Chapter 6 - The Ledger Of Secrets And The Price Of A Real Smile
The chaos that followed Grandma Eleanor’s declaration was the kind of high-society meltdown that Charleston gossips would chew on for the next three decades.
Aunts were fanning themselves with cocktail napkins.
Uncles were staring into their glasses like they hoped the bourbon would magically turn into an escape hatch.
Diane Bennett looked like she was trying to calculate whether she could legally disown her own mother, her younger daughter, and possibly me all at the same time.
“Nora,” Diane choked out, her voice dropping into a dangerous, icy whisper as she marched across the stone terrace, stopping three feet away from us.
“You are throwing away everything we built. Generations of social standing, networking, prestige—gone because you want to play with butter and sugar?”
Nora didn’t flinch.
She didn't drop her gaze, and she didn't step away from my side.
The hand she had tucked into the crook of my arm was steady now—no shaking, no rattling keys, no terror.
“Mother, you built an empire of parties that other people throw to impress people they don't even like,” Nora said, her voice remarkably even.
“I don’t want to spend the next forty years arguing over table runners and flower arrangements. I want to wake up at four in the morning, smell yeast and vanilla, and build something that’s actually mine.”
Diane’s face hardened into stone.
“And this… this man?” She gestured vaguely toward me with a manicured hand.
“What is he? Some roughneck you hired off the docks to play the part of the rugged bad boy just to spite me?”
I took a slow, deliberate sip of the Macallan eighteen, letting the silence stretch out between us like a loaded spring.
Before I could speak, Grandma Eleanor settled the matter from her velvet throne.
“He brings me good scotch and looks like he doesn't give a damn about your guest list, Diane,” the old woman snapped, leaning forward with her cane tapping sharply against the flagstones.
“He’s the best man brought into this yard in twenty years. Now shut your mouth before I write you out of the will and leave the beach house to the stray cats.”
Diane’s mouth opened, closed, and then opened again, but no sound came out.
She turned on her heel, her silver linen dress swishing furiously as she stormed off toward the rear doors of Magnolia House, muttering something about Valium and blood pressure.
Miles Harper lingered for a moment longer, looking at me with a mixture of wounded pride and lingering cowardice, before turning and walking away without a word.
The crowd of relatives slowly began to disperse, scattering like nervous pigeons back toward the bar and the canopied tables, pretending nothing unusual had just occurred.
Nora let out a long, shuddering breath, her shoulders sagging as the last bit of adrenaline drained from her system.
She looked up at me, her dark eyes shining in the southern sun.
“Well,” she whispered, a crooked, self-deprecating smile touching her lips.
“I think that officially breaks the record for the worst family brunch in recorded history.”
“I don’t know,” I replied, looking down at her with a slow, genuine smile that I rarely gave anyone outside my inner circle.
“Your grandmother seems to love me. I might ask her to adopt me.”
Nora laughed—a real, bright, unburdened sound that made the air around us feel a little lighter.
“You cost me a thousand dollars,” she reminded me, her fingers resting lightly against my forearm.
“Ten hundred-dollar bills,” I corrected gently.
“And technically, you haven't paid the balance yet. The deal was for until tonight.”
Nora’s dark eyes widened slightly, the playful challenge returning to her gaze.
“Is that so? And what does the rest of the contract entail, Mr. Cole?”
“Dinner,” I said, my voice dropping an octave, losing its bantering edge and turning into something heavy, low, and unmistakable.
“A real dinner. Not canapés and champagne. Just you, me, and a place where nobody knows your mother's name.”
Nora didn't look away.
Her gaze stayed locked on mine, deep and steady and completely fearless.
May you like
“Only if you let me drive,” she whispered.
“Deal,” I said.
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