Then I push off the wall and head downstairs to wait.
Chapter twenty
Seraphina
Stand By Me – Stephen Wilson Jr.
The reflection staring back at me doesn’t look like me at all.
She looks… softer. Braver. Like a girl who might finally belong somewhere.
The dress Mac helped me choose—the white lace one—clings to my body in a way I’ve never worn anything before. It’s slimline, elegant, with a delicate trail that brushes the floor when I walk. The lace sleeves hug my arms, intricate, tiny floral patterns curling against my skin. The neckline dips just enough to make me blush, not scandalous but beautifully daring—for me, at least. I’ve never been allowed to feel beautiful. Not like this. I’m almost too scared to move in it.
The heels are small, white satin with a pearl at each ankle strap. My hair—Mac called itwild fire—is tamed into a fishtail braid over one shoulder, threaded with tiny white flowers she wove in herself. She said it made me look ethereal. Like someone who had been kissed by spring.
My face is still my own, only lighter, softer—a sweep of mascara, a touch of shimmer at my cheekbones. Mac said makeup wasn’t meant to hide me, just highlight what was already there. When she asked about lipstick, she held up two shades — a nude gloss and a deep, daring red.
She’d chosen red for herself, her pale lilac satin dress catching the morning light as she swiped the color across her lips. I wanted to be brave like her. So, I asked for red too.
When she smiled, I knew I’d made the right choice.
Mac finishes pinning the last stray curl into place and steps back, eyes glistening. “You’re not alone anymore, Seraphina,” she says quietly. “You’ve got us now. A family. And family means everything to us. I hope, one day, we can be best friends.”
My throat tightens. I nod, unable to speak, afraid that if I do, I’ll start crying and ruin everything she’s done.
“Come on,” she says, taking my hand. “The boys are waiting.”
We move together through the hallway, the faint hum of the boarding house waking up around us—soft murmurs, the clink of dishes from the kitchen, distant music from someone’s phone. My heart beats so loud I can barely hear anything else.
At the top of the staircase, I pause.
Below, sunlight spills across the marble floor, washing everything in gold. Logan stands near the door in a dark suit, his arm wrapped loosely around Mac’s waist. Just before I get lost in the sight of them, I see him—
Trey.
He’s facing the door, talking to Logan, then he turns. The air leaves my lungs.
Black dress pants sit low on his hips, a crisp white shirt rolled at the sleeves, and a fitted black satin vest that catches the light with every breath. The vest looks like it was made for him—like sin tailored in silk. The barbed wire crown tattoo curls up his throat, dark against sun-kissed skin. His hair is slightly messy, that silver ring at his lip glinting when he smiles. No tie. No effort to be proper. He doesn’t need it. He’s raw and beautiful and completely unbothered by it.
When his gaze finds mine, everything stops. My heartbeat. My breath. Time.
There’s this strange rush in my chest—like my body’s caught between wanting to flee and wanting to fall. For a second, I’m terrified I’ll blink and wake up in the loft at the old parsonage. That this—Trey—will vanish. I dig my nails into my palm, just to feel something solid, then take the first step down. My fingers curl around the railing for balance, but my eyes never leave him. I feel every brush of lace, every whisper of fabric against my skin as I descend. Each step pulls me closer to something I don’t have a name for.
Trey moves toward the foot of the stairs, his hand lifting—steady, sure—as I reach the last few steps. When my hand meets his, his thumb traces over my knuckles in a slow, reverent sweep. His voice is low, roughened by awe.
“Words,” he murmurs, then exhales a shaky laugh. “Fuck… you look…” He swallows, trying again. “Seraphina, Dove—you look absolutely fucking breathtaking.”
My cheeks burn. I want to say something back, something graceful, but the feeling rising inside me makes my stomach twist. Handsome doesn’t even begin to cover it. He’severything. And the worst part? I cansmellhim. Cedarwood, smoke, and something darkly addictive.
Mac and Logan hover nearby, pretending not to watch, but their smiles give them away. Trey doesn’t let go of my hand as he leads me through the open doors of the Rosewood. His palm is warm, his fingers threaded with mine, and when the cool morning air brushes over my skin, I shiver.
He notices—of course he does.
Without a word, his hand slides to the small of my back, firm and protective, his thumb tracing slow circles through the lace. He shouldn’t. I shouldn’t let him. My father would call it sinful. But God help me, I don’t want him to stop.
This dress—this lace—suddenly feels too thin. Too revealing. My father’s voice echoes in my mind, all anger and scripture. Yet… these aremychoices now. My life. My body. My sin to claim if that’s what it is.
So, I choose this.
