Page 124 of At First Dance
I move to Ivy’s side, close enough for our arms to touch. Celeste barely glances at me.
“I didn’t come to make a scene,” she says smoothly. “I just want a moment. To talk. Please.”
Ivy crosses her arms. “Why now?”
Celeste sighs, like we’re inconveniencing her. “Because you stopped answering my calls. Because you’re ignoring your team. Because you’re throwing away everything we’ve built—”
“I built,” Ivy says, calm and sharp. “You monetized it.”
A few murmurs ripple through the family. Mom’s expression is stone. Lila stands slowly, moving to Ivy’s other side.
Celeste blinks. “I got you record deals. Tours. A platform—”
“A leash,” Ivy cuts in. “You gave me a leash.”
I see it—the flicker in Celeste’s eyes. The crack in the porcelain.
“I’m still your mother,” she says.
Ivy’s voice drops. “No. You’re the manager who used to forge contracts.”
A hush falls over the yard. Even the wind stills.
My mom steps forward, slipping beside Lila. She places a gentle hand on Ivy’s back, offering support without words. Her gaze, however, is steel when it lands on Celeste.
“You think this town is better than the world I built for you?” Celeste says, her voice rising now, losing its polish. “You think barns and broken fences are enough?”
“I think love is enough,” Ivy says.
Celeste blinks like she’s been slapped. And what do I do? I move. Not much. Just enough to step in front of Ivy.
“She’s not going anywhere she doesn’t want to,” I say, meeting Celeste’s gaze without flinching.
There’s silence.
Then Celeste lifts her chin. “I hope you realize how much you’re throwing away.”
“I do,” Ivy says softly. “And I’ve never felt more free.”
Celeste’s lips press into a line. She turns without another word, storms to the SUV, and slams the door. Dust kicks up behind her as she drives off.
And just like that, she’s gone. I glance at Ivy. She’s breathing, shoulders trembling but steady.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods. “Let’s go home.”
We leave the celebration without fanfare. No one stops us. No one needs to. The family lets us slip away like they know the moment’s ours now.
The drive home is quiet, but not empty. It’s the kind of quiet that hums beneath your skin. Charged. Waiting.
I keep one hand on the wheel, the other draped over the console until Ivy reaches out and links her fingers with mine. Her palm is warm. Steady. Her thumb brushes the side of my hand like she’s grounding herself in the feel of me.
The porch light is already on when we pull up to the house. A soft amber glow spilling across the steps and the overgrown flower beds. I park the truck, but neither of us moves for a minute.
Then Ivy shifts, her voice breaking the silence.
“She showed up looking like she was about to walk onto a press junket.”
