Chapter 17 - The Dress
Grant had seen Hannah in evening gowns before.
Hundreds of times.
Charity galas.
Political dinners.
Corporate receptions.
Their first wedding.
Their second wedding.
None prepared him for the dark green dress.
Hannah descended the farmhouse staircase at 6:48 Saturday evening.
Grant forgot how language worked.
She stopped halfway down.
“What?”
Grant stared.
“Nothing.”
“Something’s wrong.”
“No.”
She examined the dress.
“Is it too much?”
“No.”
“Too tight?”
“No.”
“Grant?”
He cleared his throat.
“I have reconsidered the fundraiser.”
Hannah blinked.
“You have?”
“Yes.”
“We should stay home.”
She smiled slowly.
“Why?”
“Leo needs us.”
Margaret appeared behind him carrying Leo.
“No, he doesn’t.”
Grant glared at his mother.
Margaret kissed Leo’s cheek.
“He’s sleeping here tonight.”
“Mom.”
“Go away.”
Grant looked back at Hannah.
She reached the bottom step.
“Still want to stay home?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He leaned closer.
“Because Daniel Bennett has functioning eyes.”
Hannah laughed.
Grant groaned.
“Stop enjoying this.”
“I can’t.”
At the fundraiser, Grant behaved impeccably.
For eleven minutes.
Then Daniel approached.
“Hannah.”
Daniel kissed her cheek.
Grant’s jaw moved.
Daniel noticed.
Naturally.
“Grant.”
“Daniel.”
Hannah sighed.
“This evening is going to last twelve years.”
Daniel smiled.
“You look beautiful, Hannah.”
“Thank you.”
Grant picked up a champagne flute.
Daniel glanced at him.
“You okay?”
“Excellent.”
“You’re holding that glass like it owes you money.”
Hannah walked away before she embarrassed herself laughing.
The evening improved when Grant became distracted by a presentation about pediatric cardiac care.
He quietly pledged enough money to fund three new intensive-care rooms.
Hannah discovered it only when the hospital director nearly cried.
“You didn’t tell me,” she said.
Grant shrugged.
“It wasn’t for you.”
She stared at him.
“It was for the children.”
That mattered.
The old Grant donated publicly.
Names on buildings.
Photographs.
Power disguised as generosity.
This donation was anonymous.
Later, Hannah danced with him.
Grant held her carefully.
“Daniel asked me something tonight,” she said.
His eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“He asked whether we were happy.”
Grant became serious.
“What did you tell him?”
Hannah looked into his eyes.
“I said yes.”
Grant stopped moving.
Couples danced around them.
Music continued.
But he simply stared at her.
“You said yes?”
“Yes.”
“Happy?”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
She smiled.
“You leave wet towels on the bathroom floor.”
“I do not.”
“You did yesterday.”
“That was one towel.”
“Tuesday too.”
Grant frowned.
“This conversation has changed direction.”
Hannah laughed.
Then rested her cheek against his chest.
Grant closed his eyes.
“I’m happy too,” he whispered.
She heard him.
For Grant, happiness had once meant winning.
Now it meant a woman resting her cheek against him while music played.
They left shortly before midnight.
Daniel hugged Hannah goodbye.
Grant did not murder him.
Personal growth.
In the car, Hannah looked over.
“I’m proud of you.”
“For donating?”
“For surviving the hug.”
Grant stared ahead.
“Barely.”
Hannah laughed.
Then Grant’s phone rang.
Marcus.
The warmth vanished from his expression.
He answered.
“What happened?”
Marcus spoke for nearly thirty seconds.
Grant said nothing.
Then:
“Are you certain?”
Another pause.
Grant looked at Hannah.
She immediately knew.
Something was wrong.
“What?”
Grant ended the call.
“Vincent Bellandi disappeared this afternoon.”
Hannah’s stomach tightened.
“Why does that concern us?”
“Because before he disappeared, he emptied one account.”
“How much?”
“Not much.”
“Grant.”
“Two million.”
“That is not ‘not much.’”
“For Vincent it is.”
“What did he buy?”
Grant looked through the windshield.
“A plane ticket.”
“Where?”
“Albany.”
May you like
Hannah went cold.
Albany was less than forty miles from their farmhouse.
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