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Outside the main event room, in a grand hall that feels too vast and empty, I find Lacey.
She's on her phone, her head of curls bowed, her posture showing shadow of her usual vibrant self.
She's so engrossed in her conversation that she doesn't notice me at first. The words "his health" drift to me, and I move faster.
She's hanging up as I approach, slipping her phone into her purse like it's a weapon.
"Lacey?" My voice softens unintentionally. "Everything okay?"
Standing there in the grand hall feels like we're the last two people in the world, despite the muffled echoes of the party behind us.
She jumps slightly, a smile that's too quick to be genuine flashing across her face. "Yeah, I'm just... not feeling too great."
I reach out, concerned. "What's wrong?"
She steps back. "I'm okay, really. Just a bit off, you know?"
I cross my arms, stopping myself from reaching out again. "Can I do anything? Need anything?"
She glances toward the staircase, where a string quartet plays, soft music filling the tense air. "No, I just need some rest. I'm heading up to our hotel suite. See you in the morning, okay?"
Her words hang heavy, a weariness underlining them. She doesn't wait for a reply, her steps echoing as she heads through the grand hall, the chandelier light casting gentle shadows.
I watch her go, torn between following her and staying here where duty calls. There's a weight in my chest, a mix of concern and confusion. I wonder if Lacey heard the speech I made earlier, where I laid bare parts of myself I hadn't planned on sharing — particularly about being open to new experiences... about being open to her.
In the silence that follows after she's gone, I'm left wondering not just about that phone call, but also about us.
Watching her retreat feels like a reset.
I sigh, deciding on some fresh air. A walk around the museum grounds might clear my head. Help me figure out if the woman I'm risking it all for is ready to open up to me.
Or am I just chasing shadows, hoping for something more?
Chapter Sixteen
LACEY
Waking up, my mind is as tangled as the sheets wrapped around me, heavy with the weight of last night's phone call.
My dad, ever so proud, now faces the impossible choice: return to work against his protesting body or risk losing it all.
And here I am, miles away, tangled not just in sheets but in what feels like a mess of my own making.
Messing around with Aidan, my enigmatic yet infuriatingly charming boss who's a decade older, is a complication I can't afford.
Yet, as I silently make my way into the living area of our lavish NYC penthouse suite, I can't help but pause at the bedroom doorway.
There's Aidan, a man of countless complexities, looking every bit the doting dad as he serves up a plate of sprinkled pancakes to his daughter, Grace.
The room fills with laughter, warm as the morning sunlight streaming through the expansive windows, as he and Grace playfully mimic Mrs. Potts and Chip from Beauty and the Beast.
For a moment, my troubles melt away.
Caught in this unexpected scene of domestic bliss, I'm momentarily spellbound. But the laughter, echoing in the plush penthouse, sharply contrasts with my dad's strained voice over the phone, bringing back the harsh reality.
Standing at a crossroads, my path unclear, my choices seem more complicated than ever.
With a forced smile, I step into the main sitting area, the sweet aroma of pancakes in the air, but with a lingering bitterness of uncertainty.
