Chapter 37 Cal #2
Parker says something to Ryan. He nods, his hand finally—finally—leaving her back as he steps aside to let her approach her brother alone.
She hugs Charles, kisses Sienna’s cheek, and for just a moment she looks relaxed. Real. Not performing for donors or tolerating Ryan’s presence.
Then Charles gestures to someone in the crowd—another family head, probably, someone he wants Parker to meet—and she’s back on. Smile in place, shoulders straight, every inch the Carter princess she was raised to be.
“This is torture,” I say quietly.
“Yes,” Jace agrees.
“We deserve it,” Silas adds.
Also true.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out carefully, checking the screen.
A text from Charles: Morrison making moves on Castellano territory. Get details.
Right. Work. The actual reason we’re here.
I show the message to Jace and Silas. Jace nods, already scanning the crowd for Morrison. Silas shifts position, moving to get a better angle on the senator’s group.
And I try—really fucking try—to focus on anything other than the woman in storm-grey and steel-blue and amber who’s currently laughing at something Charles said while Ryan Matthews hovers nearby like a vulture waiting for his chance.
An hour passes. Then another.
We work. Making observations, cataloging conversations, building the intelligence Charles needs. It’s muscle memory at this point—years of practice making it almost automatic.
But every few minutes, my eyes find her.
Parker talking to Maria Ramirez, the two women clearly sizing each other up with mutual respect.
Parker being introduced to the McCoy family head, her expression carefully neutral despite the fact that Silas stabbed his son two weeks ago.
Parker accepting a glass of champagne from a waiter, taking a sip, her lipstick leaving a mark on the rim.
Parker with Ryan’s hand on her back again, his mouth close to her ear as he whispers something that makes her nod politely but doesn’t change her expression.
Every interaction. Every touch. Every moment she’s down there and we’re up here, watching, unable to do anything but observe.
The orchestra transitions to something slower, more romantic. Couples move onto the dance floor—a polished marble section near the center of the gallery. I watch as Ryan leans in to say something to Parker, offering his hand.
She hesitates. Just for a fraction of a second. Then she takes it, letting him lead her onto the floor.
Ryan’s hand goes to her waist. Parker’s rests on his shoulder. They start to move, swaying to the music with the kind of practiced ease that comes from good breeding and cotillion classes.
But her body language is all wrong. Too stiff. Too distant. Like she’s dancing with a stranger instead of a date.
“I can’t watch this,” I mutter.
“Then don’t,” Silas says. “Go cut in.”
I look at him. “What?”
“You’re Cal fucking Morgan. The charmer.
The one who can talk his way into or out of anything.
” Silas’s storm-grey eyes are sharp. “No one’s going to think twice about you asking to dance with Charles’s sister.
Just another one of the guys being friendly, showing support for the family. Completely innocent.”
Jace considers this. “He’s not wrong. You’re the only one of us who could pull it off without raising questions.”
My heart is pounding. “Charles—”
“Knows you’re charming and friendly and would absolutely ask his sister to dance at a public event.” Jace’s expression is carefully neutral. “It’s expected behavior. Normal.”
“Do it,” Silas says. “Before I decide to do it myself and blow the whole thing.”
I don’t need to be told twice.
I descend the stairs, keeping my pace casual, my expression pleasant. Just Cal being Cal—charming, friendly, completely non-threatening.
As I approach the dance floor, I catch Parker’s eye. She sees me coming, and something flickers across her face—surprise, maybe, or hope, or something I can’t quite identify.
Ryan has his back to me, still swaying with Parker like he has all the time in the world.
I tap his shoulder. “Mind if I cut in?”
Ryan turns, his expression shifting from annoyed to politically pleasant when he sees who’s asking. “Cal. I didn’t realize you danced.”
“Only when the company’s worth it.” I flash my most charming smile—the one that’s gotten me out of trouble more times than I can count. “And I’d hate for Charles’s sister to spend the whole night dancing with just one partner. Wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea.”
It’s a calculated jab—suggesting that Ryan’s monopolizing Parker’s attention in a way that might cause gossip. Wrapped in charm and a smile, but a jab nonetheless.
Ryan’s jaw tightens slightly, but he’s too well-bred to refuse.
“Of course.” He steps back, releasing Parker with obvious reluctance. “I’ll go get us some champagne, Parker.”
“Thank you,” she says politely.
Then Ryan’s gone, disappearing into the crowd, and suddenly it’s just me and Parker on the dance floor with a dozen other couples swaying around us.
I offer my hand. She takes it.
And the moment our skin touches, everything else falls away.
I pull her close—closer than Ryan held her, close enough that I can smell her perfume and feel the warmth of her body through the storm-grey silk. My hand settles at her waist, finding the curve of her hip through the fabric. Her hand rests on my shoulder, light but present.
We start to move, and it’s different than with Ryan. She’s not stiff anymore. Not distant. She melts into my lead like she was made for it, our bodies finding the rhythm together without effort.
“You look beautiful,” I say quietly, keeping my voice low enough that only she can hear. “The dress is... perfect.”
“Thank you.” Her sea-glass eyes meet mine, and there’s something soft in them that wasn’t there before. Not forgiveness, exactly, but not anger either.
Understanding, maybe. Or patience.
We sway together, the music washing over us, and for these few minutes I can pretend that we’re not at a gala surrounded by hundreds of people. That she’s not here with another man. That I haven’t spent the past two days terrified that I’ve destroyed something precious beyond repair.
“I have a friend,” Parker says after a moment, her voice barely above a whisper. “Someone discreet. A lab tech who owes me a favor from California. She’ll update me when the results are ready.”
My heart stutters. “When—”
“Soon. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the day after.” Her fingers tighten slightly on my shoulder. “When I know, I’ll want you all there. To learn the results together. All four of us.”
The relief that floods through me is so intense it’s almost painful. She’s not shutting us out. Not punishing us by withholding the information. She wants us there.
“Thank you,” I manage.
“Don’t thank me yet.” But there’s no heat in it. Just statement of fact. “You still have a lot to prove.”
“I know.”
We turn together, the movement smooth and practiced. Storm-grey silk brushes against my legs. Amber beads catch the light. Steel-blue accents gleam.
“The colors,” I say, because I can’t help myself. “You’re wearing—”
“I know what I’m wearing, Cal.”
“Why?”
She’s quiet for a moment, just moving with me, her body fitting against mine like it was designed for this. Then: “Because even when I’m angry, even when you’ve fucked up, even when I’m here with him—I’m still yours. All three of you. And I needed you to know that.”
The words settle in my chest, warm and aching and full of hope I don’t deserve but desperately need.
“I love you,” I say quietly. “I know I don’t have the right to say it after what I did, after doubting you, but I need you to know. I love you, Parker. And I will spend however long it takes proving that I’ve learned from this. That I can be what you need.”
“I know you love me.” Her voice is soft, understanding. “That was never the question. The question is whether you trust me. Whether you can choose me over doubt when things get complicated.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out smoothly with one hand, keeping the other at Parker’s waist, and glance at the screen.
Charles: Keep eyes on Matthews—making too many moves for comfort. Fill Parker in, but your hand better not go any lower, idiot.
I can’t help it—I smirk, a quiet chuckle escaping as I tuck the phone back in my pocket.
“What?” Parker asks, her eyebrow raised.
“Charles.” I let my hand slip lower on her back—not inappropriately, but definitely lower than it was. A deliberate fuck-you to her brother who’s apparently watching us. “He says I should keep an eye on Ryan. That he’s making too many moves.”
Parker’s expression shifts slightly, curiosity replacing the softness. “What kind of moves?”
I turn us on the dance floor, positioning so she can see across the gallery to where Ryan is standing with Aria near one of the art installations.
They’re standing close—too close for just friendly conversation.
Ryan’s body language is open, engaged, his attention fully on Dominic’s young widow.
Aria’s laughing at something he said, her hand touching his arm in a gesture that’s familiar, practiced.
“That kind,” I say quietly.
Parker watches them for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then: “He’s hedging his bets.”
“Or building alternative alliances.”
“Same thing.” She sounds more amused than angry. “I told him in the car there was no future between us. Guess he decided to move on quickly.”
“You told him—”
“That I wasn’t interested. That there’s nothing between us and never would be.” Parker’s eyes meet mine again. “He admitted to lying to Charles about being in contact with me in California. Said he thought it would make Charles more supportive of us getting to know each other.”
Anger flares hot in my chest. “He admitted—”
“Honestly, I appreciated the honesty.” Parker’s voice is calm, matter-of-fact. “He’s not malicious. Just entitled and arrogant. Thinks he can convince me if he tries hard enough.”
My phone buzzes again. I pull it out, expecting another sarcastic comment from Charles.
Instead, I see an incomplete text—just the beginning of a message that cuts off mid-word: Cal, your hand—
I look up, scanning the crowd for Charles. Find him near the sculpture with Sienna, who’s currently tucking his phone into her clutch with a satisfied expression.
I catch Sienna’s eye across the distance. She winks.
And I realize she just confiscated Charles’s phone to stop him from micromanaging my interaction with Parker.
I love her sister-in-law.
“What now?” Parker asks, noticing my expression.
“Sienna just stole Charles’s phone.”
Parker follows my gaze, sees Sienna smoothing down her dress while Charles looks vaguely confused about where his phone went. A laugh escapes her—real and genuine and so fucking beautiful it makes my chest ache.
“She’s the best,” Parker says.
“She really is.”
The song is ending. I can see Ryan extracting himself from his conversation with Aria, heading back toward the dance floor with champagne flutes in hand.
Our time is almost up.
I pull Parker slightly closer, letting my hand at her waist—lower than Charles would approve of—tighten against the storm-grey silk.
“I trust you,” I say quietly, answering her earlier question. “I will choose you over doubt. Next time things get complicated, next time someone tries to plant seeds, next time Charles manipulates the situation—I come to you first. Always. That’s a promise, Parker.”
She looks up at me, searching my face for something. Whatever she sees must satisfy her, because she nods slowly.
“Okay,” she says. “Then prove it.”
The music ends. Couples around us begin to separate, moving off the dance floor. Ryan is almost here, champagne in hand, ready to reclaim what he thinks is his.
But before I release her, I lean down, my mouth close to her ear so only she can hear.
“Tomorrow or the day after, when the results come in—we’ll be there. All of us. And regardless of what they say, those boys are ours. You’re ours. And we’re going to spend the rest of our lives proving we deserve to keep you.”
I feel her shiver against me, her breath catching slightly.
Then I step back, putting professional distance between us just as Ryan arrives with the champagne.
“Thank you for the dance, Parker,” I say with my most charming smile. “Always a pleasure.”
“Of course, Cal.” Her voice is steady, but her eyes are dark with something that looks like promise. “Always.”
Ryan hands her a champagne flute, his hand immediately returning to the small of her back. But this time, I notice Parker shifts slightly—not pulling away entirely, but creating just enough space that his touch is merely polite instead of possessive.
And she’s still wearing storm-grey and steel-blue and amber.
Still wearing us.
I head back to where Jace and Silas are waiting, my heart lighter than it’s been in days.
“Well?” Jace asks as I reach them.
“She has a friend. Lab tech. Results will be ready soon—tomorrow or the day after. She wants us there when she finds out.”
“All of us?” Silas confirms.
“All of us.”
Something shifts in the air between the three of us. Relief. Hope. Determination.
Below us, I watch as Parker moves through the crowd with Ryan, still playing her role. But she keeps putting space between them, small subtle movements that create distance. And Ryan keeps drifting back toward Aria, his attention divided, his interest waning.
Charles is gesturing animatedly to Sienna, probably complaining about his missing phone. Sienna just smiles and says something that makes him laugh despite himself.
And Parker—beautiful, fierce, patient Parker—glances up at us one more time, her hand touching the amber beads at her throat.
A reminder. A claim. A promise.
I’m yours.
Tomorrow, or the day after, we’ll know the truth about Noah and Liam.
And then we’ll prove we deserve to keep her.
All of her.
Forever.