Chapter 10 #3
She was watching me with those cool, assessing eyes, her polite expression not quite masking the censure beneath. She struck me as a woman accustomed to having the last word, to delivering her pronouncements and watching everyone scurry to comply.
“Mrs. Hayward,” I said, keeping my voice respectful. “I apologize if I overstepped by participating in Stella’s photos. It wasn’t my intention to cause any issues for your family.”
Celeste’s eyebrow arched—a minute movement that somehow conveyed a wealth of condescension. “How considerate of you, Mr. Holland.”
“Stella needed help with her business, and I was available. I didn’t think about how it might reflect on her, or on you. That was a lapse in judgment on my part.”
I didn’t believe a word of what I was saying.
There had been nothing wrong with those photos or even me modeling the menswear.
Stella had created something that showcased her talent and was clearly resonating with thousands of people.
But I’d learned long ago that sometimes you had to play the game and bow to the client to protect the people who mattered.
And right now, protecting Stella meant smoothing things over with her mother.
Celeste studied me for a long moment. I held my ground, kept my expression neutral, and let her see what she wanted to see—the hired help, properly chastened, knowing his place.
“I appreciate the apology,” she finally said, though her tone suggested she appreciated it about as much as she’d appreciate gum on her designer shoes. “But I think the more pressing concern is Stella herself.”
I wasn’t sure what she meant. “Ma’am?”
Celeste moved toward the kitchen island, her fingers trailing along the marble surface as if checking for dust. “My daughter has always been... fanciful. Creative, certainly, but prone to impractical decisions. This little fashion venture of hers—” she waved her hand dismissively, “—it’s a phase.
Something to keep her occupied until she settles down properly. ”
I felt my jaw tighten but forced myself to remain impassive.
“The problem, Mr. Holland, is that people keep encouraging her.” Celeste turned to face me, her expression hardening. “Clients who praise her work. Followers who fawn over her posts. And now you, lending your presence to her photographs as if this hobby of hers is a legitimate enterprise.”
“With respect, Mrs. Hayward, her business seems quite successful—”
“Success,” Celeste said, cutting me off with a dismissive click of her tongue. “Success is marrying well. Building a family. Contributing to society in meaningful ways. Not playing dress-up on the internet for strangers’ approval.”
The hypocrisy of her statement made my stomach clench.
Here was a woman who’d built her entire identity on her husband’s name and her family’s legacy and generational wealth—who filled her days with luncheons and charity galas and the exhausting work of maintaining social appearances—all while dismissing her daughter’s actual career as if it were nothing more than a fanciful whim.
With effort, I forced my tone to remain even while swallowing the urge to tell this woman to fuck off, on behalf of her daughter. “I understand.”
“Do you?” Celeste’s gaze flickered down the length of me, then back up.
“Stella is a sweet girl, but she’s easily influenced.
She latches onto anyone who validates her choices, anyone who makes her feel like she’s on the right path.
” Her eyes met mine, and there was warning there beneath the polished surface.
“I would hate for her to become... confused about certain boundaries. About what’s appropriate and what isn’t. ”
The implication was clear. Stay in your lane. Don’t let her think she might actually be capable of building a life outside the one we’ve planned for her.
“I’m here to ensure your daughter’s safety, Mrs. Hayward,” I replied, giving her the professional response. “Nothing more.”
“Good.” Celeste smiled—a thin, satisfied expression that didn’t reach her eyes. “Then we understand each other. I would appreciate it if you didn’t encourage her.”
She turned away, effectively dismissing me, and reached for her phone on the counter. I stood there for a moment longer, watching her scroll through messages like our conversation had already been forgotten, like I’d been dealt with and filed away.
I thought about Stella in that workroom, pouring her heart into designs that her own mother couldn’t be bothered to respect. I thought about the pain in her eyes when she’d walked past me, how she’d held herself together through sheer force of will.
I thought about how vastly different our lives were—and how, in this one way, they were exactly the same.
We’d both grown up with parents who looked at us and saw something else entirely.
The only difference was that my father’s blindness had come with fists, while Celeste Hayward’s came wrapped in silk and delivered with a society-polished smile.
Neither one left fewer bruises.
I walked out of the kitchen and returned to the study, remaining there for the next hour until Stella was ready to leave.
I met up with her at the front door. She’d changed into a business-appropriate dress to meet with her client and had fixed her hair and makeup.
She had a garment bag draped over her arm and a satchel over her shoulder that I assumed held the things she needed to do a fitting.
Her expression was carefully blank, but I could see the redness around her eyes, the slight puffiness that suggested she’d been fighting back tears. She didn’t ask what her mother and I had discussed. Maybe she already knew. Maybe she’d heard every word.
“Ready?” I asked quietly.
She nodded, not meeting my eyes. “Let’s go.”
We walked out to the SUV in silence, and I found myself thinking about Celeste’s words. I would appreciate it if you didn’t encourage her.
My jaw clenched tight as I opened Stella’s door, waited for her to climb in and get settled, then closed it behind her. As I walked around to the driver’s side, I realized I wasn’t capable of following Celeste’s orders. Even at the expense of my own carefully maintained boundaries.
Even if it blurred lines I’d been trying damn hard to keep between us. Even if it made this assignment more complicated than it already was.
I slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, the low rumble filling the silence in the car. Stella stared straight ahead, profile composed but fragile around the edges, and I knew she was holding herself together by sheer will.
Celeste didn’t want me encouraging her. Too fucking bad. Because if protecting Stella meant more than just scanning for physical threats, if it meant reinforcing the parts of her that other people tried to diminish, then so be it.
I would encourage Stella.
Every chance I got.
Even if it cost me.