I stare at my reflection—the stranger in storm and steel and amber, wearing their colors like armor—and wonder if unforgettable is what I’m going for, or if it’s something closer to unforgivable.
“The mask,” one of the assistants says, presenting the storm-grey silk and steel-blue metalwork creation with its tiny amber crystals like raindrops.
I take it, holding it up to my face. The transformation completes—I look dangerous and elegant in equal measure, like something that belongs to violence and passion and things that leave marks.
“Magnifique,” Madame Laurent breathes. She turns to Sienna, who’s been watching from one of the cream-colored chairs near the window. “Your sister-in-law is a vision, non?”
“She really is,” Sienna agrees, her voice warm but her eyes knowing.
Madame Laurent and her assistants pack up their supplies with efficient precision, offering final compliments and instructions about care for the gown. Then they’re gone, the door clicking shut behind them, and suddenly it’s just me and Sienna in this enormous closet that still somehow feels intimate.
“You can breathe now,” Sienna says gently. “They’re gone.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, my shoulders dropping slightly. In the mirror, I watch myself shift from poised to exhausted in the space of a heartbeat.
“Come sit,” Sienna pats the chair beside her. “Carefully. We don’t want to wrinkle the dress before you even leave the house.”
I gather the storm-grey silk and move to the chair, settling into it with the kind of caution that comes from wearing something that costs more than a car. Sienna hands me a glass of champagne I didn’t notice she’d poured.
“You look stunning,” she says. “But you look like you’re about to walk into battle, not a charity gala.”
“Maybe I am,” I mutter, taking a sip of champagne.
Sienna’s quiet for a moment, just watching me. Then: “Want to tell me what’s really going on? And don’t say ‘nothing.’ I’ve known you too long for that bullshit.”
The laugh that escapes me is sharp and a little broken. “Where do I even start?”
“Wherever you need to.”
And suddenly I’m talking. Telling her everything—down to me taking the DNA samples myself two days ago in the gym. Sure, I’d admitted some things to her a few weeks ago on her patio, but I hadn’t gone into detail like this. Plus there have been new developments.
Sienna listens without interrupting, her expression shifting from knowing to sympathetic to quietly furious on my behalf when I get to the part about them doubting me.
“So let me get this straight,” she says when I finally run out of words. “You’ve been in a relationship with Jace, Cal, and Silas—all three of them—since before you left. You got pregnant that night with twins who have two different fathers. You kept it secret to protect them from Dominic. And now you’re waiting on DNA results to confirm which boy belongs to which man, while simultaneously going to a gala with Ryan Matthews who lied to your brother about having been in contact with you, which caused the three men you love to doubt and investigate you behind your back.”
When she puts it like that, my life sounds absolutely insane.
“Yeah,” I say weakly. “That about covers it.”
“Jesus Christ, Parker.” But she’s smiling. Actually smiling. “And here I thought my life was complicated.”
“You’re not... horrified? Judging me?”
“For what? For loving three men who clearly worship the ground you walk on? For protecting your children from a man who would have used them?” Sienna shakes her head. “I’m not judging you. I’m impressed you managed to keep it secret this long.”
“You said you thought there was a heavy attraction,” I say suddenly, reading her expression. “But you’re talking like you’ve known this whole time.”
“Correction, I suspected it was more than heavy attraction before we talked a few weeks ago,” she smiles. “You only told me that you slept with all three of them the night of my wedding—you’re welcome by the way.”
“That brings me to another question. Why didn’t you say anything all these years if you suspected something between me and them?”
“Because it wasn’t my secret to tell. And because I figured if you wanted me to know, you’d tell me.” She reaches over, squeezes my hand. “I’m glad you finally did.”
Tears threaten at the corners of my eyes and I blink them back furiously. “I can’t cry. Makeup.”
“Then don’t cry.” But Sienna’s voice is gentle. “Tell me what you’re really afraid of.”
I take a shaky breath. “What if the results come back and I have to tell them which boy belongs to who? What if that changes things? What if whoever isn’t the biological father feels less connected to that child? What if?—”
