Celeste Duncan stood at the towering floor–to–ceiling window, draped in a silk robe, gazing out at the scattered city lights. After a long moment, she pulled out her phone and made a call.
“I agree to the engagement.”
A brief silence. Then, her father Herbert’s voice came through, barely able to hide his delight.
“Cece, when are you coming home? I’ll come pick you up.”
No one had called her by that childhood nickname in years. The sound of it made her eyes sting.
“Next Monday.”
She ended the call before he could say more.
After her mother died, her father wasted no time bringing his mistress and her daughter into their home. Celeste loathed them, but she would never allow her mother’s company to fall into their hands. She’d fought desperately for Philip Robertson before, maneuvering through every obstacle, but now she didn’t see the point–she’d take back what was hers in the most direct way possible.
Thinking of Philip sent a familiar ache through her chest.
Eight–thirty that evening, Celeste set the dinner she’d carefully prepared onto the table.
At that moment, a message came in from Philip.
[Something came up at work. Don’t wait for me.]
She stared at her phone, feeling empty inside.
Today was her twenty–third birthday–and the fifth anniversary of her relationship with Philip.
Since six o’clock, she’d been calling, texting, hoping for a response. Each call went unanswered; every ten texts got a single, curt reply: [I’m busy.]
Her chat with him looked like a one–person show.
[I ordered tomahawk steaks…]
[I bought roses and lilies…]
[The wine is your favorite. I picked it up from the vineyard this afternoon.
[I made scented candles, gardenia, just for tonight.]
For thirteen years, Philip had never missed her birthday.
She dialed his number again, unwilling to give up, but this time his phone was off.
She glanced at the time his last message had come in, but before she could process it, a notification popped up–a social media update from one of her starred contacts.
“Mr. VIN’s concert–been looking forward to this.”
The attached photo showed two arms pressed close together, a man and a woman. Under the dim lights, the man’s diamond cufflinks gleamed–gardenia–shaped, custom–made, the only pair like them in all of Silvercrest.
They were Philip’s favorite design. She’d had them made for him.
Celeste’s hand trembled as she zoomed in on the photo, then out, then in again, her eyes burning until she could barely see. With a sudden gasp, she hurled her phone onto the table, fighting for breath like a fish out of water.
She’d bought tickets the moment Mr. VIN’s national tour was announced. She’d told Philip it was all she wanted for her birthday. He’d promised to go with her–then
bailed at the last minute.
Now, on her birthday, he’d gone with Viola Allen instead.
Pain radiated through her chest, spreading until she could barely breathe. She pressed her palm to her face, no longer able to pretend or make excuses.
When she was a sickly child, she’d moved from Asterwynn tò Silvercrest at the age of ten for her health–that’s when she met Philip.
Because of him, she’d refused to return to Asterwynn, even after she’d grown
strong.
He was two years older, her protector and companion through middle school and college. On her eighteenth birthday, he’d confessed his feelings, brought her the most beautiful bouquet, and swore she’d be the only one he’d ever love.
But when had everything started to change?
Maybe it was the day she introduced Viola to Philip, her arm linked with the timid girl’s.
Chapter
Viola had stood there in her too–clean white dress, fingers twisting together. I’m one of Miss Duncan’s scholarship students,” she’d murmured to Philip, offering that fragile smile of hers – the kind that made you want to give her your coat even when it wasn’t cold.
Stubborn, like a lily blooming on the edge of a cliff, she’d so easily awakened Philip’s instinct to protect.
