Chapter 27 #2
Morella’s twin walks in beside their parents, and the moment his eyes land on me, he freezes.
It’s not obvious, just a fractional pause in his stride but I notice it.
His gaze drops down the length of my dress.
His jaw flexes hard. When he swallows, it’s rough and visible, like his throat’s too tight for it to go down easily.
He’s dressed in black like Archer, but he’s added a fitted charcoal vest over his shirt. It makes him look like trouble with restraint, like someone who showed up ready to behave but might not.
Then he blinks, once, twice, and forces a smile that’s so fake it almost hurts to look at. He shakes my father’s hand, exchanging a few polite words while their parents head toward me and Morella.
“Hello, my beautiful daughter!” Morella’s mom sings, arms out, beaming like sunshine in a sea of chandeliers. She smells like vanilla and roses when she hugs her.
Then she turns to me.
“And you! Hello again, my love!” Her arms wrap around me before I can answer. “You look absolutely stunning. I’m so glad you and Morella are such good friends. It’s just so nice to see you again.”
I laugh softly and return the hug. “It’s good to see you, too Mrs.Haverhill.”
Her husband swoops in next, giving us both a quick, tight squeeze before following his wife off into the crowd.
They’re rarely in town, so big events like this become mini-reunions.
But I can’t help noticing the first person Morella’s mom makes a beeline for is the woman who came in with Archer and Silas.
Interesting.
Before I can say anything, my father’s voice shifts.
“Hello, Mr. Vander Shamp. Ms. Vander Shamp.”
It’s polite, but tight. That alone startles me, because my father is never anything less than overly warm with guests.
I turn to see who he’s talking to and instantly regret it.
Maddison is gliding in like she owns the damn place, one hand gripping the pudgy arm of a much older man in a navy suit.
Her smile is calculated, her eyes gleaming with something that makes my skin crawl.
She doesn’t just sneer at us as she walks past, she drags her gaze over us like we’re trash on the curb.
I shiver and lean closer to Morella. “Who’s the old guy?”
She doesn’t miss a beat. “Her dad,” she says, then adds with a mock-gag, “unfortunately.”
That’s when I notice the woman on his other arm. Mid-twenties, maybe. Maybe. Blonde, pouty, trying a little too hard.
“Yeah, he’s creepy,” Morella says under her breath. “That’s his current wife. He changes them out like socks.”
“Ew,” is all I can manage.
Dad turns slightly toward us, keeping his voice low. “Girls,” he says, “I’ve seen quite a few from your age group arrive. Why don’t you go find your friends? Enjoy yourselves.” He gives a subtle nod and turns back to the next couple walking in.
“Oh thank god,” I mutter, lifting the hem of my dress and already stepping away. “Let’s find the guys and a drink. Preferably a strong one.”
We’ve just settled into a quiet corner near the bar when I hear the unmistakable rhythm of designer heels approaching.
“Raaaafe,” Maddison croons, voice syrupy and fake. “There you are.”
She glides toward us as if this is her event she’s hosting, arm hooked tightly through her father’s, dragging him along. Mr. Vander Shamp, all sweaty-faced confidence and thinly veiled arrogance, already has a drink in his hand. His eyes sweep over us like we’re merchandise.
“Oh, Mr. Haverhill,” he says with exaggerated familiarity, beaming at Rafe. “Always good to see you, son. I was just telling Maddison how bright your future is, on and off the ice.”
Rafe's jaw tightens, but he simply nods at the man and gives him a tight lipped smile. Appearances are everything after all.
Maddison presses in closer. “Father thinks we make a perfect match. Don’t you, Daddy?”
Mr. Vander Shamp chuckles and pats her hand. “Like I told your step mother, when two families of our standing come together, it only strengthens the legacy. And Maddison’s always had good instincts about these things.”
I nearly choke on my drink. Silas shifts beside me, eyes wide with delight, and Archer just watches silently, unreadable as always. Morella’s lips twitch like she’s trying very, very hard not to burst out laughing.
But Maddison’s not done. She turns fully to Rafe now, still clinging to her father. “We’ve known each other forever. It just makes sense, doesn’t it? I mean, can you imagine the photos? Our wedding would be the event of the year.”
She’s not joking. That’s the worst part.
Rafe finally looks at her, expression blank, body stiff. “No, Maddison. I really can’t.”
Her smile wobbles, just for a second.
“I was hoping we’d get a moment tonight.” Maddisons Father says directing his comment at Rafe.
Rafe gives a polite nod, his posture straightening automatically. “Of course, sir.”
Rafe and Mr. Vander Shamp walk off talking in lowered tones. Once they are out of ear shot is when Morella cracks.
She snorts and then laughs outright. It rings out over the quartet playing in the background. “Oh my god. You actually believe this.”
Maddison’s head snaps toward her. “Excuse me?”
Morella waves a hand, still laughing. “You think Rafe, my brother, wants to marry you?”
Maddison crosses her arms, chin lifting. “Our families have a long history—”
“Of avoiding each other,” Archer mutters.
“Of barely tolerating each other,” Morella corrects, her tone sharp now. “And you clearly weren’t at dinner last month when he almost walked out because someone brought up your name.”
Maddison’s cheeks go hot. “You think you’re so clever, Morella, but this isn’t a joke. Rafe and I have real history. Just because you two,” she gestures between me and Morella, “want to throw yourselves at anyone who’ll look at you doesn’t mean you can keep him.”
That gets a reaction from Silas. “Whoa,” he mutters, eyebrows raised. “Hostile.”
Morella steps forward, no longer smiling. “Liv’s not throwing herself at anyone, and I’m not either. But you? You’ve been throwing yourself at my brother for our entire lives, and the only person who doesn’t see how pathetic it is... is you.”
Maddison scoffs, about to fire back, but Archer cuts in.
“Rafes not marrying you, Maddison,” he says quietly, clearly and without hesitation. “Not now. Not ever.”
Maddison blinks. It’s small, but the ripple hits her entire face. Like her composure slips for a fraction of a second and she’s scrambling to tape it back together.
Her gaze cuts to Archer, disbelief flashing in her eyes. “You don’t speak for him.”
Archer doesn’t even flinch. “I don’t have to. He already said it.”
Silas leans against the wall, a slow grin pulling at his mouth. “Ouch.”
“You all think this is funny?” Maddison snaps, rounding on us now, her voice rising just enough to draw glances from nearby guests. “You think this little game between you, this whatever-it-is with Liv, is going to last?”
Morella cocks her head. “You still don’t get it, do you?”
Maddison’s jaw clenches.
Morella smiles but it’s not a kind one. “Rafe doesn’t want you. He never has. You’re the one playing pretend. The rest of us are just watching the show.”
Maddison swallows hard, her eyes flicking toward the spot where Rafe and her father disappeared, like she’s hoping he’ll reappear and magically prove her right.
Instead, she turns to me, eyes narrowing. “You know he’ll get bored, right? They all do.”
My heart kicks, but I keep my expression steady. “Then let him.”
It’s the first time I’ve said anything and the quiet finality in my voice seems to land harder than any insult.
For one second, she just stares. Then she scoffs and spins, heels stabbing into the polished floor as she storms off in the direction her father went.
Silas exhales slowly, watching her go. “She’s gonna throw a drink at someone before the night’s over.”
Morella grins. “I hope it’s herself.”
I glance down at the champagne in my hand. Suddenly, it tastes better.
Archer doesn’t say anything, but he’s still watching the spot Maddison left like he’s expecting her to come back.
Morella nudges my arm. “Come on. Let’s go find my brother before she corners him again.”
“Do we rescue him?”
She smirks. “Absolutely not. We wait until he’s on the brink of emotional death and then show up with cocktails.”
Silas offers me his arm, mock-formal. “Shall we, Lady Heartbreaker?”
I roll my eyes, but link mine through his anyway. “Lead the way.”