Silence Reveals Hidden Answers’ by Michael Anderson novel Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Baxter Prescott.

I run after Jennifer just after she stopped me from kissing her.

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I don’t know what possessed me…maybe the way she pulled back, maybe the way her lips looked when she did. Soft. Pouty. Distractingly perfect.

I bump hard into the male stylist when I try to explain.”

“Where is she?” I ask, scanning left and right.

“She…uh–went back to the villa.”

I turn to head back inside for my keys, but Nisha steps directly into my path. “Where are you going? We’re not done with the shots.”

“I’ve changed three times already,” I try to move around her. “How many more pictures do you need? I have somewhere to be.”

She grabs my arm. “Can we talk?”

“Nisha, get out of my way-”

“Why were you in Jennifer’s Villa this morning? Why were you taking her breakfast? Are you seriously pursuing her while we’re on our wedding cruise?” Her eyes blaze. “I don’t get it. What is it with her? Fine, she used to be ugly and now she’s beautiful, congratulations to her but so what? Just because we signed a contract does not mean you get to treat me this way.”

That does it.

“A contract.” I say flatly, pulling my hand free, “means I can do whatever I want.”

She stiffens.

“And that same contract,” I continue, “means once my father retires and hands the company to me, we go our separate ways. Should I sit you down and explain it again, Nisha?”

“Baxter-”

“No.” I raise a hand, stopping her mid–syllable. “You know exactly why we’re marrying. Stop trying to turn it into something else.”

She opens her mouth again, but I don’t let her speak.

“You get to be a Prescott daughter–in–law. It gives your dad’s failing company a spotlight for as long as the contract holds. You get to be the ‘golden girl. You get to use my name to boost your influencing career. So don’t ask me for more.”

I walk straight out of her face.

When I get to the villa and start searching for Jennifer, it turns into a waste of time almost immediately. She’s not in her room. Not by the pool. Not anywhere I check twice. I ask once, get vague answers, and that’s when I’m done chasing ghosts.

So I go to The Saints. I think better when the music is loud, when there’s screaming and chaos and a cold beer in my hand. It’s the Baxter Prescott way. What can I say?

A girl on the pole near the VIP section has been dancing for far too long, throwing glances my way like she’s waiting for permission. Word travels fast in places like this that I’m a baller, big spender, trust fund kid, the groom whose parents are

Chapter 22

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covering almost the entire wedding bill.

Eighty percent, to be exact.

My parents didn’t even pretend to split it evenly. They told Nisha’s parents not to worry about costs. Even if they tried, they wouldn’t meet Prescott standards anyway.

Her father’s a doctor with ambitions of starting a pharmaceutical company. Her mother used to be a popular actress. They are middle class. My mother calls it humble especially because Nisha puts on that saintly act of giving donations, orphanages, charity visits. Made it easier for my mother to like her quickly.

I watch the stripper slide down the pole, still looking right at me. But I swear, all I see is Jennifer’s face. I try to superimpose Jennifer’s face onto the girl’s body, and it doesn’t work. It feels wrong. Jennifer isn’t like this. She’s soft. Innocent in a way that doesn’t survive under neon lights and liquor.

My fist tightens until my knuckles ache.

She slept with Harvey.

Harvey beat me to her on the same night I made that bet with him.

Is it because I’ve never lost to him before? Or is it because it’s Jennifer? I swear, she never even registered as attractive to me until now…until she was the one not chasing me.

The music throbs harder. The girl on stage starts moving lower, dirtier–but no matter how much I try, I can’t imagine Jennifer doing that.

I rise from the VIP seat, beer abandoned, scanning the crowd through layers of smoke and bodies when I see Jennifer!

She is stepping out of the transparent elevator with Harvey. Am I seeing clearly?

She’s laughing with her waist tipped toward him while he shrugs off his jacket and puts it over her shoulders. My vision sharpens instead of blurring, which makes it worse, because this isn’t alcohol playing tricks on me.

Is she talking to the same Harvey I thought I ruined this morning? The one I watched fall apart in front of everyone? Or am I suddenly dealing with a version of him I don’t recognize at all?

The elevator lowers completely, and before I can even take another step, top–tier security closes in around them. Not regular bouncers but like Harvey’s some kind of mafia boss in his own club. But the manager told me the owner was

overseas.

I leave my table and start pushing through the crowd, shoulders bumping, drinks sloshing, people cursing as I shove past again and again. I’m close…close enough to hear-

“Boss is about to leave. Clear the parkway.”

Boss? Boss… Harvey? No. That doesn’t make sense.

I try to push forward again, but they’re already moving, Jennifer completely shielded as they guide her and Harvey out through the private exit before I can get anywhere near them.

I grab the nearest bouncer that I recognize and force a smile. “Hey, my friend.” I put a folded bill into his hand. “Who’s that guy? The one who just came out of the lift with the pretty girl?”

He pockets the money without looking at it, glances over his shoulder, and says flatly, “That’s our boss.”

“Does he have a name?”

“Harvey Prescott.”

”

15:09 Tue, Feb 3 M⚫

Chapter 22

The liquor in my system turns cold.

“He owns this club!?”

The bouncer gives me a look like I’m stupid. “Uh… yeah. He owns The Saints.”

“Owns… Saints?” My voice cracks. “You mean–he owns the Saints club?”

“Dude, are you high?” He shakes his head and walks off, leaving me standing there.

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Harvey owns The Saints. The most hyped, exclusive, impossible–to–get–into club in Italy since it opened. How the hell is he running a casino in New York and building this empire overseas at the same time? Who the fuck is Harvey?

I shove past the exit doors and step outside just in time to see a sleek car pull out. Harvey’s behind the wheel. Jennifer is beside him. The car passes right in front of me.

I don’t move fast enough to stop traffic at the club exit. Horns blare. Someone yells. Where are they going?

I sprint towards my car. How many things is Harvey doing that I don’t know about? How many layers are there to him that I never even tried to see?

I follow his car and keep my distance, close enough not to lose him, far enough not to be obvious. After about thirty minutes, they pull up to an amusement park that’s lit up like a fever dream, packed with people.

Jennifer gets out of the passenger side, laughing at something he said.

I stay seated for a moment so they don’t see me and push my hair back.

Harvey owns The Saints. I thought when he started working in my dad’s casino, he got the tattoos to blend in like some kind of tough–guy cosplay. I didn’t think he was building something of his own.

I watch him pull Jennifer close, saying something that makes her look up at him with this… this light in her eyes. It reminds me of how she confessed to me on prom night, I didn’t realize it then but she looked so beautiful.

Is that why he brought her to Italy?

When he told me to back off before, I thought it was nothing serious but now he’s proving me wrong in front of my face.

I get out of the car once they start moving into the crowd. I’m following them, keeping my distance, when I notice someone else. A guy in a dark hoodie, sticking just a little too close At first, I think it’s nothing but he keeps his distance the same way I do. Stops when they stop. Moves when they move.

Jennifer stops at one of those candy wheel games and her face lights up under the garish lights.

The guy in the hoodie stops, too. He raises a small, professional–looking camera and starts snapping pictures. Of them. Of

her.

Something protective or maybe possessive snaps inside me. Before I can second–guess it, I grab him by the collar, yank him

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