Page 95 of Sweet Silver Bells
“We are here,” the driver announced as the car drew to a stop. Hunter could see the large brick estate lit up spectacularly out the tinted windows. People dressed in their winter formal best walked up the steps, exiting their own luxury vehicles. Carolers waited at the top of the steps, humming together in tune to a medley of holiday songs.
Hunter ran around the car to Olivia, the driver already there, holding an umbrella over her head as rain continued to dust the air around them.
“I’ve got it,” Hunter said, taking the umbrella, letting him know his job was done.
Together, they took in the ten-foot wreaths hanging from the roof and the greens, golds, and reds across the front of the building.
“They certainly put on a show,” Hunter said, turning to Olivia, whose face had fallen. “What’s wrong?”
“Hunter, you once said that a siren is a witch.”
27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN.
Confused, Hunter cocked his head, but he didn’t get a chance to answer as a man in a coat and top hat ushered them inside, taking their tickets and displaying the biggest smile.
“Let’s get your lady out of this mist. Enjoy yourselves.”
Olivia wrapped her arm around Hunter, holding her skirt up with her other hand. It struck Hunter for the first time how it looked like she really belonged there. The elegance of the way she walked was like a ballet dancer sashaying across lily pads. The certainty of how she held herself was that of a person who’d had power her entire life, but it was normal, unremarkable to her. Everything that this ball was trying to be, the holiday magic so forced, was everything that Olivia truly was.
This ball didn’t deserve her.
They moved through the grand foyer, where a large Christmas tree sat in the middle of the room to greet them, and a line for the open bar wrapped partially around it as gentlemen in black coats waited to bring champagne flutes to their dates.
“You're upset,” Hunter said.
Olivia was too quiet. The energy that radiated off of her was tense, despite the slight dimples in her cheeks as she smiled and ignored his words. That smile did not meet her eyes.
His alarm bells were going off as he studied her face, her mouth neutral, her head hanging high as she scanned the room.
“Is it the tree?” Hunter asked.
Olivia shook her head.
Flickering candles lined the end tables of the room, shadows striking against the bells and holly lining the walls in draped greenery—a classic holiday look. Hunter felt his throat tighten, nervous, sensitive to every look, every twitch of Olivia’s nose.
This was once her home.
Maybe this was too soon.
“I’m sorry,” Hunter said. “We shouldn’t be here, should we?”
A trance seemed to fall over her, Olivia’s voice a higher pitch than her normal tone.
“No songs tonight, do you think you can make it? We can turn around right now,” Hunter said, gripping her hand tighter. “Whatever you need, I will make it so.”
A small smile played across her lips at that. She turned her chin up to him. “There are no Danishes here, I’m afraid.”
Hunter laughed and pulled her entirely into him, hugging her.
“Excuse you two, the foyer is not for standing around,” an elderly woman bumped into them. “Get into the dance hall; go on now.”
Olivia giggled and picked up her skirt, floating across the floor on Hunter’s arm as they proceeded forward.
“I want to be here,” she said.
The dance hall looked just as Hunter had seen it so many times between the field trips and the wedding. This time, it was filled with couples attempting to waltz, some beautiful dancers, others struggling. The ceilings were over twenty feet high, anddancers floated across a marble floor that seemed to trap any color or light that hit it.
