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Epilogue
“Ready?”
Delaney studied herself in the mirror in the bathroom, running a hand down the front of her dress to smooth it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn a dress. She thought it might help with the nerves that had been building to a fever pitch all week. It hadn’t. But it was a pretty shade of red, at least.
Her eyes met James’s in the mirror. “No. But let’s do it anyway.”
His smile was warm when he reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together and bringing her knuckles to his lips. If he was nervous about how tonight might go, he didn’t show it. But his steadiness was enough to quell the worst of the butterflies doing loops in her stomach.
They drove away from Center City to the north. She’d never ventured into this part of Philadelphia before. The homes got bigger, and so did the lots, until there was nothing but massive trees lining the road with the occasional gate and a glimpse of a towering mansion beyond.
Billionaire. She knew the word applied. She’d done her research, after all. But knowing it and seeing it were two different things. Suddenly she felt hopelessly out of her depth. Not just because she was about to share dinner with the city’s most powerful crime family—a sentence that still felt strange to roll around in her brain—but because she’d clawed her way up from nothing and these people had everything.
He turned into a driveway and stopped in front of a tall wrought iron gate between two stone pillars. After punching a code into the box, the gate swung open, and he drove through. The house came into view and her breath caught in the back of her throat.
Three stories of stone and glass rose behind a circular drive. Ivy climbed the far side of the house and wrapped around it. It was stunning, old, stately. James had said something about the house being in the family for over a century. She wondered at having that kind of history in a single place.
“They’re just people.”
She dragged her gaze away from the house to look at him. “They’re gods,” she breathed, and he chuckled.
She climbed out of the SUV when he did, and he met her at the hood, squeezing her shoulders and then skimming his hands down her arms. “You okay?”
“What if they don’t like me?”
“How could anyone not like you?” She cocked a brow. “In the unlikely event that happens, we’ll fake our deaths and run away together. I know someone who’s had good practice with that.”
She laughed despite herself. “That’s not funny.”
“Then why are you laughing?” He brushed a soft kiss against her lips. “Impress Evie, and you’ll be halfway there.”
“Which one is she again?” she asked, trailing him up the walkway to the imposing front door.
“Declan’s wife.”
“Oh, right. The queen,” she said, and he grinned, shaking his head.
He let himself in, and there was something oddly comforting about the fact that he felt enough at ease to go in without knocking or announcing their presence. She took a steadying breath and followed him inside. They weren’t just people to her. They held her happiness in their hands.
The foyer couldn’t be called anything but grand, soaring above them with a beautiful glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The carpet was plush and old, original to the house if she had to guess. A beautiful staircase climbed to the second level, and a long hallway led to the back of the house on the left while another branched off to the right.
The house in New Orleans was a shack by comparison, and that gave her a smug sense of satisfaction. She’d traded up in every way imaginable. Assuming they liked her enough to let her stay. Or trusted her.
They didn’t really have to like her, even though she desperately wanted them to. But they did have to trust her. That’s what tonight was all about. Earning their trust. She would do it. She had to. Because she loved James too much to lose him.
She heard the low hum of voices as soon as they turned the corner to the right of the stairs, and those pesky butterflies started doing somersaults in her stomach again. Pressing a hand to her belly, she gave James’s hand a squeeze, smiling when he returned it.
They stopped in the doorway of the living room. Generous leather couches and chairs were arranged in a large seating area. There was a bar cart against the far wall, stocked with bottles of liquor and wine. It took the room a while to register their presence, but when they did, conversation slowly dwindled.
“Just people,” he reminded her.
A woman with brown curls and an impressive emerald and diamond ring on her finger made her way across the room. She smiled, but her hazel eyes took Delaney in, appraising, calculating.
“I’m glad you could make it. I’m Evie. Can I get you something to drink?”
Well, nothing like starting at the top and working your way down. “I don’t really drink,” Delaney said. “Alcohol, I mean.”
“Water? Tea? Soda?” Evie clasped her hands in front of her and waited.
