Chapter 25
Chapter twenty-five
Dane
Every year, I tell myself I won’t come.
And every damn year, I do.
Not for my father.
Not for his spectacle.
But for Charlotte, who shouldn’t have to stand on a stage alone, honoring the dead my father exploits.
And for Julian, who endures this circus with whiskey and sarcasm as armor.
The Black Foundation Memorial Gala plays out in front of us, my father’s favorite kind of grief: profitable, photogenic, champagne, lights, and entirely about him. A yearly tribute to Amelia, my mother... and Helena, the fiancée he never cared for until her death, became a PR opportunity.
I step out of the car first and offer my hand to Ivy.
She emerges like a goddess in figure-hugging red velvet that sweeps down to the floor from a tight bodice that I plan to enjoy later.
Her dark hair is twisted in an elegant chignon, the diamond earrings I gifted her catching the light, and her lips painted blood red to match the dress.
Beautiful doesn’t even begin to cover it.
But the sight of her here at this event is stirring up too many things I shouldn’t feel all at once.
I knew before we even left the apartment that bringing her here tonight was a risk.
I know it even more so now, watching cameras swing toward us like vultures scenting something new.
But the last few weeks have been... something else.
Most weekends she’s been at the house in the Catskills, tucked against me in a bed that hasn’t felt empty once since.
For the first time in years, I’m not treading water.
I don’t know what that means yet. Maybe I’m not ready to know.
Inside, the gala is lavish with the usual opulence that no longer impresses me. In a world where money is no obstacle, you begin to crave the simpler things in life. I guide Ivy with a protective hand at the small of her back straight to the only people I trust.
Julian whistles low, his eyes on Ivy, when we approach. “Jesus, Dane. You could’ve warned us. Some of us need time to emotionally prepare.”
Charlotte elbows him, beaming at Ivy before tugging her into a hug.
“You’ve never emotionally prepared for anything, Julian,” I deadpan. “So I doubt you’re about to start now.”
“I’m emotionally preparing for a dance with Ivy later?” His gaze flicks to Ivy, tossing a shameless wink.
“I’m not sure you’ll be able to keep up,” Charlotte chimes in. “You know Ivy is a professional dancer.”
“I’ll rise to the occasion.” Julian raises his champagne flute at me, enjoying this far too much.
“You won’t,” I mutter.
Julian squints at Ivy, head tilted. “Quick sanity check—how do we know it’s actually Ivy?”
I roll my eyes. “That joke’s expired, Julian.”
“I’m just saying,” Julian shrugs. “You two have the most unhinged first-meet story I’ve ever heard.”
Charlotte laughs. “Most people meet because they’re drunk at a friend’s birthday, or they matched at two a.m. and pretend it was fate.”
Julian looks at Ivy. “To be fair, most people don’t have a spare twin they can deploy.”
“Thank God you don’t, Julian,” I say.
Ivy’s lips curve as she glances between us, clearly amused.
“God, you’re so lucky you only have a sister, Ivy,” Charlotte groans. “Try dealing with this one on a daily basis.”
Julian gasps, wounded. “I bring sparkle to your life.”
“You bring migraines,” Charlotte fires back.
Ivy laughs softly, and for a moment the tension in me eases—right until Julian’s gaze flicks over my shoulder.
“Oh, perfect,” he mutters under his breath. “The royal delegation approaches.”
I turn just as Dad and Mitzy glide toward us—Dad wearing his usual politician’s smile, Mitzy wearing something that looks more like malice dressed as a smirk.
Just before they get here, I lean toward Charlotte, voice low enough to remain unheard. “Stay with Ivy tonight.”
Charlotte gives me a knowing look. “I will. But you’re the one I’m more worried about.”
Instinctively, I pull Ivy closer as Dad stops beside us.
“Dane,” Dad says, clapping a hand on my shoulder in a gesture meant to look paternal. His eyes hit Ivy first. They drag over her in a way that makes my molars grind together.
“Charming dress,” he says, the compliment landing too low, too slow. Then, without missing a beat, his tone cools. “And this is...?”
“Ivy.” I keep my voice even.
“Mr. Black,” Ivy says, with a politeness he doesn’t deserve.
Dad gives a polite nod that feels more like a dismissal. “Well. Enjoy the evening.”
Mitzy’s smile widens, glossy and poisonous.
“A new face,” she coos. “My, Dane. You do like to switch things up, don’t you?”
I feel Ivy stiffen for half a heartbeat.
“I don’t ‘switch things up,’” I say flatly.
Mitzy laughs as if I’ve told a charming joke. “Relax. I only meant the gala always brings out such... interesting company.”
Before Mitzy can do anymore damage, Dad’s attention shifts upward. On the massive LED screen behind the stage, the slideshow transitions into a full family portrait.
Fuck, this is far worse.
My mother—Amelia—radiant in the center.
Helena at her side, smiling.
Julian, Charlotte, and me. All of us frozen in time, unaware that the photo would outlive half the people in it.
I feel Ivy glance at it. I don’t look at her.
Dad exhales, theatric and grave. “A tragic year,” he says, loud enough for nearby donors to hear. “Losing the love of my son’s life so young...” He sighs, shaking his head. “We all have our crosses to bear.”
Heat spikes under my collar.
Ivy goes very still.
Mitzy’s hand slides to Dad’s arm, voice like poison dipped in honey.
“Oh, Edward, don’t be morbid. Accidents happen. And sometimes,” she smiles at Ivy, “they happen in the unlikeliest situations. One must always be...careful.”
“Ivy,” Charlotte says, voice a little high as she loops an arm through hers, “come with me? I want to introduce you to a couple of people before the speeches.”
Ivy gives me a small, steady smile — stronger than I deserve, and lets Charlotte lead her away.
I’m so livid I can hardly breathe.
I turn back to Mitzy, keeping my expression neutral, voice dry.
“Careful, Mitzy. That almost sounded like a threat.” I let it land like a joke, tone light but my eyes dead-serious.
Her breath catches in a delighted little laugh.
“Oh, Dane. If I were threatening her, trust me, you’d know. You’re so tense tonight.”
Her fingers trail along my forearm, lingering long enough to make my skin crawl.
“Though I must say... it’s intriguing seeing you react like that.”
Dad clears his throat, impatient. “Mitzy, darling, come meet the board before they scatter.”
She gives me one last slow smile, like she’s pocketing the moment for later, and lets him lead her away.
Julian steps in beside me the second they’re out of earshot.
He exhales hard. “Jesus. Our family needs a therapist. Or an exorcist.”
I huff out a bitter laugh, dragging my hands through my hair. “I shouldn’t have brought Ivy.”
Julian looks at me like I’ve missed the obvious.
“You absolutely should’ve.”
My brow lifts.
He shrugs, but his tone is firm.
“If you’d left her out of this? That’s not protection; that’s distance.
You think she wouldn’t notice? All she’d feel is you shutting her out of your life.
This,”—he gestures toward the room, my father, the photo looping overhead—“this is ugly, yeah. But you don’t get to keep her in a different universe forever. Even though you might want to.”
I stare at the crowd, at Ivy’s dark hair catching the light miles away across the ballroom.
Julian nudges my shoulder. “Letting her be here... even in this mess? It matters more than you think.”
“Since when did you start speaking sense?”
Julian stretches his arm over my shoulder. “Come on, let’s go find our table before Mitzy comes back and tries to sit on your lap.”
We move to a table at the edge of the room where the noise softens, and I can finally drink my whiskey in peace. Julian’s face sobers, which is rare for him, as he takes off his tux and slings it over the back of his chair, rolling the tension out of his shoulders.
“PI gave another update,” he murmurs. “They’re narrowing down who was in the other car. He thinks the reason the enquiry disappeared is some kind of connection to a mid-tier criminal syndicate, nothing small-time.”
My jaw tightens. “Fuck, that explains a lot. I need names.”
“Oh, they’re fucking coming, don’t worry about that.”
“Good.”
I take another sip of whiskey, my eyes scanning the room for her. I spot Ivy before she sees me.
She’s walking toward us with Charlotte, their heads bent together. Ivy is laughing softly at whatever nonsense Charlotte is feeding her.
For a moment, I just stay there, watching her—the way candlelight touches the red velvet of her dress. I wasn’t sure that bringing her tonight was the right move. Julian’s comment shouldn’t have meant anything, but it stuck: Not bringing her would’ve said more than bringing her ever could.
She glances up, eyes bright even in the muted light, and gives me a small, quiet smile like I’m a welcome sight and not a complication. And the tension I’ve been carrying finally loosens. She slides into the seat next to me, her lips tilted in a half-smile.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Please do.”
I move closer once she’s seated, enough so that our knees brush under the table. She inhales sharply, a soft little shiver running through her when I let my fingers drift over the velvet covering her thigh.
“You look beautiful tonight,” I murmur, my lips grazing her ear.
.Her hand finds mine beneath the table—warm, soft, almost hesitant as her fingers thread through my own.
She stiffens the moment my father steps onto the stage and launches into his tribute, grief packaged for the crowd and sincerity staged for maximum applause.
Her grip slackens like she’s thinking about pulling away, but I hold tighter.
She’s doing a damn good job of hiding, but I know she’s uncomfortable.
But I need to keep her right here with me because she’s the only thing grounding me.
Most years, the speech hits me like a blow. Tonight, it’s background noise. All I can feel is the soft brush of her skin against mine. All I can focus on is the way her thumb strokes the side of my hand when she thinks I’m not paying attention.
When the applause starts, I lean into her, the need to touch her again almost instinctive. ”Dance with me.”
Her eyes glitter with mischief as they fix on mine. “Oh, I was thinking of dancing with Julian.”
Julian’s ears prick up faster than a bat on steroids. “Did I hear the word dance, Ivy?”
“In your dreams,” I mutter, already guiding Ivy to her feet before he can take a single step.
On the dance floor, Ivy steps closer, closing the last inch between us, her body aligning with mine so perfectly. The warmth of her seeps straight through the velvet of her dress.
“It’s nice how you get on so well with Julian and Charlotte,” she muses.
“What, you mean as opposed to the rest of my family?”
I look up, and right on cue, Mitzy is watching us, eyes full of venom. I flash her my best fuck-you smile, turning my attention back to Ivy.
Her cheek grazes my jaw as she shifts closer, the faintest brush of skin that sends heat straight down my spine.
“You doing okay?” I murmur, my lips near her temple, close enough that I feel her breath catch.
“Surviving,” she says, voice soft but threaded with humor.
“Hope it’s not too bad tonight. My father and Mitzy have a talent for ruining a room,” I say quietly.
Her mouth curves in a sly grin. “Mitzy seems nice.”
My gaze catches Mitzy’s again, and she is still watching us, expression murderous.
I let out a dry laugh, holding Ivy a fraction tighter. “She’s not,” I say, low. “At all.”
Mitzy’s stare still burns between my shoulder blades, but I don’t look her way again.
I’ve wasted enough of tonight on people who don’t matter.
Julian was right—bringing Ivy wasn’t a mistake.
Pretending she didn’t matter would’ve been.
Because fuck Dad, fuck Mitzy, fuck whatever was holding me back.
The noose that was around my neck feels lifted.
Ivy’s blue eyes shine up at me, and the room fades around her. All I can feel is her body pressed to mine, her pulse matching my rhythm. My thumb draws lazy circles at the base of her spine.
She moves beautifully. Effortlessly.
And God, she feels good—too good—every shift of her hips brushing my thigh, every breath skating my throat. The slow tempo forces us closer until all I can think about is getting her home.
Her fingers graze the side of my neck, and just that one touch is almost too much.
We sway, slow and hungry, the space between us disappearing until her forehead rests briefly against my cheek. Her perfume, soft and warm, curls right around my nerves.
Her voice is barely a whisper. “You... okay?”
Not even close.
I dip my head, lips brushing the shell of her ear—light, not quite a kiss but close enough to feel her entire body react.
“Let’s leave soon,” I murmur.
I press a soft kiss to her forehead before guiding her back toward the table. We must take only two steps before Charlotte intercepts us, pressing a phone into Ivy’s hand.
“It keeps ringing,” she says. “Over and over. It must be important.”
Ivy looks at the screen and turns to me. “I’ll just take this call. It’s Jennie.”
“Sure.” My eyes follow her as she crosses to the far side of the room. She lifts the phone to her ear, shoulders tightening almost instantly. Her free hand rises to her mouth, thumb brushing her lower lip—her biggest tell.
And whatever’s in her eyes freezes my pulse cold.
The universe’s way of telling me I don’t deserve this.