CHAPTER 111: OUTSTANDING WOMEN ARE BORN

Ivy could see why everyone in this family adored her. She was everything Ivy wasn’t.

Tom chuckled, swirling his wine. "Ah... Evans is a very lucky man. Imagine what Winn missed out on." His gaze flicked toward Ivy. "Outstanding women are born, not made."

Ivy’s stomach knotted.

She forced herself to smile faintly, reaching for her glass. "I’d drink to that," she said.

Winn’s hand brushed Ivy’s knee beneath the table—an unspoken apology. His thumb made slow, absent circles on her skin, an act so intimate it nearly made her lose composure. She didn’t move away, but her eyes stayed fixed on her plate. You don’t get to touch me now, she thought.

Anna shifted awkwardly in her chair, sensing the tension thickening like a storm cloud. "Well," she said, forcing a smile, "at least we’re all surrounded by outstanding women tonight."

"Some more outstanding than others," Tom murmured under his breath, taking another sip.

Under the table, Winn’s hand tightened around hers this time.

"The steak’s wonderful, Anna. You must give me the recipe." Ivy said.

But beneath the table, where no one could see, she withdrew her hand from his.

*****

By the time the last brandy glass was set back on its saucer and the dining room chatter thinned into polite goodnights, Evans stood very still. He’d watched Ivy all evening — the angle of her jaw when she laughed, the way she pushed a stray lock of hair from her face, that particular tilt of the head.

The more he watched, the more pieces fit into a shape that had haunted him for years. In his head, old photographs from Mary’s youth kept flipping across his mind: the same high cheekbone, the same stubborn chin. He could almost see the two images superimposed. The thought was intoxicating and terrifying at once.

Winn, for his part, was doing what he did best: keeping his face composed, letting the storm pass through him. But Evans had felt the slight tension in Winn’s posture whenever Ivy leaned in to answer a question or laugh at some joke.

Irene drifted over. She kept her voice low, the familiar tone they used when speaking secrets that couldn’t risk eavesdroppers. "So?" she breathed, leaning in close enough.

Evans’ reply came in a hush, all teeth and certainty. "I need to meet her mum. Her mother is the key."

Irene’s shoulders sagged a little. "I have a bad feeling this is going to cause another issue between you and Winn," she whispered. "Winn doesn’t forgive easily. He trusts even less."

"Sweetie," Evans said, "if that girl is my niece — if she’s remotely blood — I will kill him."

Irene slapped his chest with a theatrical smack that would have brought a laugh if not for the steel in her eyes. "Will you stop saying things like that?" she hissed. "And be careful nosing around; you may just be seeing things." Her hand lingered on his sleeve, an unspoken plea to temper obsession with prudence.

Evans sighed and let out a humorless chuckle. "Babe, tell me you don’t see it now. Ivy is exactly how I remember Mary." He kept his voice steady. He felt the ache of a missing thing that might be returned, and it made his chest tight with hope.

Irene exhaled heavily. "Evans, I know how badly you want to find her," she said quietly, her hand curling over his, squeezing once. "But please be careful. You know how distrusting Winn is. I fear you may just cause trouble for the girl." She glanced toward the dining room door where Ivy was; she imagined Ivy as a fragile thing.

"I’ll be careful," Evans said. "Besides," he added with a smirk, "she can do better than Winn."

Irene rolled her eyes. "You’re incorrigible," she muttered, shaking her head. Her gown shimmered slightly as she turned. She crossed the hall to where Anna and Tom stood, polite smiles in place. Irene greeted them warmly, all class and composure.

Winn waited until she was done, his tall frame leaning casually against the wall near the entrance. "It was nice to see you, Irene," he said as she turned toward him.

"Was it?" she asked, tilting her head up at him, her lips curving with just enough irony to make him smile despite himself. The glint in her eyes challenged him the way it always used to.

"Yes," he said after a pause, still scanning her as if trying to decide whether this version of Irene—the wife, the mother, the perfectly composed socialite—was the same woman who’d once walked out of his life without looking back.

Irene let out a small, disbelieving laugh. "I know I’m the last person you’d want to see," she said softly. "And Evans..." she glanced over her shoulder toward where her husband was shaking hands with Tom, "is the one person you never want to see." Her eyes came back to Winn’s.

"This whole dinner has been one long stretch of discomfort for you, hasn’t it? Between Evans poking at you, me sitting here like a ghost from your past, and your father throwing verbal daggers—you’ve been dying to leave since the appetizer."

Winn chuckled. "You noticed," he said dryly.

"How could I not?" she asked with a small smile. "You have a great girl there, Winn. Don’t mess it up."

He blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in her voice.

"I admit," Irene continued, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "I judged you when I saw the news. The age gap." She sighed, "But now... you seem lighter. Less angry. She must be doing something right."

The corner of Winn’s mouth lifted. "Thank you," he said simply.

Irene smiled faintly. Then she opened her arms. "Come here," she said.

Winn hesitated only a second before stepping forward and pulling her into an embrace. His arms tightened around her for a moment longer than necessary. It wasn’t longing. A final thread between two people who had once known each other’s flaws too well.

Then, because Winn was still Winn—and because the petty, possessive streak in him couldn’t resist—he caught Evans eyes, tilted his head slightly and pressed a soft kiss to the small of her neck, right where her hair brushed her skin.