They land on me and everything stops.
For a second that feels like an eternity, I forget how to breathe. I forget that we’re surrounded by people. People who already despise me. Forget that his girlfriend is touching him, that my mother is holding onto me. That anything else in the world exists.
All I can see is the raw, desperate look in his eyes.
Like he’s been waiting for me and seeing me is a mix of relief and pain.
Ella notices his distraction and follows his gaze. When she sees me, a sad smile lines her lips. Her hand tightens on Knox’s arm, and she leans closer to him, whispering something again.
The whole display pisses me off. I never had a problem with Ella, despite my unresolved issues with Knox. She was a part of his life, and I learned to deal with it, and she was always friendly. Someone else to chat with at family dinners, another outsider.
But now, after reading those texts, after seeing pity written all over her, I want to yank her hand away and slap that look offher face. She doesn’t deserve to be up there with Owen’s family. She hasn’t earned that. Not like I have.
“Come on, honey,” Mom says quietly, giving me a small push forward as the line moves. “Almost there.”
I force my legs to obey, climbing the church steps one by one. Each step brings me closer to them. The urge to turn and run grows stronger the closer I get. But I can’t. Everyone’s watching, judging, waiting to see if David Thorne’s daughter will fall apart.
I refuse to give that to them.
Victoria sees us approaching. Her lips form a straight line before she remembers where she is and corrects herself. She mastered the perfectly calibrated expression of distress mixed with decorum after the scandal. There’s something else about her now. Maybe it’s the slow way she sways her arm, or her posture slipping with each greeting. She’s medicated. Has to be. I don’t blame her. Most people couldn’t stand here, greeting hundreds of people at their son’s funeral, without pharmaceutical help. Especially the Ashford elite.
I know she’s grieving. Her love for her son wasn’t an act, but she won’t let the public see her break down. She’s too strong for that. Or maybe too numb.
“Sawyer.” She steps forward, opening her arms.
I move into the hug because what else can I do? Maybe if I close my eyes, I can pretend she’s the same Victoria who would braid my hair after a day of swimming, or sneak me extra candy when Mom went on a health kick. She taught me to shave my legs when Mom said I was too young, bought me my first little black dress, and told me I was the daughter she always wanted. All that was before. It’s hard to see the same woman now, just as I’m sure she doesn’t see me the same either.
The hug is exactly as expected—stiff and brief, her hands barely touching my back, her body rigid against mine. When she pulls away, her smile doesn’t reach her covered eyes.
“Thank you for coming,” she says, like I’m a guest at a charity event instead of the woman who her son was going to marry.
“Of course,” I manage.
I glance toward Knox, and find his eyes already on me. My stomach clenches.
“Victoria,” Mom says with a curt nod, waiting to pull me inside the church.
Richard turns to us, hand on Victoria’s elbow. “Sawyer.” His eyes flick to mom, and his face goes carefully neutral. “Helen.”
“Richard,” Mom says.
There’s a long moment of awkward silence that feels like decades. Knox’s gaze burns into my skin the entire time, but I don’t let myself look at him again. Not when I’m barely keeping my shit together.
“There’s room at the family pew, Sawyer,” Victoria says, her speech slurring just enough that I notice. “And at the family table, afterward, if you’d like.”
Richard stiffens beside her, but doesn’t object.
I know she’s not sincere. Her invitation is for show, the proper thing to do for the grieving girlfriend. If she meant it, she would have involved me from the start, would have called me instead of sending a generic text.
I glance past her at the small cluster of family members gathered near the church entrance. Aunts and uncles I’ve met once or twice at large family gatherings. There’s Hailey, Richard’s daughter from his first marriage, holding a fussy baby on her hip, while her husband shakes hands with someone in an expensive suit. And Ella, still standing too close to Knox.
“Uh,” I begin, tearing my gaze away from Ella. “I don’t want to leave my mom alone.”
Victoria touches my shoulder, completely ignoring that my mom’s even a person standing next to me. “Of course. I understand.”
She doesn’t understand. She’s relieved.
“We should find seats,” Mom says.
