Simone stepped out of the vehicle first, offering a pleasant expression. “Thank you so much,” she told the valet, keeping her tone light and casual. He offered a polite nod, stepping over toward the driver’s window while the opposite passenger door remained shut.
Marcus, get out of the car!
She adjusted the strap of her handbag and stared up toward the main entrance, buying time as she looked at the white ribbon garlands hung across the high columns. A few seconds ticked by. The valet glanced back toward the dark rear window, then turned his gaze straight toward her.
“My boyfriend,” Simone said, letting out a small laugh. “Can you believe he’s still hunting for his phone back there?”
The worker smiled politely, but the awkward delay hung between them. Unhurried, she turned around and ducked her head back inside the open door frame. Marcus was holding tight to the interior handle; his entire posture was rigid, and he stared straight ahead at the front stairs with pure dread.
“Hey,” she said softly, forcing a teasing tone. “Are you planning on moving? We’re going to be late for my cousin’s strict arrival schedule, and you know she takes that personally.”
Marcus did not move an inch.
She leaned into the vehicle, dropping her voice to an urgent murmur. “Marcus, what are you doing? I need you out of this vehicle right now.”
His gaze shifted toward her face, showing open panic. Then he exhaled slowly through his nose, released his tight grip on the door, and stepped out onto the driveway.
He stood up straight, smoothing his dark jacket and lifting his chin. To any casual observer watching from the porch, he looked like a handsome, confident guest stepping out of a ride. Simone knew better; she saw how tense he remained, moving with stiff, forced precision because he was terrified.
A sudden realization struck her, wiping away the easy confidence she had felt while practicing their fake backstory during the car ride. Looking at him now, her family’s decorated estate had turned him completely numb with anxiety. Why was he so shaken?
Simone looped her hand around his arm, and he accepted the contact without pulling away.
“Ready?” she asked him quietly.
“Yes.” His reply was entirely flat.
They turned together toward the wide stone steps, but before they could take another pace, the loud snap of designer heels echoed across the pathway. Lorraine was already standing on the porch. Wearing a crisp cream blazer with a thick schedule clipboard tucked under her arm, her cousin waved them forward with visible annoyance.
“Simone! What took you two so long? Cocktail hour started ten minutes ago!“Lorraine descended the porch steps like she was inspecting troops. Her gaze landed on Marcus immediately, sweeping from his shoes to his collar in a single pass. Simone felt the intense scrutiny instantly.
“You must be the boyfriend.” Lorraine’s tone was pleasant enough, but her eyes were already working.
Here we go.
“Lorraine, this is Marcus.” Simone slid her arm tighter through his, keeping her voice easy. “We actually met through a mutual friend at...”
“How long have you two been together?” Lorraine asked, still looking at Marcus.
Not at Simone. At Marcus.
He smiled. It was a good smile, warm and unhurried; it was the kind that bought time without seeming to. “Long enough that she finally agreed to let me meet the family,” he said. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Lorraine. Congratulations.”
Lorraine accepted this with a small nod, but she did not soften. She watched him the way she watched caterers who arrived ten minutes late, polite on the surface and full of suspicion underneath.
Simone pressed on quickly. “We’ve been looking forward to this all week. The estate looks incredible, by the way. You’ve outdone yourself...”
Marcus was not listening to her.
She felt it before she saw it. His weight shifted slightly as his attention drifted past Lorraine’s shoulder; his eyes moved along the roofline, dropping down toward the left side of the house. He traced something deliberate. He was not admiring the flowers or the decor, because he was studying the layout instead.
Why is he acting like this?!
“Marcus.” She said it lightly, squeezing his arm.
He returned to the conversation instantly, perfectly collected. “Sorry. The architecture is something else. Is this original construction?”
Lorraine paused. It was a small pause, barely a beat, but Simone had grown up with this woman and knew exactly what it meant.
“Parts of it,” Lorraine said. “The east wing was renovated about twelve years ago.” She tilted her head. “Have you been to the area before?”
“Once or twice.” He kept the smile easy. “A long time ago.”
“Mm.” Lorraine shifted her clipboard under her arm. “You know, most people, first time here, they look at the fountain. Everyone looks at the fountain.”
She let that sit. Marcus had not looked at the fountain; he had looked at the narrow path running between the hedgerow and the east-wing wall, the one that was impossible to see from the main drive unless you already knew it was there.
Simone panicked.
“He’s an architecture nerd,” she said quickly. “Completely insufferable about it, honestly. I can’t take him anywhere with exposed beams.”
Lorraine laughed. It was a short, polite sound that meant nothing. Her eyes stayed locked on Marcus. The social warmth of a bride greeting a guest vanished completely; what replaced it was colder and sharper, the look of a woman who had just caught onto a secret.Simone felt the shift like a door closing in another room, quiet and completely final.
“The estate looks incredible, Lorraine.” She turned to her cousin with fresh brightness, putting deliberate enthusiasm into every word. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time. I was telling Marcus on the way over how you managed the Whitfield anniversary last spring entirely by yourself, and he could not believe it.”
Lorraine did not look at her; her gaze stayed locked on Marcus instead. It was the calm, level look of a woman who was certain she recognized an old document, even if she had not placed where she had seen it yet.
Simone kept talking to fill the silence. “I was telling Marcus on the way over how you managed the Whitfield anniversary last spring entirely by yourself, and he could not believe it. Sixty guests, right? Sixty guests and not a single...”
“The timeline is handled.” Lorraine’s voice was pleasant, but clipped. Her eyes never left Marcus.
She is not listening to a word I’m saying.
Marcus turned back toward them, having finished whatever silent calculation he had been running behind his steady gaze. He faced Lorraine directly with easy shoulders and slid one hand into his jacket pocket, simply standing his ground.
He smiled. “I imagine you have the whole weekend mapped down to the minute.”
“I do,” Lorraine said.
She studied his face in silence; the clipboard shifted under her arm.
“You know,” she said, “you look very familiar to me.”
“I get that a lot.” Marcus kept the smile in place.
“I’m sure.” Lorraine looked at him for another second before her chin lifted. The doubt cleared from her face, and recognition settled in, sharp and certain. “Marcus Reeves.”
She spoke the name flatly, without a hint of question. It hung in the air between them, heavy and sharp.
Simone heard it, and her mind raced across the last twenty minutes on the estate. She thought of the introduction on the front steps, the careful small talk, and the cover story she had rehearsed for forty minutes in the backseat of that car. She had introduced him only as Marcus; she had never mentioned his last name, because she had never thought to say it out loud.
Panic hit her with sickening force.
Marcus did not flinch, nor did he confirm the name. He simply held Lorraine’s stare, and a brief, silent understanding passed between them that Simone could not read at all.
Lorraine’s eyes narrowed.
“Marcus Reeves,” she said again, her voice dropping lower, completely stripped of social charm.