The Blackwood Estate loomed before Eve, its Georgian architecture a stark reminder of the weight of tradition and expectation that had shaped her life. As she pulled her car into the long, gravel driveway, the crunch of stones beneath her tires seemed to echo her growing unease. The manicured lawns and perfectly trimmed hedges spoke of a world where everything had its place - and where deviation from the norm was not tolerated.
Eve took a deep breath, smoothing down her conservative navy dress. Sunday brunch with her family was a long-standing tradition, one she couldn't avoid without raising suspicions. But today, the thought of facing her parents filled her with dread. The events in the parking garage with Violet were still fresh in her mind, the ghost of Violet's touch lingering on her skin.
As she approached the grand oak door, it swung open to reveal Henderson, the family's long-time butler. His stoic expression betrayed nothing, but Eve could have sworn she saw a flicker of sympathy in his eyes.
"Good morning, Miss Eve," he intoned. "The family is waiting in the solar."
Eve nodded, steeling herself as she made her way through the familiar halls. Family portraits lined the walls, generations of Blackwoods staring down at her with judging eyes. She paused briefly before a photo of her grandmother, Evelyn Blackwood, for whom she was named. The stern-faced woman had been a pillar of Boston society, known for her charitable works and her unyielding stance on "traditional values."
The soft murmur of voices grew louder as Eve approached the solar. She plastered on a smile and entered the room, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods wafting over her.
"Eve, darling, there you are," her mother, Constance Blackwood, called out. Impeccably dressed in a Chanel suit, her silver hair coiffed to perfection, Constance rose to air-kiss her daughter's cheeks. "We were beginning to worry."
"Sorry I'm late," Eve apologized, taking her usual seat at the table. "Work has been hectic."
Her father, Richard Blackwood III, peered at her over his reading glasses, the Wall Street Journal folded neatly beside his plate. "Ah yes, those layoffs you mentioned. Nasty business, but sometimes necessary to keep a company afloat."
Eve nodded, accepting a cup of coffee from Henderson. She was about to respond when her younger brother, Ethan, chimed in.
"Speaking of work," Ethan said, a mischievous glint in his eye, "how's that pretty assistant of yours, Eve? Violet, wasn't it?"
Eve nearly choked on her coffee, her heart rate spiking. "She's fine," she managed, keeping her voice level. "An excellent employee."
"You should invite her to one of the charity galas," Constance suggested, eyeing her daughter carefully. "It's about time you started thinking about settling down, dear. Thirty-five is no age to be single in our circles."
Eve felt a familiar knot of tension forming in her stomach. "Mother, please. My career is my focus right now."
Richard lowered his newspaper, fixing Eve with a stern gaze. "Your mother's right, Eve. The Blackwood name carries certain... expectations. It's high time you found a suitable young man and started a family."
The words hung heavy in the air, laden with unspoken implications. Eve's mind flashed to a conversation she'd overheard years ago, when her parents thought she was asleep. Her father's voice, tight with anger: "No daughter of mine will bring that kind of shame to this family. We'll send her to Europe if we have to, but we will not have... that sort of behavior under our roof."
Eve had known then, with a sinking certainty, that her growing feelings for her college roommate could never see the light of day.
"Actually," Ethan interjected, pulling Eve from her memories, "I might have someone for you, sis. Remember Thomas Winthrop? He's back in town, recently divorced. Prime catching, if you ask me."
Eve forced a smile, her fingers tightening around her coffee cup. "How thoughtful of you, Ethan. But I'm quite capable of managing my own love life."
Constance clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "Don't be difficult, Eve. The Winthrops are a fine family. You could do much worse."
As the conversation moved on to other topics - the upcoming regatta, the latest society scandals - Eve found her thoughts drifting to Violet. Sweet, passionate Violet, who looked at her with such hope and understanding. Violet, who made her feel alive in a way she'd never experienced before.
But as Eve glanced around the table, taking in her family's expectant faces, she felt the weight of generations pressing down on her. The Blackwood name, the family legacy, the unspoken rules that had governed her life for as long as she could remember - how could she possibly risk it all?
As brunch drew to a close, Eve made her excuses and prepared to leave. Her mother caught her arm as she was saying her goodbyes.
"Eve, darling," Constance said softly, her eyes searching her daughter's face. "You know we only want what's best for you, don't you? This family has a reputation to uphold. We can't afford any... indiscretions."
Eve felt a chill run down her spine at her mother's words. Did she suspect something? "Of course, Mother," she replied, keeping her voice steady. "You don't need to worry about me."
As Eve drove away from the estate, her knuckles white on the steering wheel, she felt torn between two worlds. The safe, familiar world of her family's expectations, and the thrilling, terrifying possibility of a life with Violet.
Her phone buzzed with a text message. Violet's name flashed on the screen: "Hope you're having a good weekend. Can we talk tomorrow?"
Eve's heart raced as she read the message. She knew she should maintain her distance, keep things professional. But the thought of Violet's warm smile, her unwavering support, made Eve's resolve waver.
With a deep breath, she typed out a reply: "Yes, let's talk tomorrow. My office, 8 AM."
As she hit send, Eve couldn't shake the feeling that she was standing on the edge of a precipice. Whatever happened next would change everything. The question was, did she have the courage to take the leap?