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As I show them around, the nannies coo over Solana. "We'll have lots of fun together," promises one, her voice warm and reassuring.
Solana gives a small smile.
Out in the hallway, the butler Clive supervises as bellhops lug up bags of toys and art supplies. He nods approvingly as they begin transforming the cold, formal space into an area bursting with color and laughter.
Solana tugs excitedly on my hand, pulling me towards the hallway. "Come see, come see!" she urges.
I let her lead me to the elevators, where a group of kids waits impatiently. With a ding, the doors slide open, and they rush in, jostling playfully.
On the ground floor, Solana makes a beeline for the shimmering pool. She lets out a squeal, kicking off her shoes and plunging her feet into the cool water. Nearby, Clive watches indulgently as other children cannonball in, clothes and all.
Waiters in crisp white uniforms deliver heaping sundaes to poolside tables. Solana's eyes go wide at the towering mounds of ice cream, drizzled in chocolate and caramel.
"For me?" she asks in disbelief when a waiter sets one down. He winks. "On Mr. Morgan's orders."
Tears prick my eyes as I watch Solana devour the treat. The child who just yesterday had nothing now knows only joy and plenty, thanks to Dare.
As if reading my thoughts, he appears at my side. "How are they settling in?" His eyes scan the scene, his mouth curving into a satisfied smile at the sounds of delight.
"I can't thank you enough for this," I tell him earnestly. "They've lost so much, but you've given them back laughter and hope."
He shakes his head dismissively. "It's only money." But I know it's more - his immense privilege wielded to shelter the vulnerable. In that moment, I feel deeply grateful for his kindness and generosity.
I nod slowly, taking in the opulence surrounding us. The soaring marble columns, the plush velvet furniture, the grand piano in the lobby - this is a world unfamiliar to most.
Yet Dare navigates it with ease, commanding resources and loyalty through sheer wealth and influence. He turned this bastion of privilege into a sanctuary for lost children with one flash of his black Amex.
Watching Solana eat her ice cream as if she’s a girl without a care in the whole wide world, I'm reminded how innocence persists, even amidst tragedy. The fire stripped the children of home and stability, but it could not touch their resilient spirits.
In the shadows of the lobby, I spot Magda directing staff to set up arts and crafts. She catches my eye and winks reassuringly. I know she'll watch over the children as if they were her own.
Turning back to Dare, I squeeze his hand in gratitude. "Thank you."
He looks at me, eyes glinting. "Don't thank me. I'm just doing what anyone would do."
I snort. "Anyone with a huge heart and a big fat trust fund."
Dare shrugs, dropping a kiss to the crown of my head.
"Maybe so."
I wrap my arms around him, unable to believe that he's the same man I found eight months ago at that garden party.
ChapterThirty-Two
TALIA
The morning sun streams through the curtains, bathing the suite at the Windsor in a warm glow. I stretch beneath the silken sheets, reveling in the luxury surrounding me. But my contentment fades as I remember the children under my care, the orphans we brought here from Hope House.
I slip out of bed, a knot of worry tightening in my chest. The nannies should have woken them by now, started lessons and activities. What if something happened in the night? What if one of them wandered off, alone and afraid in this huge hotel?
I hurry to the door, my breath quickening. The empty halls echo my footsteps as I rush downstairs. The sound of young voices drifts from a parlor where tutors sit with students, patiently guiding them through French conjugations and algebra equations.
The dining room comes into view, chandeliers glittering, tables set with gleaming china. The sun streams into the grand hall, illuminating the long mahogany table set with crystal glasses and silver platters heaped with pastries, fruit, and eggs. But I barely notice the opulent display or the staff bustling about, too consumed with concern over the children under my care.
I scan the room, searching for any sign of a young, dark haired girl. Instead, I see only well-dressed businessmen and women, absorbed in their morning papers and phones.
I nearly stumble upon a little girl when I walk purposefully toward the table. She is sitting on the floor, still as a stone. A plate of half-eaten pancakes is abandoned on the table. When I stumble into her, she looks up at me with big, innocent eyes.
