their home, a kind I often longed for while growing up.
Don't get me wrong; having my dad was everything to me. He was more than enough, as he always had been. Yet, there lingered a small, quiet ache within me for the family dynamic we didn’t possess.
This was my first Christmas without him. The last one we shared was overshadowed by his illness; he was too weak to even realise where he was, never mind enjoy himself.
We still had decorations, the tree stood proudly in the corner, and soft lights twinkled gently in the room where he slept. But it wasn’t the same.
I held it together. Mostly. When we were all sitting around the table, pulling crackers, it caught me off guard. The memory was small and so ordinary, but it hit me a lot harder than expected.
My dad always won. It was pretty annoying because it happened every single time, and I would occasionally accuse him of cheating cause, let’s face it, nobody wins that much. He would just grin, mess up my hair, and then hand me the paper crown along with whatever shitty prize was inside.
Elijah held my hand through it. It's like he just knew when my mood soured, and I couldn't be more thankful for him.
After everything had settled and Christmas had come and gone, Elijah and River took a day to themselves—paintballing, of all things. Apparently, Elijah thought it'd be a perfect excuse to let River take a few shots at him, work through whatever frustration he had about us.
I suppose boys will be boys.
From what I gathered, they actually had a proper conversation about everything and weren't just shooting at each other for fun.
I tell you what, it doesn't sound like my thing at all. You couldn’t pay me enough to willingly sign up for that kind of brutality. I saw the aftermath when Elijah got back—bruises blooming across his skin, dark and angry- and he tried to play it off like it was nothing.
Still, I ended up rubbing cream into every sore spot, my fingers tracing over marks that made me wince more than he did.
Yeah… definitely not my thing.
Now, today was the day of the dance show, and I am trying really hard not to freak out and bolt.
“You look like you're about to be sick.”
Aria appears beside me, her hand settling gently on my bare arm as her eyes skim over my outfit, taking everything in.
“What gave me away?” I mutter, forcing a weak smile.
She huffs out a small laugh, clearly amused. “I can just tell, but there's honestly no need to be this nervous. You're going to be incredible. You've worked far too hard not to be. So I want you to enjoy this, okay?”
I tip my chin, even though my stomach is in knots. She's right. I have worked hard for this. Countless hours, aching muscles, pushing myself harder each time.
I think my biggest reason for my inner spiralling is knowing Elijah is out there.
It's ridiculous because that man has seen me in far too many different positions when naked, so this should be a cakewalk.
But it matters because it's him.
“You're right. It's just… It's been a long time since I performed in front of a crowd.”
My shoulders droop, and I can’t shake the quiet heaviness in my chest—the first of many performances I’ll face without my dad cheering from the audience.
“They're going to love you, Willow. And you look beautiful.”
I peer at the curtain not far from us. The music is winding down, and I know it's my turn next. My gaze drops to myself, taking in the outfit, and I can't help but smile.
The dress is a deep, royal purple that seems to drink in the light.
The bodice is fitted perfectly, sculpting my chest and waist, adorned with an intricate silver floral motif that winds delicately around my midsection.
Two slender straps sit elegantly on my shoulders, while two longer, silk-like ribbons drape from them, flowing down my arms like liquid.
The skirt flares gently from my hips, stopping just at my upper thighs, the fabric whispering and shimmering as though dusted with starlight.
My hair is pulled into a tight bun with a thick plait wound round it.
Tiny purple blossoms are woven through the braid, dainty accents that soften the strong lines of my hairstyle, adding a touch of whimsy to the elegance.
It is beautiful.
“Thank you.”
She squeezes my hand briefly, then slips it into her pocket and pulls out a neatly folded envelope. “Elijah said to give this to you. Figured you'd need it.”
I take it from her, feeling the weight of it in my hand. My name is written messily on the front, and in brackets beside it: Your first dance.
I look up, and she gives me a wink. “Break a leg. I’ll see you out there.”
She leaves me alone, and I can't help but feel nervous.
Everything inside me trembles as I unfold the letter. I hadn't opened my birthday one yet because I didn't want to be down while spending the weekend with Elijah, and honestly, I’d already cried enough after visiting him. I dab at my eyes lightly, careful not to ruin my makeup, and begin to read.