Chapter 27

Cecilia

Workdays are always exhausting. I was three espressos deep into debugging a market volatility model when my phone buzzed.

Arthur's name lit up the screen.

"Hey," I answered, wedging the phone between my ear and shoulder while my fingers kept flying across the keyboard.

"You're working." Not a question. Arthur's voice carried that mix of amusement and exasperation I'd come to recognize as his default setting when it came to my work habits.

"Observant as always." I saved my progress and leaned back in my chair, finally giving him my full attention. "What's up?"

"Carter called."

I straightened."And?"

"His engagement party is this Saturday. At the Hamptons estate." Arthur paused, and I could practically hear him choosing his words carefully. "He asked if I'm bringing a date."

My stomach did a weird flip. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh." Another pause. "I know the timing isn't great, with everything that just happened—"

"Arthur." I cut him off, my mind already racing through the implications.

A society engagement party. The first time we'd appear together publicly since William's arrest, since I'd waltzed into that boardroom and claimed my seat.

Since Arthur had chosen me over his family legacy. "Do you want to go?"

"Carter's been my friend since we were kids. He stood by me when..." He trailed off, but I knew what he meant. "But if you're not comfortable—"

"I didn't say that." I closed my laptop, giving this conversation the attention it deserved. "I'm just thinking about what it means. Your first big social appearance since everything went down. With me."

"That's kind of the point, Ceci." His voice softened. "I'm not hiding anymore. Not hiding us, not hiding what I chose. If people have a problem with it, that's on them."

God, he made it sound so simple. Like we weren't about to walk into a room full of people who'd seen the news coverage of William's arrest, who probably had very strong opinions about the girl who'd "destroyed" one of their own.

"Okay," I heard myself say. "Let's do it."

"Yeah?" The relief in his voice was palpable.

"Yeah. But Arthur?" I waited until I was sure he was listening. "I'm not going to play the demure girlfriend. I'm not going to apologize for existing or for what happened to your father. If people want to judge me, let them. I'm done pretending to be smaller than I am."

"I wouldn't want you any other way." The warmth in his tone made my chest tight. "Besides, half of them are probably terrified of you now. The mysterious 'C' who saved Winston Corporation, the tech heiress who took down a titan. You're basically urban legend status."

I laughed despite myself. "Great. That's exactly the vibe I want at a garden party."

"It's at a Hamptons estate, Ceci. There won't be anything garden-party about it. Think champagne towers, string quartets, and more passive aggression than a corporate merger negotiation."

"Sounds delightful."

"It'll be fine." But there was something in his voice—not quite uncertainty, but close. "We'll stick together. And if anyone gives you shit, I'll handle it."

"Arthur." I made my voice firm. "I don't need you to handle anything for me. I can defend myself."

"I know you can. But that doesn't mean you have to do it alone."

Fair point. "Okay. Together, then."

"Together." He paused. "There's one more thing."

Of course there was. "Hit me."

"You'll need something to wear. Something that says 'I belong here and you can't do anything about it.'"

I glanced at my closet, mentally cataloging my wardrobe. Work clothes, casual stuff, a few nice dresses for dinners. Nothing that screamed "I'm about to walk into the lion's den and I'm not scared."

"I have clothes, Arthur."

"I know. But for this..." He hesitated. "Let me take you shopping. Please. I want to do this."

There it was—that protective instinct of his, the one that made him want to shield me from everything.

"Fine," I conceded. "But I'm picking the dress."

"I wouldn't dream of interfering with your fashion choices." The smile was audible in his voice. "I'll pick you up Friday evening. There's a place on Fifth Avenue that—"

"Arthur, I don't need some crazy expensive designer—"

"Ceci." He cut me off gently. "This isn't about the price. This is about you walking into that party feeling like you can take on the world. If you want to shop at Target, we'll shop at Target. But let me at least show you the options."

I sighed, recognizing a losing battle when I saw one. "Fine. Friday evening."

"Thank you." Relief again, like I'd just agreed to something monumentally important. Which, I supposed, I had. This wasn't just about a dress or a party. This was about us, publicly, irrevocably together. No more hiding, no more pretending, no more half-measures.

"Hey, Arthur?"

"Yeah?"

"We're going to be okay. You know that, right?"

A long pause. Then, quieter: "With you? Yeah. We're going to be fine."

After we hung up, I sat there for a moment, staring at my laptop screen without really seeing it. Saturday. The Hamptons. Carter's engagement party. Our coming-out, basically, to the world that mattered most to Arthur's old life.

My phone buzzed again—the quarterly investment report from Marcus. Board duties never stopped.

I pulled up my email and found the message from Marcus that had come through earlier. The quarterly investment report he wanted me to present at the next board meeting.

Because apparently, having a board seat meant actually doing board things, not just showing up to make dramatic entrances.

The irony wasn't lost on me. Not long ago, I'd been the girl Arthur was trying to keep hidden, to protect, to shield from his world. Now I was walking into the heart of it, head high, with him at my side instead of in front of me.

My laptop pinged—a message from one of my old contacts from the Valley, someone who'd heard about my new position and wanted to "grab coffee and talk opportunities." Translation: they wanted to know if the rumors about me being "C" were true, and if so, could they get in on whatever I was doing next.

I closed the laptop. The market volatility model could wait. Right now, I needed to think about Saturday.

But my phone rang again. So many messages and calls today!

This time, it was an unknown number.

I almost didn't answer. But something—instinct, maybe, or just curiosity—made me pick up.

"Ms. Locke?" A woman's voice, smooth and professional. "This is Catherine Ashford, Carter's mother, I hope I'm not calling at a bad time."

Oh. Oh shit.