That would be a big, resounding no. I’d faked enough smiles, dinners, and interviews to last a lifetime; no way in hell was I adding the false charm of a political career to the list. I could barely stomach being the public face of Severs-Braxton without wanting to crawl out of my skin.
I laughed under my breath, the sound dry. “I’ll leave the running of the country to people better suited for it,” I said, lifting my glass. “People who actually enjoy smiling for cameras and shaking hands.” My mom gave a tight laugh, but her eyes flashed with disappointment, and Evelyn’s lips thinned for a brief moment.
“You must meet up with her next time you’re in New York,” she recovered nicely. I let the champagne burn away my answer.
Her husband chimed in, his tone conspiratorial. “You’d like her, my boy. Smart, beautiful.”
I smiled like I’d been raised to. Polite. Polished. Hollow. “Sounds great,” I lied smoothly. “I’ll be sure to reach out.”
My mother waited until Evelyn drifted away before turning to me, her smile still fixed in place.
“Amelia would be… suitable,” she said lightly, as if we were discussing table settings. “Educated. Discreet. Raised properly. You need someone who understands the responsibility that comes with your name.”
I took a slow sip of champagne. “I understand my name.”
“Yes,” she said softly, eyes sharp. “But a partner must also.” She adjusted my tie, smoothing a wrinkle that wasn’t there. “You’re not twenty-two anymore, Cole. The firm is stable. Your position is secure. The next step is obvious.”
“Marriage?” I asked dryly.
“Legacy,” she corrected. “Stability. Continuity.”
My father joined us then, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Your mother just wants you settled. Someone from our world. Someone who won’t be… overwhelmed by it.”
Overwhelmed.
“The Jacobsons have a son that?—”
“Mother!”
“Well, I know that you?—”
“I’m not dating Harry Jacobson.” Not in a million years would I go anywhere near that asshole. Then I smiled because that was what I’d been trained to do. “But, don’t worry,” I said smoothly. “I won’t bring home someone unsuitable.”
My mother’s laugh was polite.
But her eyes searched my face like she was already afraid I might.
Inside, I was already halfway out of the door. My hand itched for my phone—half tempted to text Rowan, my best friend, to share the absurdity of it all. She’d have torn this whole event apart with one line of dry sarcasm, probably already halfway to the airport to escape it. The thought made me want to laugh and leave for real.
Dessert arrived, my private phone buzzed, something I never ignored—a message from Alex at Guardian Hall:Can you drop by tomorrow if you have time?The timing was weirdly perfect—a small crack in reality in the middle of this artificial evening. I leaned toward my mother, murmured something about an early meeting tomorrow, and kissed her cheek. My father nodded, already deep in conversation about stocks, golf, or the next fundraiser. As soon as I was able to get away from matchmaking parents, I headed out with a determined walk as if I had somewhere super important to be.
The valet offered to bring the car around, but I shook my head. “I’m grabbing a cab,” I said. I’d insisted on Harry, my driver, taking the week off. Christmas was for people with families who didn’t have to fake smiles. I tipped the valet anyway, with a smile and a Merry Christmas, and then stepped outside. The air was sharp with wind from the lake and leftover snow. I loosened my tie, shoved my hands into my pockets, and walked towards the cabs, the music and laughter blurring behind me.
“Where to?” the cab driver asked.
I hesitated. I didn’t want to go home. Didn’t want to sit in my house, surrounded by silence, and I didn’t want to go to work because not even I was that pathetic. Rowan was with her family, and three hours away. God, I wish I’d taken her up on the invitation to spend Christmas with her, her husband, and the twins but motherly guilt trips were a thing.
“Guardian Hall, 4120 West Evergreen Avenue in Humboldt Park,” I said before I could stop myself.
The driver gave me a look in the mirror, as if he was wondering what kind of guy spent Christmas night heading there from the Astoria. I didn’t explain.
Guardian Hall was a weary, weathered old building whose faded red brick bore the scars of decades. Once a convent, now repurposed, it looked tired but solid—its lower windows gleamed with new glass, while the upper floors were still in need of work. Around it stretched a neighborhood of contrasts: a mix of neglect and stubborn survival, yet friendly enough for a city block. Graffiti tagged the walls, snow-dusted trash gathered in corners, and a rusted chain-link fence enclosed the small lot to one side. Motion lights blinked on as the cab turned in, catching on cracked brick and glinting metal.
I paid the fare, tipped him well, stepped out, and pulled my coat tighter. The cold bit deep, cutting through the expensive wool. Cameras tracked me as I crossed to the door. I raised a hand and waved at the nearest lens.
A buzz. A click. Then the heavy door creaked open.
Alex stood there—his eyes flicked up in recognition, and something unreadable crossed his face.
