“He’s talking to Carly,” I remarked tightly, putting some orange slices and cinnamon sticks in. I forced a smile and carried the bowl back to the table, leaving the all too observant Meri behind. The music swelled, the lights shimmered, and Wickham announced a final dance before the break. People paired off again, the floor filling with soft laughter and rustling fabric. Dex was speaking to Braxton with Carly by his side, her hand on his arm.
Chapter Twenty-Two: The Disappearing Act
Dex
Carly’s hand rested lightly on my arm. She had been there most of the past half hour, never pressing, and never entirely letting go. She kept her smile in place as if it were part of her outfit.
“You can't tell me this is where you planned to end up,” she said, watching the crowd. “A small-town holiday party with folding tables and string lights. Charming, perhaps, but hardly a career move.”
“I like it here,” I distractedly told her, looking for Lucy in the crowd. Somehow, she had disappeared.
“Dex, you are an architect. You should be building ski lodges and resorts, not tightening extension cords and chaperoning dances. Leave the labor for the laborers,” she said, her tone dry
“Some things are worth fixing by hand,” I mentioned, thinking of the library. I had hoped to show Lucy it tonight. I felt like tonight was the perfect time to display what I had built for her, to tell her I wanted to build a life together.
Carly tilted her head. “You have been avoiding me all week. The board at the lodge is waiting for your answer on joining us on the project.”
“Tell them no.”
Her eyebrows lifted. She had a disbelieving laugh. “You can’t be serious.”
“I can, and I am. If Braxton wants the project, he can have it. I am staying here,” I told her.
“Because of her?” Carly’s voice softened, not kind but probing.
“This isn't about anyone else, it is about me. I am done designing places that look impressive and feel empty,” I responded.
Carly’s mouth tightened. “Do you realise how much you are throwing away? That project would have kept you on the front page of every trade magazine for a year.”
“I am not interested in being on the front page." It was true. That wasn’t my goal. Braxton and I had built the business and didn’t lack for customers. We could choose our projects. We didn’t need the publicity.
“You are being sentimental. This family has no idea who you are or what you could build. I do. I know you,” Carly leaned in close, trying to focus my attention back to her.
“They know more than you think.”
Carly’s fingers tensed on my sleeve. “You will regret this.”
“No. I really won’t." I removed her hand gently, and for once she had nothing to say.
I left her near the tree and walked toward the entry, scanning the tables, looking for Lucy. Then something hit me as odd. Wickham had been taking envelopes and greeting guests all night, but now his spot was empty. I hadn’t heard him make any announcements, or hogging the limelight for some time now. The box sat on the corner of the counter, the lid pushed halfway closed. Lydia stood nearby with her phone in hand, smiling for a picture with one of the guests. She caught my look and frowned. “What?”
“Where is he?” I slowly asked.
“Who?” Lydia looked at me in confusion as the guest left to go talk to someone else.
“Wickham.”
“Oh, he just stepped out. The box was getting full, and he didn’t want to leave the money lying around. He went to make a deposit for the charities,” she informed me.
“Which bank?” I automatically asked. Not that it was any of my business. However, a feeling of unease persisted.
“The credit union on Main. He will be back in a few minutes.”
A young server approached with careful politeness. “Excuse me, Miss Bennet. Mr. Wickham said he would hand out our envelopes at the start of the shift, but he didn’t. Do you know when we will be paid?”
Lydia’s smile faltered. “He was supposed to handle that before the event started.”
“Yes, ma’am, but he told us to ask you if we didn’t receive them.”
