Page 93 of Sweet Silver Bells
“How else is she supposed to have a grand reveal? All that work we did today is not going to waste. I will ensure that she gets her movie moment. You’ll never believe this, Mark—oh Hunter, I’m sure you already know—Olivia has never been to a prom. Poor thing, she barely even seemed to grasp the idea of high school. She seems pretty sheltered from the real world.”
“It sounds like you two bonded,” Hunter said, walking out to the foyer where the large staircase with wooden beams awaited—where his heartbeat stopped, where he forgot how to breathe, where he saw Olivia for the first time since the morning.
She was absolutely devastating, standing at the top of the stairs, looking down at them with a shy smile. ‘Butterflies in his stomach’ was too weak a phrase for how Hunter felt when those beautiful, dark green eyes connected with his, when his soul wanted to jump out of his body and connect with hers.
Looking up at Olivia, he knew she was destiny. There was no other way to describe it. She was home.
“Come on down, dear,” Minerva said.
Olivia obeyed, her hand on the railing, her bright red nails gleaming against the wood as she stepped down slowly, traveling toward Hunter, their bodies waiting to reunite as electricity filled the air.
His father grunted uncomfortably. “Well, that’s a pretty black dress,” Mark said as Olivia reached the bottom of the steps. Hunter reached out toward her, their hands touching. Relief flooded him, to be back together and touch her again. How could he ever let go again now?
“Pretty black dress? Your words don’t do her any justice,” Minerva said, frowning, clearly disappointed. “She is one of the most stunning women I’ve ever seen in one of the most breathtaking dresses I’ve ever purchased.”
Olivia stepped into the room like midnight incarnate, the sweeping train of her gown trailing behind her like spilled ink across marble. Layers of sheer tulle fluttered with each breath of air, catching the dim light and casting it back in glimmers that danced like dying embers. The bodice clung to her like a vow, sculpted and boned, corseted with devotion and secrets, while lace, black as a raven’s wing, crawled delicately over her skin like a lover’s touch.
It wasn’t just a dress. It was a spell. A declaration. Her song in physical form.
Hunter wanted to fall to his knees, willing to burn in hell for a chance to undo the buttons down her spine.
His mother was right; it was much more than a pretty black dress.
There was a touch more magic: some blush on her skin, some sparkles on her eyelids, and a lip color that was not quite red but also not quite purple, making her eyes dance alive like embers in a fire.
“First of all, her long hair took ninety minutes to get a proper blowout. Don’t you love how the ends wisp up, like she’s Farrah Fawcett?” Minerva explained their day.
“How are you?” Hunter asked in a hushed voice, trying to pretend to listen to his mother’s ranting. “I missed you so much.”
Olivia intertwined her fingers with his and brushed her lips on the back of his hand, letting her tongue linger there, a private moment that couldn’t be seen as anything more than innocent affection from his parent’s angle.
“Oh, Hunter, you’re in a green suit. I knew we should have gone for red, Olivia, to keep on the Christmas spirit theme.”
“She’s perfect, Mother,” Hunter said. “Let’s see this car waiting outside for us.”
Minerva fussed over Olivia’s skirt. “There, now she’s perfect.” She gave Olivia a half-hug. “You have fun, my dear.”
The two walked out of the house, and a black Range Rover was waiting for them. The exhaust steamed up into the sky, fading into the red hue from the illuminated tail lights, and the SUV shifted as the driver put it into park, then jumped out to open the doors for them.
“Thank you for working on a holiday,” Hunter said to the man, who smiled politely but mostly kept his head down.
Olivia sat as Hunter moved to the other side of the car so she didn’t have to scoot. Once seatbelts were on, the car was in motion. The sun was officially down, and light rain pattered onthe windows as dots of water pooled onto the glass, hitting one another and swallowing smaller beads whole.
“Are you excited?” Hunter asked Olivia, who seemed very lost in the darkness outside her window, her hands wrapped around her waist as she hugged herself. “What are you thinking about?”
“The world in the light,” Olivia replied, “is absurdly ugly. Don’t you think so?” She finally tore her eyes away from her view, connecting back with him.
“You might be one of the few people with that belief.” Hunter smiled. “I love it. I love the way you think.”
“The dark—it’s a blanket, an embrace. It soothes me. I feel safer.”
“Will you be okay there at the ball?” Hunter asked.
Olivia’s eyes seem to widen. “Will you?”
Hunter’s stomach sank. He wasn’t expecting that; he wasn’t expecting her to protect him from his own heart, his own self.
“Will I ever fully be yours if I live in Sarah’s shadow? In her darkness?”
