Monster In Silk

⚜️ The Family Dinner

The Blackwood Estate in Greenwich was not a house. It was a verdict.

Stone, ivy, windows lit like eyes. The driveway was a quarter-mile of oaks that had been there since before anyone named Blackwood had money. Cassie's old Uber would have died of embarrassment here. Adrian's Bentley didn't make a sound.

"You remember the plan," Adrian said as the car stopped. He had not touched her since the elevator, but his hand was resting on the console, close enough that his pinky brushed hers.

"Bore your mother, ignore your brother, avoid the Van Alens, and don't let Selene get me alone," Cassie recited. She clutched her small black clutch tighter. Inside it, folded twice, was a printed copy of photo #944 — Selene's red nails on black silk. Her insurance.

"And?" he prompted.

"And smile like I adore you even when your mother implies I'm a gold-digger."

"Good girl." He finally looked at her, in that black silk jumpsuit that made his jaw clench every time he saw her bare back. "You look..."

"Like a woman who already has attention and doesn't care?" she quoted Mrs. Agatha.

"Like my wife," he said, and got out to open her door himself — a gesture so old-fashioned the valet blinked.

The dining room was already full.

Eleanor Blackwood sat at the head of a table that could seat twenty. She was sixty-four, silver hair cut in a sharp bob, wearing black Chanel and pearls that were probably real and probably older than Cassie. She did not stand when they entered. She simply looked, her grey eyes — Adrian's eyes, but colder — sweeping from Cassie's bare back to her face to the diamond on her finger.

"Adrian. You finally decided to join us. And this must be... Cassandra."

"Cassie," Cassie said, extending a hand. "It's lovely to meet you, Mrs. Blackwood."

Eleanor took her hand lightly, as if it might be contagious. "We were so surprised. A City Hall wedding. So... efficient. Adrian has always been efficient."

It was not a compliment.

To Eleanor's right sat Richard Van Alen, 68, broad, red-faced from golf, and his daughter Elise Van Alen, 31, blonde, perfect, in a white Valentino dress that screamed I was supposed to be the bride. Elise smiled at Cassie with teeth.

"Cassie! We were just saying how brave you are. Marrying into this family with no... background check. I mean, with no background. So brave."

Cassie smiled back, the smile she used for hostile city council members. "Thank you, Elise. I was just telling Adrian how brave you are, too. Waiting so long for a merger that never came."

Elise's smile froze.

Adrian's hand pressed lightly to Cassie's lower back, hidden by silk — a silent well done.

Then the doors opened again.

Julian arrived late, as always, in a velvet blazer, hair artfully messy. And on his arm, in a skin-tight red dress that was exactly the wrong shade for a Blackwood family dinner, was Selene.

"Sorry we're late!" Julian announced. "Traffic from the city, and Selene had a... wardrobe emergency."

Selene's eyes locked onto Cassie. Then onto Adrian's hand on Cassie's bare back. Then onto the jumpsuit.

Her smile sharpened. "Cassie. Wow. Black silk. Interesting choice. I thought you hated silk. You said it was... what was it? 'Too pretentious for real journalists.'"

Cassie felt Adrian tense beside her.

"I changed my mind," Cassie said evenly. "I married a man who taught me to appreciate good fabric."

Selene laughed, too loud. "Of course you did. You always were a fast learner. Especially when there's a... financial incentive."

The table went silent. Eleanor's eyebrows rose a fraction. Richard Van Alen coughed into his napkin.

Adrian stepped forward, just half a step, but it put him between Cassie and Selene.

"Selene," he said, his voice dangerously soft, polite, lethal. "What an unexpected pleasure. I didn't realize Julian was bringing a plus-one. Especially one who was at our Foundation gala last year without an invitation."

Selene went pale under her bronzer. "I - what?"

"2023 gala. East terrace. You picked up something that didn't belong to you." Adrian smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I hope you kept it safe. Sentimental value."

Julian frowned. "What are you talking about, Adrian?"

"Nothing that concerns you, Julian." Adrian pulled out Cassie's chair. "Sit, darling. You must be tired."

Cassie sat, heart hammering so loud she was sure Eleanor could hear it. Adrian took the seat beside her, his thigh pressed against hers under the table — a hidden anchor.

Dinner was served. Seven courses, each smaller than the last. Eleanor interrogated Cassie like a deposition.

"And your mother, Evelyn? How is she? I heard she was... moved."

"She's at Johns Hopkins now, thank you. Adrian arranged it."

"Adrian is very generous with other people's money," Eleanor said, eyes on her son. "He paid for your mother's care before you were even married. How... modern."

"He paid for what was necessary," Cassie said, meeting Eleanor's gaze. "My mother taught me that family takes care of family. Even when it's inconvenient. I'm sure you taught Adrian the same."

A flicker of something — respect? irritation? — crossed Eleanor's face.

Elise Van Alen leaned forward. "Cassie, darling, I read one of your articles. About the dockworkers? So... passionate. Tell me, what does a journalist like you do now that you're a Blackwood wife? Do you still... work?"

"I investigate," Cassie said, taking a sip of wine to keep her hands from shaking. "For example, I'm currently investigating who embezzled forty-seven million dollars from Blackwood Global and why they left a piece of black silk with a Van Alen monogram on a dead man's body."

The table froze. A fork clattered.

Richard Van Alen went purple. "What did you say?"

Adrian's hand found Cassie's under the table and squeezed, hard. Not a warning. A keep going.

Eleanor set down her glass very slowly. "Cassandra, what a vivid imagination."

"It's not imagination, Mrs. Blackwood," Cassie said, her voice steady now, journalist voice on. "It's evidence. I have photos. From that gala. Of Marcus Thorne arguing with someone wearing your family cufflinks. And of someone picking up his silk handkerchief afterward."

She looked directly at Selene.

Selene's red lips parted. For a second, pure panic flashed in her eyes. Then she recovered, laughing.

"Cassie, you are so dramatic! You always were. Making stories up. Like that time you said I stole your article idea in college -"

"You did steal it," Cassie said calmly. "And you stole the handkerchief, too, didn't you, Selene?"

Julian looked between them, confused. "Selene, what is she talking about?"

Selene stood abruptly, knocking her wine glass. Red wine spilled across the white tablecloth like blood.

"I need air," she said. "Julian, take me outside."

Julian stood, too, pulling her away. As they passed behind Cassie's chair, Selene leaned down and whispered, so only Cassie could hear:

"You think that jumpsuit makes you a Blackwood? You're still just a broke girl in borrowed silk, Cassie. And borrowed husbands always get returned."

She walked out to the terrace, Julian trailing.

Eleanor watched them go, then turned back to Cassie, her expression now unreadable.

"Cassandra," she said, after a long pause. "You have spirit. That is... useful. But spirit without breeding can be messy. I hope you know what you are doing."

Adrian stood, pulling Cassie up with him. His arm went around her waist, his hand flat on her bare back now, skin to skin, possessive in front of his mother and the Van Alens.

"She knows exactly what she's doing, Mother," he said. "She's my wife. And if anyone calls her marriage a sham again, they will find out what a sham their own merger was."

He looked at Richard Van Alen when he said it.

Richard Van Alen looked away first.

"Excuse us," Adrian said. "My wife and I have to leave early. We have... a contract to consummate."

He said it loud enough for the whole table to hear. Elise Van Alen choked on her water.

Cassie, despite herself, despite the war zone, felt heat flood her face — and lower.

As Adrian led her out, his hand never leaving her bare back, she whispered, "We do not have to consummate any contract."

"No," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear as he opened the front door to the cold night, "but I very much want to. And after that performance, Mrs. Blackwood, you are going to let me."

Behind them, through the dining room window, Cassie could see Selene on the terrace, watching them leave, her red dress like a wound, Julian's arm around her, and in her clutch, her phone open to a photo.

A photo of a black silk handkerchief with the initials S.H.

Selene Hart.