Page 33 of Sweet Silver Bells

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX.

T he traditional black tuxedo was ignored, left hanging in a zipped-up bag in the back of his parents' second closet.

Hunter fidgeted with a pin on his lapel.

The fabric, the darkest of green, highlighted the gold vine-shaped trinket that gleamed in the light of the natural flame in their living room fireplace.

“I know you think you're some kind of dork and all,” Mark told him upstairs, “but you're my son, and we are handsome devils.”

Mark wasn’t wrong; Hunter’s skin was smooth, shaved, his hair textured and pushed back with some product, curling at the ends. A black button-up shirt lay under his jacket, highlighting the blue in his eyes.

The catering staff had begun to set up in the family kitchen for tomorrow’s holiday. Based on the number of crates brought in, Hunter assumed a too-large party was being deliberately left undiscussed around him.

Of course, Mother would want us home for something like that.

A symphony of cozy sounds filled the air: the crackle of the fireplace, chopping from the kitchen, and soft Christmas music playing from a vintage radio across the room on the chestnut armoire.

“It’s getting late.” Hunter checked his gold watch. I should call. We'll be leaving anytime now, and they haven’t even checked in.”

It was just past 7:30 pm, and the ball started in half an hour.

“Oh, you know women,” Mark said as one of the caterers walked into the room with two glasses of spiced eggnog. Mark's eyes lit up as he took both glasses, handing one to Hunter. “What’s the rush anyway?”

“If we get there on time, we can come back earlier.” Hunter shrugged, sipping the thick liquid and grimacing. “That is strong.”

It started faint, a new noise that grew into a crescendo, separating itself from the calming background noise. A calamity of the unmistakable sound of heels skittering across the floor, coming closer to them.

“Your mother’s home.”

Hunter turned, straining to hear another set of footsteps, but there was undoubtedly only one pair of feet hurrying towards them.

“Something is wrong,” Hunter said out loud. Mark’s eyebrows rose, his attention shifting to look for his wife’s face to appear in the entrance to the living room. When she did appear, her blonde hair was more frizzy than he had seen in a while, her breath was fast, and her pupils were large.

“Where’s Olivia?” It was the only thing Hunter could think about, waiting for her to be safely back in his arms.

“What’s wrong, dear?” Mark asked, walking towards her.

Where is Olivia?

“What’s wrong?” Minerva laughed. “What’s wrong? We spent the entire day shopping and sitting at the salon, only for it to start raining. On top of that, we are running late. This is turning out to be a catastrophe.”

Hunter’s shoulders relaxed a little as he sensed no immediate danger other than his mother’s arms flying around as she gesticulated like an actress in a classic black and white movie.

“Yes, we should be going,” Hunter said, setting his drink down. “Is Olivia already in the car?”

“Oh, my heavens, there are so many things wrong with that sentence,” Minerva huffed.

“Wrong?”

His mother was impossible.

“Yes. One, we have to give a lady her proper grand reveal. Two, I have a driver waiting for you. You cannot take her to a formal outing in your beat-up old vehicle.”

“Dad’s truck is older than my car . . .” Hunter mumbled.

“Hey, it’s a Tacoma. It holds its value.”

“Shall we?” Minerva pushed the two men out of the living room. “I made Olivia go upstairs to wait for us.”

“Why is she upstairs?” Hunter shook his head. “It makes zero sense.”

“How else is she supposed to have a grand reveal? All that work we did today is not going to waste. I will ensure that she gets her movie moment. You’ll never believe this, Mark—oh Hunter, I’m sure you already know—Olivia has never been to a prom.

Poor thing, she barely even seemed to grasp the idea of high school.

She seems pretty sheltered from the real world. ”

“It sounds like you two bonded,” Hunter said, walking out to the foyer where the large staircase with wooden beams awaited—where his heartbeat stopped, where he forgot how to breathe, where he saw Olivia for the first time since the morning.

She was absolutely devastating, standing at the top of the stairs, looking down at them with a shy smile.

‘Butterflies in his stomach’ was too weak a phrase for how Hunter felt when those beautiful, dark green eyes connected with his, when his soul wanted to jump out of his body and connect with hers.

Looking up at Olivia, he knew she was destiny. There was no other way to describe it. She was home.

“Come on down, dear,” Minerva said.

Olivia obeyed, her hand on the railing, her bright red nails gleaming against the wood as she stepped down slowly, traveling toward Hunter, their bodies waiting to reunite as electricity filled the air.

His father grunted uncomfortably. “Well, that’s a pretty black dress,” Mark said as Olivia reached the bottom of the steps. Hunter reached out toward her, their hands touching. Relief flooded him, to be back together and touch her again. How could he ever let go again now?

“Pretty black dress? Your words don’t do her any justice,” Minerva said, frowning, clearly disappointed. “She is one of the most stunning women I’ve ever seen in one of the most breathtaking dresses I’ve ever purchased.”

Olivia stepped into the room like midnight incarnate, the sweeping train of her gown trailing behind her like spilled ink across marble.

Layers of sheer tulle fluttered with each breath of air, catching the dim light and casting it back in glimmers that danced like dying embers.

The bodice clung to her like a vow, sculpted and boned, corseted with devotion and secrets, while lace, black as a raven’s wing, crawled delicately over her skin like a lover’s touch.

It wasn’t just a dress. It was a spell. A declaration. Her song in physical form.

Hunter wanted to fall to his knees, willing to burn in hell for a chance to undo the buttons down her spine.

His mother was right; it was much more than a pretty black dress.

There was a touch more magic: some blush on her skin, some sparkles on her eyelids, and a lip color that was not quite red but also not quite purple, making her eyes dance alive like embers in a fire.

“First of all, her long hair took ninety minutes to get a proper blowout. Don’t you love how the ends wisp up, like she’s Farrah Fawcett?” Minerva explained their day.

“How are you?” Hunter asked in a hushed voice, trying to pretend to listen to his mother’s ranting. “I missed you so much.”

Olivia intertwined her fingers with his and brushed her lips on the back of his hand, letting her tongue linger there, a private moment that couldn’t be seen as anything more than innocent affection from his parent’s angle.

“Oh, Hunter, you’re in a green suit. I knew we should have gone for red, Olivia, to keep on the Christmas spirit theme.”

“She’s perfect, Mother,” Hunter said. “Let’s see this car waiting outside for us.”

Minerva fussed over Olivia’s skirt. “There, now she’s perfect.” She gave Olivia a half-hug. “You have fun, my dear.”

The two walked out of the house, and a black Range Rover was waiting for them. The exhaust steamed up into the sky, fading into the red hue from the illuminated tail lights, and the SUV shifted as the driver put it into park, then jumped out to open the doors for them.

“Thank you for working on a holiday,” Hunter said to the man, who smiled politely but mostly kept his head down.

Olivia sat as Hunter moved to the other side of the car so she didn’t have to scoot. Once seatbelts were on, the car was in motion. The sun was officially down, and light rain pattered on the windows as dots of water pooled onto the glass, hitting one another and swallowing smaller beads whole.

“Are you excited?” Hunter asked Olivia, who seemed very lost in the darkness outside her window, her hands wrapped around her waist as she hugged herself. “What are you thinking about?”

“The world in the light,” Olivia replied, “is absurdly ugly. Don’t you think so?” She finally tore her eyes away from her view, connecting back with him.

“You might be one of the few people with that belief.” Hunter smiled. “I love it. I love the way you think.”

“The dark—it’s a blanket, an embrace. It soothes me. I feel safer.”

“Will you be okay there at the ball?” Hunter asked.

Olivia’s eyes seem to widen. “Will you?”

Hunter’s stomach sank. He wasn’t expecting that; he wasn’t expecting her to protect him from his own heart, his own self.

“Will I ever fully be yours if I live in Sarah’s shadow? In her darkness?”

He paused, not knowing if he could give the right answer. “The person I was with Sarah is not the same person I am now, Olivia.”

“Perhaps it’s best if we stay in the darkness,” Olivia said. “The light can make us so ugly. Will you sing for me, Hunter?”

It was as if he could hear a symphony around him: the soft strokes of a piano key in his head, the sad, sweet notes of a violin. The back of the car, waiting for him like it was magic.

Is this what you hear, Olivia?

“If I say no, would you make me anyway?”

He had to know. He had to see that he was here, his free will intact, that it wasn’t all a spell, a haze that he had convinced himself of breaking.

“If I feel helpless, I will protect myself,” Olivia promised.

“Do you feel helpless now?”

“I feel safe with you, Hunter. You and the darkness are one, wrapped around me.”

Hunter nodded. It was answer enough.

“I feel the same,” Hunter said. “I can hear music.”

“Can you still hear it?” Olivia’s eyebrows raised.

Hunter nodded; he could.

“I hear it,” she said. “I hear it always. It’s the Earth; it always sings.”

With a deep breath, even though everything in his social conditioning resisted it, Hunter opened his mouth, found the notes in his chest, and let them out.

“Your song is a curse that I wear like a crown

And I’d fall through your hell just to not let you drown

You bloom in the dark, where no garden should grow

But I’ll drink of your thorns and I’ll never let go.”

“I’ve never heard that song before,” Olivia said, smiling. “Sing more.”

“Come back to me, my siren, my moon

My silver-bell song, my haunted desire

You breathe like the forest; you break like the sea

But I’ll be the storm if it brings you to me

Come back to me, come back to me

My siren.”

“It’s about me?” Olivia breathed.

“My life, Olivia, is now about you.”

“You called me a siren again,” she said. “I can’t say that I have ever tried to swim.”

Olivia leaned in to Hunter, and her lips touched his. The heat in the car seemed to soar, and his heart beat like he was running in a race, the finish line just ahead with promises of uncertainty, only the beauty of the moon in his view.

“We are here,” the driver announced as the car drew to a stop.

Hunter could see the large brick estate lit up spectacularly out the tinted windows.

People dressed in their winter formal best walked up the steps, exiting their own luxury vehicles.

Carolers waited at the top of the steps, humming together in tune to a medley of holiday songs.

Hunter ran around the car to Olivia, the driver already there, holding an umbrella over her head as rain continued to dust the air around them.

“I’ve got it,” Hunter said, taking the umbrella, letting him know his job was done.

Together, they took in the ten-foot wreaths hanging from the roof and the greens, golds, and reds across the front of the building.

“They certainly put on a show,” Hunter said, turning to Olivia, whose face had fallen. “What’s wrong?”

“Hunter, you once said that a siren is a witch.”