Chapter 9 The Weight of a Name
I did not sleep that night.
Rose’s words echoed in my head. He looked at me the way I look at myself in the mirror. My daughter had seen herself in Damian’s eyes. She had seen the truth I had spent five years burying.
And Damian had felt it too. I saw it in his face when he looked at her. The confusion. The pull he could not explain.
I lay awake, watching the moonlight shift across the ceiling. Beside me, Lily snored softly. Rose was curled into a tight ball on my other side, her breathing even, her face peaceful. She had said her piece and fallen asleep as if she had not just shattered my world.
I envied that.
The next morning, I dropped the girls at preschool and drove to my office. My phone buzzed with a text from Damian.
About yesterday. Your daughters are lovely. Leo has not stopped talking about meeting them.
I stared at the message. He was reaching out again. Not about the wedding. About our children. About the strange collision of our families.
I typed back: They enjoyed meeting Leo too. Lily wants to know if the tall building has a playground on the roof.
A pause. Then: It does not. But I will tell her we can work on that.
I laughed despite myself. It was a small, involuntary sound, and it surprised me. I had not laughed at anything Damian said in five years.
He sent another message before I could respond. I have a meeting with Isabelle this afternoon. She wants to discuss the floral arrangements. Would you be able to join?
My stomach tightened. Isabelle. The bride. The woman who was about to marry the father of my children.
What time? I typed.
Three o’clock. At the venue.
I confirmed and set my phone down. The thought of seeing Isabelle again made my skin prickle. She had looked at me with sharp eyes at our lunch, had studied me like I was a puzzle she was solving. Now I would have to stand beside her, pretend to care about peonies and seating charts, while my daughters’ faces haunted me.
At three, I arrived at the hotel. Damian was already there, standing near the ballroom entrance with a woman I recognized from photos. Isabelle.
She was even more striking in person than at our lunch. Blonde hair swept into a low knot, a cream dress that probably cost more than my rent, heels that added four inches to her already statuesque frame. She smiled when she saw me, but the smile did not reach her eyes.
“Ava.” She extended her hand. “So lovely to finally meet you properly.”
I shook her hand. Her grip was cool and brief.
“I have heard wonderful things about your work,” she continued. “Damian speaks very highly of you.”
I glanced at Damian. His expression was unreadable. “He has been a gracious client.”
Isabelle’s smile tightened. “Shall we?” She looped her arm through Damian’s and led the way into the ballroom.
We walked through the space, Isabelle pointing out where she wanted the floral installations, the lighting, the stage for the band. Damian followed in silence, his jaw set. I took notes, nodded, made suggestions. All the while, I felt Isabelle’s gaze on me, measuring.
When we reached the far end of the ballroom, Isabelle stopped. “Ava, would you mind giving Damian and me a moment? There is a private matter we need to discuss.”
I looked at Damian. He gave a slight nod.
“Of course,” I said, stepping toward the lobby.
But I did not go far. I stopped just outside the doors, where I could hear their voices without being seen.
“You were staring at her,” Isabelle said, her voice low.
“I was reviewing the layout.”
“Do not lie to me, Damian.” A pause. “You looked at her the way you used to look at me. Before.”
My breath caught.
“Isabelle, this is not the time.”
“When is the time?” Her voice rose slightly. “You are distant. You are distracted. You bring the boys to business meetings. You cancel appointments when they sneeze. And now you cannot take your eyes off your wedding planner.”
“The boys are my priority.”
“They are supposed to be our priority.” Silence. Then, softer: “I agreed to this marriage because I wanted a family. But you keep me at arm’s length. You let strangers see your children before I do.”
“They are not strangers. Leo liked her.”
“Leo likes anyone who gives him crayons.” Isabelle’s voice was sharp. “What is it about her, Damian? Why do you look at her like she matters more than the woman you are supposed to marry?”
I pressed my back against the wall, my heart pounding.
“I do not know,” Damian said finally. His voice was quiet. “There is something about her I cannot explain. Something familiar.”
The silence stretched.
“Familiar,” Isabelle repeated. “Or something else?”
I did not wait to hear his answer. I walked quickly toward the lobby, my heels clicking against the marble. My hands were shaking.
He felt it. He felt the pull. He did not know why, but he felt it.
I reached the elevator and pressed the button, willing it to open faster.
“Ms. Winters.”
I turned. Damian was striding toward me, his expression unreadable.
“I apologize for the interruption,” he said. “Isabelle had to leave. We can finish the walkthrough tomorrow.”
“Of course.”
He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his gray eyes. “Ava. About yesterday. Seeing your daughters.”
I held my breath.
“There was something about them,” he said slowly. “Especially the quiet one. Rose.”
My heart stopped.
“She looked at me like she knew me.” He shook his head, almost to himself. “It is strange. I have never met her before. But I felt…”
He trailed off, searching for the word.
“What?” I whispered.
He met my eyes. “Like I was supposed to know her.”
The elevator doors opened behind me. I stepped backward into the car, needing the distance.
“Children are perceptive,” I managed. “They see things adults miss.”
“Yes.” He did not look away. “They do.”
The doors began to close. I watched him through the narrowing gap, his silhouette framed against the marble lobby.
Just before they shut, he said, “Your eyes. The same shade as hers.”
The doors closed.
I pressed my back against the elevator wall, my breath coming in shallow gasps. He had seen it. He had felt it. And he was close. So close to the truth.
When he figured it out, everything would shatter.
And I was not sure I was ready to pick up the pieces.