“This way,” Teddy said.
Inside Dominion Hall, the house felt different than it had last night. Less like a fortified secret and more like a hive—quiet, but humming with unseen activity. Morning light poured through tall windows, pooling on polished floors. Somewhere, I heard distant laughter. Female voices.
Teddy led me down a corridor I hadn’t seen yet, past a series of closed doors, until he stopped in front of one near the end.
He opened it and stepped aside.
“This is for you,” he said. “Courtesy of Miss Allard and Miss Bradford. They insisted.”
The “room” was bigger than my first apartment.
It was a dressing suite—soft gray walls, a faintly floral rug, a bank of mirrors with lights around them, and a closet that made my brain short-circuit. Dresses, jumpsuits, blouses, shoes organized by height and color. Racks of clothes in my approximate size. Someone had laid out a selection on a low ottoman: a pale blue sundress, a cream silk blouse with wide-leg trousers, a breezy linen number in muted green.
Camille and Hazel were already there.
Camille looked like someone had dropped her into a J.Crew catalog—dark hair twisted up messily, marine-biologist tan, eyes that assessed and amused in equal measure. Hazel was shorter, with soft features and bright eyes that telegraphed trouble in the kindest way, curly hair pulled into a low bun that looked like it had been done in a hurry and still managed to be cute.
“You must be Amelia,” Camille said, crossing the room with that effortless French glide people pretend not to envy. Her accent was faint, more lilt than barrier. “I am Camille.”
“And I’m Hazel,” the redhead said, offering a hand and a grin.
I shook both their hands, trying not to look as overwhelmed as I felt. “Hi. Sorry about the … yacht hair.”
Hazel waved that off. “Please. You should’ve seen me the morning after Gideon first brought me here. I looked like I’d come out second best in a fight with a leaf blower.” She tipped her head. “You look very ‘woke up on a billionaire’s boat after life changed.’ It’s a vibe. We can work with it.”
Camille’s gaze flicked over me, clinical but not cruel. “We didn’t want to overwhelm you with everyone at once,” she said. “Seven Charleston wives, five Montana fiancées—it’s a lot. We decided to ease you in.”
“By dragging me into a couture hostage situation?” I asked with a smile.
Hazel snorted. “Exactly. Now, shower. We’ll talk while you de-frazzle.”
They’d already laid out towels, neatly folded, and a small collection of travel-sized products on the bathroom counter—fancier versions of the basics. Shampoo that smelled like citrus and herbs, body wash that promised things like “restorative moisture” and probably cost more than my favorite boots.
I hesitated in the doorway. “You don’t have to?—”
“Amelia,” Camille said gently. “We’ve all been where you are. Dropped into this house, into these men’s lives, feeling like you fell through a trapdoor. Let us do this. It makes us feel good.”
Hazel added, “Also, we desperately want to hear how you and Levi met, and it’s easier to interrogate you if you’re captive in a dressing room.”
That made me laugh, which apparently had been the objective.
“Fine,” I said. “I surrender.”
The shower was quick. Hot water, good pressure, the kind of soap that made my skin feel like I’d borrowed someone else’s. I left my hair damp and let Camille attack it with a round brush and a dryer while Hazel rifled through dresses like a general assessing battle plans.
“Where are you from?” Hazel asked, tugging the blue sundress against her own body and checking it in the mirror before tossing it to the side.
“Canada,” I said. “Ontario. My parents are still there.”
“Nice, normal?” Hazel asked, like she was taking a daily history.
“As normal as two people who thinkThe New York Timesis light reading can be,” I said. “No secret fortunes, no second families.”
Camille’s eyes warmed. “Ah. The opposite of Dane men.”
“Yeah,” I said wryly. “The opposite of Dane men.”
Hazel held up the muted green linen dress and nodded decisively. “This one,” she said. “Easy, breezy, journalist-in-Charleston chic. Good for lunch at Promenade, lets you breathe in the humidity, pretty enough to make Levi’s eyes cross later.”
