Page 50 of Free to Judge (Amaryllis Heritage #2)

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Aunt Emily explodes into the room with two garment bags over her shoulders. Handing one to my mother, she sends her off to try it on before forcing Peter to act as a hook so she can unzip the bag long enough to display the masterpiece she’d created for me.

The second it pops into view, tears prick my eyes. I reach out for her hand and whisper, “Aunt Em, it’s perfect.”

She slides an arm around my waist and squeezes. “That’s you, Kalie. I couldn’t be more proud of the woman you’ve become than if you were one of my own.”

I bury my head into her mass of curls and breathe deeply as the compliment washes over me. Pride is one of the cornerstones of our family benchmarks, much more so than wealth and fame.

Months ago, Aunt Em first asked me what I wanted my dress to convey as I descended the steps, knowing every eye would be on me. I rolled my eyes at her and said, “You’re the designer. You tell me.”

She took my hands in hers, explaining how the process worked. “You’re my muse, Kalie. I’ll design a dress that I feel represents you, but I need to know what message you want to send to the people in that room.”

Just like that, the words popped into my head.

One by one, I listed them for her. Instead of writing them down, as I expected, she leaned back in her chaise lounge and began sketching.

Now, I was seeing the words alive because I gave them to her.

I recall them as I shared them: beauty, blessed, determined, fearless, proud.

Then, a month ago, I added one more.

As I circle around my cousin, I find the dress far exceeds any expectations I ever could have. “I may be a bit biased, but this may be your most beautiful creation yet, Aunt Em.”

She critically eyes the plunging neckline to the cinched waist to the multilayered tulle skirt, giving the impression of Harvard crimson even if the actual layers were of blood red and black.

The high-low cut will show off my legs as I descend the stairs while giving me ease of movement around the dance floor.

Peter jokes, “I’m going to have to fend off the Secretaries of Defense and State, aren’t I?”

I roll my eyes even as Aunt Em chortles. Just as I’m about to retort, my phone pings again. Him.

Peter’s jaw tightens. “Do you want me to…?”

I shake my head. Staring at the dress, it’s impossible for me now to not acknowledge the last criteria I asked Aunt Em to add—an amaryllis.

It’s in the tulle layers of the skirt, so carefully disguised that few would know it’s there.

But the few who do are the people closest to my heart, those who are bleeding right alongside me right now as I mentally shore myself up for tonight’s events.

Declan:

You’ll be the only woman in the room tonight.

I’ll try not to whisk you away, but no promises.

You’re mine.

If that was truly the case. My eyes sought out the last element I asked Aunt Em to add to the dress knowing I was feeling it for Declan.

Love.

Now seeing our family’s symbol on the dress when my heart is cracked wide open hurts. I thought we were growing something together despite the agony of what he’d endured. My feeling grew, consuming me over the course of the month we were together.

Then he threw me away.

I couldn’t, wouldn’t do that to Aunt Em’s exquisite creation. After all, love, even rejected, is a gift. My soul might feel like the world is ending, but my head knows it will persevere.

Eventually.

Even if tonight it might be damned knowing he’s so close in a room filled with almost a thousand people.