“Lucy,” Elliot says, all easy charm. “You clean up well.”
Lucy’s cheeks flush. “So do you.”
The blonde's smile falters almost imperceptibly.
Elliot doesn’t notice.
Or he does, and he enjoys it.
He holds his arm out, and she steps into it. "Julian, Lucy, this is Harper, my date."
Rowan arrives during introductions. His date is… unremarkable. Attractive, yes, but deliberately forgettable. A placeholder. A shield.
Rowan gives Lucy a polite nod. “Ms. Bennett.”
“Mr. Black,” Lucy says, returning the nod.
Caleb appears quietly, hands in his pockets, gaze steady. He looks at Lucy and gives her a single, genuine inclination of his head that reads like respect, not appraisal.
Then, as if it’s all perfectly normal, we’re a constellation again, Northwell’s founding core with a new variable standing among us.
And the room watches.
We move to the table.
Theo pulls out Lucy’s chair with an unnecessary flourish. “My lady.”
Lucy laughs, half amused, half overwhelmed. “Thank you.”
Theo leans down near her ear. “You must promise me a dance.”
“I promise nothing,” Lucy says, but her eyes are smiling now.
Theo grins. “Oh, we are going to have us some fun, Luce.”
I sit beside her.
The proximity is… distracting.
The open back of the dress means every time she shifts; there’s a flash of skin that shouldn’t matter to me and does.
It’s not lust. It’s… awareness.
Like my body is tracking her the way it tracks threats.
Except she isn’t a threat.
She’s a woman with freckles and warmth and too much responsibility.
And the room keeps proving that she matters.
Because people approach.
One donor. Two. A board member’s wife.
They come to talk toheras much as they come to talk to me.
The table becomes a hub of attention, and I can feel the subtle satisfaction of it. The optics my father worships were created without effort.
