Chapter 156

Iris

The morning of the gala is chaotic to say the least. Miles refuses to eat his breakfast, insisting that he’s not hungry, then immediately complains that he’s starving the moment Arthur and I finish our own meals. Arthur has a last-minute meeting that he can’t reschedule, so I’m on my own to take Miles to school and then get myself to my parents’ house to prepare for tonight.

“Are you sure you’ll be there on time?” I ask Arthur as I rush around gathering Miles’ lunch box and my own bag.

Arthur nods, adjusting his tie. “I promise. The meeting will be over by three, and the gala doesn’t start until seven. Plenty of time.”

I give him a skeptical look. “You need to be there by six for photos, remember? And it’s all the way across town.”

“I’ll be there,” he insists, leaning down to press a quick kiss to my lips. His hand cups my cheek. “Go. Get ready. And if I find out you’ve been running around worrying yourself ragged all day, I’ll throttle you.”

I smirk. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

A low growl rumbles in Arthur’s chest as his thumb brushes across the hollow of my throat. Grinning impishly, I swat his hand away and hurry out the door.

After dropping Miles at school—he won’t be attending the gala, as it’s a strictly adult affair, and Arthur and I don’t want to involve him in things like this until he’s older—I drive to my parents’ house.

My mother insisted I get ready there. She says it’s just easier to do everything in my large suite, but really, I think she just wants to get ready together. Not that I’m complaining, of course; I’ve always wanted a mother to do such things with.

Once I arrive, I let myself in with the key my parents gave me, calling out as I enter. “Hello? Mom? Dad? Caleb?”

There’s no response, although a housekeeper tells me my mother is in the solarium having tea. I drop my bag on the hallway table by the stairs and head that way.

Just as I’m rounding the corner to the solarium, I bump into none other than Nora. Just as always, her eyes go wide as saucers when she sees me.

“Oh! Nora,” I say, offering a small smile even though at this point, the sight of her makes me a little nervous. “It’s nice to see you.”

“Mrs. Willford is in the solarium,” she says curtly.

My chest tightens at her tone, but I nod. “Thank you,” I say, turning to go.

“Your dress for the gala arrived this morning,” Nora adds. “I hung it in your old room.”

“Oh. Thank you, Nora. That’s very kind of you.”

She nods and turns to leave. Just then, the sun hits her eyes through the large corridor windows, and I notice something. Her eyes—deep-set, almond-shaped, slightly tilted at the outer corners, and a distinctive silvery gray.

For a moment, I swear they look just like Selina’s eyes.

My breath catches in my throat. How have I never noticed this before? I’ve seen Nora several times not since reuniting with my biological parents, but I’ve never made the connection until now.

Before I can say anything, Nora abruptly turns away, averting her eyes. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to finish.”

She hurries past me, keeping her face angled away, almost as if she realized I was studying her eyes and doesn’t want me to look too closely.

I stand there for a moment, puzzled by the interaction. Could it be just a coincidence that Nora and Selina have similar eyes? It must be. Plenty of people have gray eyes. It doesn’t mean anything.

Yet something about the way she rushed off makes me uneasy.

I shake off the feeling and make my way to the solarium at the back of the house. The glass-walled room overlooks the gardens, filled with light and the scent of the flowering plants my mother tends so carefully.

I find her there, arranging a vase of fresh-cut roses on a small table while a teapot steams beside her. She looks up when I enter, and her face brightens the moment she sees me.

“Iris! There you are. I was beginning to wonder if you’d changed your mind about getting ready here.”

“Sorry I’m late,” I say, crossing the room to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Miles was being difficult this morning.”

My mother laughs. “Children have an innate sense for when you’re in a hurry. It’s like they can smell deadlines.”

I smile, sinking into one of the wicker chairs. “The makeup artist should be here at three, and the hair stylist at four.”

“Perfect,” my mother says, sitting across from me. “That gives us time for lunch and a little relaxation before the madness begins.”

She studies my face for a moment, her head tilted. “But something’s bothering you.”

I hesitate, then decide to just ask. “Mom, does Nora… dislike me?”

My mother’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Nora? Why would you think she doesn’t like you?”

I shrug, suddenly feeling stupid. “I don’t know. She just always seems so… uncomfortable around me. Just now, when I ran into her, she could barely look at me. And when she did, she rushed off like she couldn’t get away fast enough.”

My mother sighs and sets down her teacup with a delicate clink. “Ah, I see. No, Iris, Nora doesn’t dislike you. Far from it.”

“Then why does she act that way?”

“I think,” my mother says carefully, “she feels somewhat responsible for what happened. For the switch.”

“But that wasn’t her fault,” I protest. “How could it be? The hospital made the mistake, right?”

“Yes, but Nora was there. She helped deliver you. She was the one who brought you—well, Selina—home from the hospital. She was the one who cared for her those first months while I was ill. In her mind, she should have known.”

I frown. “I don’t want her to blame herself.”

“Neither do I, darling,” my mother sighs. “But I assure you, she’s a good person, Iris. We wouldn’t have kept her around all these years after Selina and Caleb grew up if we didn’t love her dearly. I think she’ll come around in time. She just needs to see that you don’t blame her.”

Nodding, I make a mental note to bring Nora a gift, perhaps some nice chocolates or a scarf, to show her that I harbor no ill feelings about the switch. Maybe once she realizes that, she’ll be able to look me in the eye. I want everyone to get along.

“Now,” my mother says, standing, “let’s have some lunch, and then we can check on your dress. I’m so excited to see you in it!”

We eat a light lunch in the garden, my mother filling me in on the guest list for tonight. Many of Ordan’s elite will be there, along with several school administrators and teachers. And, of course, Veronica, who’s been surprisingly hands-off with the planning despite the gala benefiting her charity.

After lunch, my mother insists I take a bath to relax before the stylists arrive. She’s had the staff prepare her enormous soaking tub with lavender-scented bubbles and rose petals. It’s ridiculously luxurious, but I have to admit, it helps calm my nerves.

By the time I emerge from the bath, wrapped in a plush robe with my hair in a towel, I feel much more centered. The makeup artist is due to arrive soon, but first, I want to check on my dress.

I make my way to my bedroom, excited to see the dress my mother insisted on having custom made for the gala. I didn’t have much time to help design it, so my mother took over the process with her personal tailor. From what I understand, it’s supposed to be a very pretty, light silk dress in a lovely champagne color. I can’t wait.

But when I step into my room, the smell of smoke fills my nostrils, and I gasp.

The garment bag is laying on the floor, half in the fireplace.

Burning.

I rush forward, ripping the bag out of the fireplace and stamping out the flames. I fling open a window and cough, waving the smoke out of my face before I kneel and open the bag. A tiny part of me hopes that only the bag got ruined and not the dress, but unfortunately, that hope quickly dies out as I pull the dress out of the bag.

The entire bottom half of the dress is charred and blackened.

It’s ruined.