Chapter 34 Parker #2
“I have no interest in Ryan Matthews,” I say flatly. “Not as anything beyond a colleague.”
The words come out sharper than intended, and the room goes quiet. Even Madame Laurent pauses in her work.
“That’s a shame,” Aria says from her position by the window, her voice carrying just enough edge to cut. “Because according to Ryan, you two have quite the history.”
I turn to look at her, my stomach dropping. “Excuse me?”
“He mentioned you’d been in contact while you were in California.
” Aria examines her nails with studied casualness.
“Helping you out, checking in on you. Making sure you and the boys were safe.” She looks up, meeting my eyes.
“He even let it slip to me—and I’m sure to Charles—that you two met up before Charles and Sienna’s wedding. For a date.”
The world tilts sideways.
“That’s not—” I start, but the words stick in my throat because I’m too busy processing.
Ryan told Charles we’d been in contact. That we’d dated. That there was history between us.
And Charles—Charles who controls information like currency, who positions people like chess pieces—Charles would have shared that information.
With Cal.
Oh God.
Cal, who had me under surveillance for months before Dominic called it off. Cal, who probably still has access to those files, those records, those carefully compiled reports on my life in California. Cal, who Charles just asked to investigate the paternity of my children.
And if Charles told Cal that Ryan claimed to have been helping me, checking on me, maybe even dating me before I got pregnant—
The pieces click together with sickening clarity.
That’s why Cal has been so quiet. Why Jace has been so distant. Why Silas has been looking at them both like they’ve betrayed something fundamental.
Because Charles planted the seed that Ryan might be the boys’ father. And Cal and Jace—instead of asking me, instead of trusting me—they’ve been spiraling. Doubting. Maybe even investigating.
“Parker?” Sienna’s voice cuts through my thoughts, concerned. “You okay? You just went really pale.”
I force myself to breathe. To think. “When did Ryan tell you this?”
Aria shrugs. “A few days ago. We had drinks. He was quite chatty about you, actually. Seemed very invested in making sure I knew that you two had... history.”
A few days ago. Right around when Cal started acting weird. When the tension between the three of them started building.
“And he told Charles the same thing?” I press.
“I assume so. He mentioned having a conversation with your brother about wanting to pursue things with you properly this time. Now that you’re back, now that Dominic isn’t around to interfere.
” Aria’s smile is sharp. “He seemed quite confident you’d say yes.
It’s not like you’re dating anyone with how busy you are with your sons and Charles’s best friends circling you now more than ever. ”
My hands are shaking. I lower the mask carefully, setting it back in its velvet box before I drop it.
“Parker,” Mom says gently, “if there’s something between you and Ryan, you can tell us. We’re not going to judge you for—”
“There’s nothing between me and Ryan,” I interrupt, my voice harder than I intend. “We didn’t date. We weren’t in contact while I was in California. He’s lying.”
The words hang in the air.
“Why would he lie?” my mother asks, genuinely confused.
Because he wants me, I think. Because he sees me as an opportunity—alliance with the Carters, access to power, a pretty face to put on his arm at events like this. Because men like Ryan Matthews don’t hear “no,” they hear “convince me.”
But I can’t say any of that out loud without explaining why it matters so much. Without revealing that I’m already taken, that I wake up most mornings tangled between three men who’ve claimed every part of me, that the thought of Ryan Matthews touching me makes my skin crawl.
“I don’t know,” I say instead. “But I’m going to find out.”
Sienna is watching me with that knowing expression again—the one that says she sees through all of it. She knows. Maybe not the details, maybe not the specifics, but she knows that my objection to Ryan isn’t about him being unsuitable or the wrong family or bad timing.
It’s because I’m already someone else’s. Three someone else’s.
“You’re very quiet,” Mom observes after a long moment. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”
Before I can answer, Sienna sets down her champagne flute with purpose.
“You know what? Maybe we should try a different color, Madame Laurent. The gown is beautiful, but I feel like since this is Parker’s first formal event back, we should lean further from subtlety and more.
..” She trails off, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror with deliberate intent.
Madame Laurent sighs, stepping back to examine me with a critical eye.
“You’re right. You look gorgeous in everything, Parker, but I’ve been fiddling with this for the past hour and your sister-in-law is correct.
It’s not quite fitting for your debut back into society.
” She taps her finger against her lips thoughtfully.
“The midnight blue is lovely, but it’s too.
.. safe. Too forgettable. We need something that makes a statement. ”
“What kind of statement?” my mother asks, looking between Sienna and Madame Laurent with confusion.
“The kind that says Parker Carter isn’t someone to be overlooked or underestimated,” Sienna says smoothly. “The kind that reminds everyone in that ballroom exactly who she is.”
Madame Laurent’s eyes light up with understanding—or maybe just the thrill of a challenge. “I have something. Wait here.”
She disappears into the back room, her assistants scurrying after her. In the sudden quiet, I catch Sienna’s reflection in the mirror. She’s watching me with that same knowing expression, but now there’s something else there too—solidarity, maybe. Support.
She knows what I need, even if she can’t say it out loud in front of my mother and Aria.
“What’s wrong with the blue?” Mom asks, sounding genuinely baffled. “I thought it was perfect.”
“It’s pretty,” Sienna agrees. “But pretty isn’t what Parker needs right now. She needs commanding. She needs unforgettable.”
She needs to walk into that gala and make it crystal clear to every person in that room—especially Ryan Matthews—that she’s not available. That she belongs to someone else, even if they can’t see the claim written on her skin.
Madame Laurent returns with an armful of fabric in a color that makes my breath catch.
Deep crimson. Blood red. The exact shade of the wine Silas drinks, the color that bleeds into the edges of Cal’s code when he’s hacking something particularly difficult, the color of Jace’s favorite leather jacket that he never wears but keeps hung in his closet like a talisman.
But Madame Laurent shakes her head, setting the red fabric aside. “Non, non. Too obvious. Too expected for a woman trying to make a statement.” She taps her finger against her lips thoughtfully. “We need something more... complex. More layered.”
“What did you have in mind?” Sienna asks, and I catch the slight curve of her smile—like she knows exactly where this is going.
Madame Laurent disappears into the back room again, and when she returns, she’s carrying an armful of fabric that makes my breath catch.
Storm grey. Not the soft dove grey of morning mist, but the deep, rolling grey of clouds heavy with rain and electricity. The exact color of Silas’s eyes when he’s deciding whether someone lives or dies, when violence is riding his shoulders and I’m the only thing that can calm him down.
“This,” she says, holding it up to my face. The fabric seems to shift in the light, darker in the shadows, almost luminous where the sun hits it. “This is your base. But we don’t stop there.”
She gestures to her assistants, who bring out more fabric—silk in steel blue that catches the light like polished metal, like the blade Jace keeps strapped to his calf, like his eyes when they’re assessing a threat.
“And the accents,” Madame Laurent continues, producing swatches of fabric shot through with amber—not orange, not yellow, but the exact warm honey-gold of Cal’s eyes when he looks at me across a crowded room.
“Like lightning in a storm. Like drops of whiskey in rain. Small touches, but impossible to miss.”
My mother frowns, examining the fabrics. “Grey?”
Aria huffs a sound, “We can’t wear the same color.”
“Exactly,” my mom nods in agreement, “For Aria it makes sense, but for Parker’s first event back? That seems rather... subdued.”
“It’s not subdued,” Sienna says quietly, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “It’s perfect besides,” she addresses Aria, “grey isn’t your color. Maybe stick with black since you’re still technically a widow grieving.”
“I agree,” Madame Laurant smiles softly before asking her assistant to bring in options for Aria in black to choose from.
I feel like I’m missing something but, I mean, she is Dominic’s widow and it’s not like she’ll be expected to wear a bathrobe. It’ll be classy, maybe even sexy since Charles is hoping she’ll attract someone to help her move forward with her life.
In the mirror, I finally see the vision Madame Laurant is going for. Storm grey silk that moves like clouds and shadows. Steel blue threading through it like lightning about to strike. Amber accents catching the light like sun breaking through after rain.
Silas’s eyes. Jace’s eyes. Cal’s eyes.
“The gown will be primarily this storm grey,” Madame Laurent explains. “Fitted bodice, sweetheart neckline, with the steel blue worked into the bodice in a pattern like Damascus steel. And amber beading along the neckline and hem—just enough to catch candlelight.”
Her assistant presents steel-blue heels, metallic and sharp-looking. Another opens a case of amber jewelry—topaz stones that glow like whiskey held up to firelight.
“The mask,” the second assistant says, holding up a creation of storm-grey silk with steel-blue metalwork swirling like wind patterns, punctuated with tiny amber crystals.
I stare at the collection, my throat tight. Anyone else will see an elegant woman in a beautiful gown. But three specific men will see their colors wrapped around me—a claim they can’t possibly miss.
“I love it,” I say quietly. “Exactly perfect.”
My mother still looks uncertain. “It’s very monochromatic. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer something warmer?”
“This is perfect,” I say firmly, meeting Sienna’s eyes in the mirror.
Madame Laurent claps her hands. “Excellent! Then let us begin.”
The assistants remove the midnight blue gown and bring out the storm-grey fabric.
Madame Laurent drapes it around me, pinning and adjusting.
The fabric moves like liquid shadow, clinging before flowing into a skirt that shifts with every movement.
Steel-blue accents swirl through the bodice like Damascus steel.
Amber beads catch the light along the neckline.
They help me into the steel-blue heels—sharp and dangerous, the exact shade of Jace’s eyes when he’s calculating threat levels.
The amber necklace comes next—three strands of delicate gold holding a cluster of stones at my throat, warm as Cal’s gaze. Matching earrings. A slim bracelet circling my wrist.
Finally, Madame Laurent presents the mask. Storm-grey silk with steel-blue metalwork swirling across the surface, amber crystals set like raindrops catching streetlight.
I hold it up to my face. In the mirror, I barely recognize myself—storm-grey gown flowing like clouds, steel-blue threading through like lightning, amber catching light like sun through rain. The transformation is complete.
“Mon dieu,” Madame Laurent breathes. “You are a tempest, mademoiselle.”
My mother has gone quiet, staring at me with something like wariness. Aria’s champagne glass pauses halfway to her lips. But Sienna is smiling like she’s just won a war.
“When can you have it ready?” I ask.
“Saturday morning. I’ll have it delivered personally.”
The fitting continues—adjustments and measurements, my mother making suggestions about hair and makeup with less enthusiasm than before. Aria excuses herself for her own fitting, her expression carefully neutral.
And through it all, I stand wrapped in storm grey and steel blue and amber, planning.
Ryan Matthews lied to my brother. Told Charles we had history, that he’d been helping me in California. And Charles passed that lie to Cal, who’s probably been tearing himself apart wondering if one of my children belongs to another man.
The thought makes me furious. Makes me want to storm into their house and demand answers. But I can’t do that without revealing everything.
So instead, I’ll wear their colors to a gala where I’m supposed to smile on Ryan Matthews’s arm. I’ll send a message they can’t miss.
“All finished,” Madame Laurent declares.
The assistants help me out of the gown. I slip back into my jeans and sweater, but I can still feel it—the weight of storm-grey fabric, the sharp edge of steel-blue accents, the warmth of amber stones.
Their colors, wrapped around me.
When I walk into that ballroom Saturday night, every person who matters will know exactly who I belong to.
Even if they’re too stupid to trust me right now.