“My point is, two people Electric Slide and share a peck under this chandelier thinking they’ll find the same magic that Amara and Elijah found, right?”
“Mm-hmm.” She rolls her eyes playfully.
“Well, I feel like they’ve forgotten the most important part.” I shrug, hoping it’s obvious to my baby, too. “Theybuiltthis place. There was construction going on—by candlelight, no less. They made this place their own, shedding blood, tears, and sweat inside these walls.”
The music slows.
I see the exact moment the dots start connecting.
“Like us,” Ebony says, piecing it all together.
“Yes!” I throw my head back, blowing out a breath, vindicated. “Baby,yes. We didn’t just set foot into this manor, dance a stilted two-step, kiss for five seconds, and keep it moving. Werebuilt this place to welcome others. You filled it with life.”
She reaches back, removing my hand from her waist to place it over her heart. “These rough hands worked to bring my vision to life.”
I nod repeatedly, overcome with joy.
My baby gets it.
“Madison Manor was Elijah’s gift to Amara.” I brush a chaste kiss over Ebony’s lips. “I mean, they did it all together, butheworked like crazy to give her the dream. So…”
“So…” Ebony prompts me, her eyes narrowed.
And that’s when I realize the music… Yeah, it’s not slow for the lovebirds.
Chancing a glance around the ballroom, I notice almost everyone is surrounding the stunning, six-tiered, semi-sculptural buttercream wonder.Almosteveryone.
“Um, baby?”
Ebony’s brow crinkles. Then she slowly follows my line of vision to a fuming, diabolical lady in black and her disgraced son.
“Oh, don’t worry about her,” Ebony says, then laughs. “She won’t be bothering us anymore.”
“She won’t?”
The funny thing is, I was so focused on my plan when I led her into the ballroom that I didn’t even notice Cornelia and Julian. Or Nelly, holding them back. I didn’t actually seewhowas looking at us. I just figured all eyes would be on us because…well, because I’m the man who’s stepping into the groom’s brother’s shoes.
Also, Ebony’s scheduledDivorcétantepost, calling on all Julian’s mistresses to come forward and join a support group,mighthave gone live during the ceremony.
But now, it might be best to just dash.
I grab her hand, taking advantage of the cake-cutting distraction, and pull her out of the ballroom. We race down the hall, and I’m so eager to reach the indoor garden just ahead.
“Lord, I swear Cornelia’s eyes were about to shoot laser beams, the way she was glaring at us.” She’s breathless and beautiful, still giggling. “So, what’s the plan? I’ve got to stick around until the sparkler send-off, but we can definitely hide out in here.”
“It’s a good thing Cornelia doesn’t know we’ve discussed teaming up for a sweepstakes for ‘one lucky support group member’…” I chuckle and wince. A wedding planned by Ebony Grace Events and hosted at my next restoration property being the prize?
I’m already dreaming of the cease-and-desist notices clogging up my inbox.
Ebony’s still catching her breath in the corner of the room, poking around at a small hanging ficus. “She’d have an entire conniption,” she says, absently.
But soon, the humor fades.
When I don’t say anything for a beat, she shoots me a sidelong glance as if it’s just occurred to her that our presence in this garden isn’t exactly accidental.
This isn’t just a garden. Really, it’s more of an overzealous potting room, with lots of garden tools, water cans, and bags of rich soil used to prepare plants for the conservatory. The shelves are lined with an array of terracotta and ceramic pots. There’s a long, weathered wooden table with, overwhelmingly, lots of potted flowers blooming in vibrant colors at varying stages of growth.
Mostly, I love the soft, natural moonlight streaming through the windows overhead, and the air, thick with an earthy-fresh, floral scent.
