Page 199 of The Sweetest Return

Growth.

She went inside with Marisol and Laila, and I stayed outside where I belonged.

The doors remained open to the courtyard, so I heard pieces when the wind moved right.

“No necklace with this neckline,” Imani said.

A pause.

“Because the wrist is the sentence. The earrings are punctuation. Anything at the throat makes the look explain itself twice.”

Then Laila laughed.

I smiled before I could help it.

For the next hour, I watched from a distance while Imani did what she had come to do. Not every clasp, angle, wardrobe adjustment, or lighting conversation. I didn’t need all that. What mattered was the way people kept turning toward her. The photographer listened. Marisol stopped arguing and started nodding. Laila held her wrist under the light, then looked at Imani like the diamonds had become personal.

The jewelry was beautiful. Expensive. Serious.

But Imani made it mean something.

When she finally stepped back into the courtyard, the ocean wind caught the loose pieces of hair near her temple. She looked calm, but I knew better now. The brightness in her eyes meant her mind was still moving too fast. The softness at her mouth meant the pressure had turned into satisfaction.

I stood as she approached.

“Well?”

Her smile came slowly. “She’s wearing them.”

“Of course she is.”

“You say that like you knew.”

“I saw you walk in.”

She rolled her eyes, but pleasure crossed her face before she could hide it. “It went well.”

“I heard.”

“You were eavesdropping?”

“You were speaking in a courtyard with open doors.”

“So eavesdropping.”

“Supporting from a distance.”

“That sounds like branding.”

“I know a marketing executive.”

Her laugh slipped free, and just like that, Malibu got better.

We gave Solara House another hour because Marisol wanted final notes, Laila wanted the story of the house, and Imani wanted every name, time, and security contact confirmed before she trusted anybody’s excitement. What had started as a next-month Ellington placement had become a tomorrow problem with more eyes on it, and I watched her handle that shift without letting anyone hear the clock ticking in her voice.

I handled one call from Omar at North & Vine and told him changing the lamb supplier did not require my emotional presence.

“You’re in Malibu,” he said. “Why are you answering?”